14. Brody
Brody
We make it to my parents’ place three minutes before Nan is due to arrive.
“You’re late,” my eldest sister, Candice, hisses at me as she drags us both into the living room.
“Sorry, I had to—”
“There’s no time for your bullshit excuses,” she replies. “This is your spot,” she points to a very small area behind the sofa.
“For both of us?” I’m not sure even one of us will fit.
“Just make it work. She’ll be here any second.”
Matt and I curl ourselves up as small as possible, but I’m fairly sure our hair will be visible. I’m still not convinced this is a good idea though, so maybe giving Nan a few hints of what’s about to happen won’t be a bad thing.
The seconds tick by with excruciating slowness and I can feel my knees beginning to cramp. I might only be twenty-nine, but kneeling like this is making me feel as if I’m pushing sixty.
“Stop fidgeting over there,” Candice shouts from her own hiding place. It’s easy for her to say, given she’s standing behind the curtain and so doesn’t even have to attempt any form of contortion.
A few minutes pass like aeons but eventually Matt grabs my leg and squeezes. He’s obviously heard something. His vampire hearing isn’t fully developed yet, but he is still much better than I am. I turn to look at him and he gives me a nod. Nan is definitely here. Thank god.
“Surprise!” my entire family scream and erupt from their hiding places. I’m a few beats behind them, struggling to get my legs to do what my brain is telling them.
Nan looks entirely non-plussed about the whole thing. “Thank you everyone.” Then she turns to look at me, standing behind the sofa, stamping my left foot as I try to get the blood back moving. “Whatever are you doing behind the sofa, Brody?”
I’m not actually sure she even realised we did the whole surprise thing.
Mum – being Mum – has made an entire spread of food, enough to feed at least twice as many mouths as are here.
She’s done her signature lasagna, a thick layer of cheese bubbled to a crust around the edges, with thin slices of garlic bread to use as scoops for the meaty filling.
Then there’s a chicken and bacon pie with a pot of extra gravy on the side.
A vat of chilli with either rice or tortilla chips and a whole platter of toppings.
There’s also salmon quiche which I will say no more about as the only person who ever eats it is Nan and I think only to be polite.
“This looks amazing, Mum,” I tell her as I head to the fridge in search of another beer.
“Thanks, love,” she replies as she wipes her hands on a tea towel. “I think I over catered a bit though.” She looks at the piles of food all around her. It’s the understatement of the century but I don’t tell her that.
“Well, Matt and I will be more than happy to take some of the leftovers off your plate.”
“You boys are like gannets,” she replies with a smile. It’s the same conversation we have every time we’re here. Mum cooking too much, Matt and I offering to take some home, Mum calling us gannets. There is comfort in the familiar. “But at least then I’ll know you’re eating properly. Both of you.”
She’s always treated Matt as if he was one of us, just another child running around and getting under her feet.
Birthdays always follow a set pattern in the Jackson household, even if this year there was an attempt to inject the surprise element which appeared to entirely backfire.
First things first, everyone gets a drink.
Ours is not a dry household and it is incredibly rare to see any of the Jackson clan without a beer or a wine when we all get together.
I think it helps to alleviate some of the stress of putting us in the same room together.
Not that we don’t like each other, it’s more that there are just so many of us and my brother and sisters are all extremely opinionated and not at all shy about defending themselves.
Every conversation devolves into a debate and then a fact checking marathon and then sometimes – more often than not if we’re being honest – into some display of physical strength like an arm wrestle.
Mum tried to get us to settle things with rock, paper, scissors when we were younger, but then Garrett ruined it by adding a fourth category, “sledgehammer”, which just caused another debate and so Dad stepped in and banned us from playing it anymore.
Once everyone has a drink we give gifts to the birthday boy or girl.
At Christmas we’re an “open everything all at once” family, so everyone gets a pile and we all rip into our presents simultaneously.
But birthdays are different. Birthday gifts have developed a reverence, a ritual.
Each person spends a long time thinking about what to give and gifts are bestowed in turn, packages opened carefully, the contents ohh’ed and ahh’ed over and appropriate hugs of thanks changed, before moving to the next present and then the next.
It was my baby sister Meredith – Merry for short – who started this tradition because her birthday is the day after Christmas and she was sick of no one giving a shit about her birthday gifts.
This year there’s been a break in tradition in that we’ve all clubbed together to get Nan something really special.
Next month she’ll be going on a cruise, with a balcony room and all-inclusive drinks package thrown in.
She’s been dreaming about going ever since Granddad passed three years ago and so all the Jackson kids – plus Matt of course – have been saving faithfully to make it a reality.
“You didn’t?” Nan asks as she holds the gift certificate my middle sister Kat made for her. It looks super fancy, all gold embossing and calligraphy.
“It’s a cruise, Betty,” my father tells her.
“Yes, thank you John. I got that.” Nan is my maternal grandmother and she’s always grumbled about Dad treating her like she’s a batty old lady. “But this is far too much,” she says, her eyes back on the gift certificate. “This must have cost you a fortune.”
Over the course of the next hour, Nan has far too much prosecco to celebrate her impending holiday.
She’s a character when she’s sober, but Nan pissed is something else.
“How’s that company you started working for.
Only Fans, wasn’t it?” she asks, waving her wine glass – the nice champagne flutes having been abandoned for requiring too frequent top-ups – at me, even though I’m sitting right next to her.
I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing at her faux pas. “It’s going well,” I reply, not bothering to correct her, I don’t want to be accused of mansplaining.
“You know Vera down the road?” Nan asks me.
I nod even though I have no idea who she’s talking about.
“Well, her granddaughter works for them too. She apparently does very well.” Nan pats my leg.
“Umm. Nan,” Kat says gently. “I don’t think Brody is working for the same company.”
“Such a handsome boy.” She touches my cheek. “Why not make some money while you’ve still got it.” She smiles a little lopsidedly at me. “I’d give it a go if I were ten years younger.”
Merry makes eye contact with me and refuses to look away. I try to hold it in but eventually all the Jackson siblings erupt into laughter.
“What?” asks Nan as she takes another swig of prosecco. “I would have made an absolute fortune.”