11. #FeministsGivegoodthanks
ELEVEN
#FEMINISTSGIVEGOODTHANKS
Rose
This isn’t so bad.
“Dude, how are you so good at this?” Jacob, Vance’s eleven-year-old nephew, tosses his Xbox controller on the orange shag rug.
Turns out Helen’s house is just a few blocks over from Flynn’s in the coveted Clear Lake Forest neighborhood near NASA.
Vance was relegated to plumber, being sent upstairs where Helen ordered him to stop her master bathroom sink from dripping. Shortly after, Helen shooed me out of the kitchen after I cut myself slicing cheese for the charcuterie board I brought. I’ve been in the seventies-style living room since.
Thankfully, Brittany, Vance’s sister, showed up a few minutes later with her boys in tow, dropping them off in front of the TV before scurrying out back with her husband Matt, each rolling a large cooler behind them. I’m not even sure she saw me sitting on the couch in her hurry.
“ Dude . What can I say? Fortnite is my jam.” I lean over and nudge him with my shoulder, nearly falling into him.
Helen’s couch is tweed and plaid and all things cozy.
Which means deep divots in the couch cushions where people have sat over the years.
Unlike my penthouse, Vance’s childhood home looks lived in.
It looks real , rather than magazine worthy.
I love it.
Jase, Jacob’s older brother, snickers from the brown leather recliner off to the side of the living room. “Man, you let a girl beat you?” He laughs harder. “And five times, too!”
“Oh Jase, Jase, Jase…” I shake my head at him, all dramatic disappointment. “There’s so much wrong with that misogynistic attitude of yours.”
Both Jacob and Jase, their dark hair, brown eyes, and high cheekbones making them look similar enough to be twins, tilt their heads to the right. Seeing as their dad Matt is blond and blue-eyed, the Bodaway genes are strong with these two.
“What’s miss-ah-ga—” Jacob shakes his head. “What did you say?”
“Misogynistic.” Placing my controller next to me on the couch, I crook my Batman Band-Aided finger at them. “Gather ’round, boys, and let Auntie Rose tell you all the ways in which women rule the world and men need to just sit back and love it.”
Twenty minutes later, I leave Jase and Jacob open-mouthed and blinking in the living room to go see where else I can be helpful. Along the way, I take in family photos hung on the wall. Most are of Jacob and Jase at varying ages, but there are some older ones too.
There’s a family portrait from Vance’s childhood. I recognize Helen, not looking much different than she does now, and Brittany, looking like a pre-teen. And a scrawny kid. Vance.
He’s probably about six or seven. His silky hair is styled in a hilarious bowl cut. He’s wearing an orange, blue, and white striped shirt—à la Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street.
So cute.
But there’s also a handsome man with his arm around Helen. He’s standing tall, his face more serious than happy, but the corners of his lips are tilted up just enough to let you know he’s proud to be standing with his family.
“Did the boys scare you away already?”
I jump at Vance’s voice, coming from right behind me.
“Those two rugrats?” I thumb over my shoulder toward the living room. “Please. Ask them later who scared who.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Why doesn’t that surprise me in the least?”
“Because you know I’m a winner?”
“You’re something, all right.”
We smile at each other a beat longer.
“So…” I glance around, a sudden heat overtaking me. “Is that your dad?” I point to the old family portrait.
I regret my question when the smile falls off his face. “Yeah. That’s my dad.”
“Um… what happened to him?” I’m aware I shouldn’t have asked. But things just got awkward, and when things get awkward, I tend to make them awkwarder. Not a word. I know. But whatever. It’s what I do.
“He died in action when I was little.” He stares at the photo. “A few weeks after that photo was taken, actually.”
Yep, I was right. I shouldn’t have asked. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Vance shrugs, still staring at the photo.
“What was his name?”
“Lonan Bodaway.” His voice seems devoid of all emotion.
“Lonan?”
“Means cloud or blackbird in Zuni.” He gives me a wry smile. “I’m guessing his soul leaned more to blackbird.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Blackbird’s more ominous, isn’t it? And he did die young.”
I look back at the picture, unsure how to respond. “He was very handsome.” I lean closer, noticing the crinkles around Lonan Bodaway’s eyes. “You look like him.”
Vance hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else.
“Why don’t Helen or your sister have Zuni names?”
“They do. My mother’s real first name is Elu, meaning full of grace.”
“I can see that.” I nudge him in the ribs, trying to lighten the moment. “She sure is graceful on the pole.”
He rolls his eyes. “Har. Har.”
Having succeeded in making him laugh, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Why does she go by Helen?”
“Always did when she wasn’t on the reservation.” He shrugs. “At least, that’s what she told me. And then, when we moved here, it was easier to introduce herself as Helen. That’s her middle name.”
Huh. I look at the girl with heavy dark bangs in the picture next to Helen. “And Brittany?”
“Mom flipped it when Brittany was born, gave her a Zuni middle name, Tacia. It was my great-grandmother’s name.” He snorts. “Means quiet.”
“Why is that funny?”
“You’ll see.”
I smile at the frustrated affection he has for his sister. “And you? What’s your Zuni middle name?”
His smile disappears again. “Lonan, like my dad.” He nods back at the portrait. “Let’s hope it means more cloud than blackbird this time.”
My heart drops at that inauspicious comment.
“You know”—Vance tilts his head, studying the family portrait—“I never understood why Mom hung this.”
He sounds like he’s talking to himself, so I say nothing.
“I still remember coming home from the funeral.” A V forms between his brows. “Mom started going through all the mail that had been piling up since we got the call that he died.”
I reach out and hold his hand. Second-guessing myself, I try and pull it back, but his grip tightens on mine.
“The picture was buried beneath some overdue bills, and when she saw it, my mom just lost it.” He shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory, still not letting go of my hand. “Cried so hard she passed out. My sister had to help her to bed.” He swallows. “Stayed there for months.”
“Helen?” It’s hard to imagine such a strong woman having a huge breakdown.
“Yeah.”
We’re quiet for a moment before I get the nerve to ask another question. “What branch in the military?”
“Army.”
A few feet away, the back screen door slams, Brittany coming in wearing what looks like overly large work gloves with her black leggings, fitted T-shirt, oversized cardigan, and Nikes.
I’m glad Vance wasn’t lying when he said to dress casually.
I was nervous when I traded the silk dress I was going to wear for jeans, sandals, and a cotton wrap blouse.
“We have a problem.” Brittany blows a strand of near-black hair out of her eyes.
Vance is alert in a second, no trace of the lost little boy look he wore a moment ago. “What’s wrong?”
Brittany sees me and does a double-take. Then her eyes flick to our clasped hands.
She smirks.
Together Vance and I let go, me clenching my hand tight, feeling somewhat odd without his to hold on to.
Vance clears his throat. “Well?” he prompts his sister.
Adopting another dramatic expression, Brittany throws her hands in the air, one glove flying off. “The turkey is still frozen.”
I catch the glove.
Brittany slumps against the wall. “Mom’s going to kill me.”
I like Brittany. She’s got good dramatic flair.
And I also see why Vance finds her Zuni name amusing.
“Everything all right out there?” Vance and I turn to see Helen peering out from the kitchen. “Nothing’s wrong with that turkey, is there?” Helen’s normally jovial expression narrows on her daughter. “I let you talk me into this deep-fried turkey fad, you better not make me regret it.”
“No, no.” Brittany straightens, trying to smile but looking more like a hyena with bared teeth. “All good. I just came in to see if Rose would like to come out and have a beer.” She punches me playfully in the arm, hitting a sweet spot that has me wincing. “Save her from my video-gaming sons.”
Seeing someone in need of a lifeline, and not wanting to get dead-armed again, I jump in to throw it.
“Yes, I’d love to, thanks.” Still holding the glove, I usher both Vance and Brittany out the door and away from their mother.
In the short time I’ve known Helen, I’ve come to see how very astute she is.
Retreat is the best option at this point.
The screen door slams behind us, and from our position on the back porch, I can see Matt standing in the middle of the yard where it looks like a fire pit would normally be, surrounded by lawn chairs.
But instead of a fire, there’s a large silver pot with a temperature gauge set up over a burner.
Next to it are the two coolers from earlier, one with a naked turkey sitting on top.
Matt takes one look at us and chuckles.
“It’s not funny, Matty!” Brittany wipes her forehead with her gloved hand. Matt bites his lip.
The closer we get, the more heat I feel from the flames under the pot. But sure enough, when we touch the bird, it’s ice cold.
“Mom’s going to kill me.” Brittany plops down on a lawn chair.
“I told you to stay off that Pinterest, Brit.” Matt still looks amused.
He turns to Vance and me. “She’s always on that thing, discovering do-it-yourself projects and weird-ass food to cook.
” He twists his back, stretching. “Just last month, I pulled my back when she had me adding shiplap to the dining room.”
Brittany sits up and narrows her eyes at her husband. “You didn’t say that when I turned the attic over the garage into your man cave. I found that idea on Pinterest.”
Matt shrugs.