“I know,” I said. “I just hoped that there would be something to hold on to, you know, something that I could look up to and respect. I wanted to come from somewhere good, somewhere noble.” I was crying now and tried to move away from Seedy so she wouldn’t see. It didn’t work.
“You do come from somewhere great,” she said. “Your mom and dad are genuine heroes, a crime fighter and a healer. What more noble background could you want?”
I sniffed and nodded and let her wipe the tears off my cheek. I let her lead me to the bed and then I let her help me forget David Preston and Jim Connor and Cyprus and the letters. I let her help me forget everything except that moment on the quad when she ate my chicken and cheese sandwich and I became the luckiest guy I knew.
31
HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
December 1, 1980
Dear Kimmie,
Thanks for the letters. They really make the days go by faster. I’m glad to hear that your brother is coming home for Christmas. It would suck to be stuck alone with your folks for the whole holiday.
Things here are fine. It’s not so hot anymore, which is great, but when it rains everything turns to mud, which is a big pain in the butt. I’m getting tired of mop detail.
If you get a chance to go by my place, say hi to Roscoe for me. I miss the crabby old guy. April is only a few months away!
Jim
I AVOIDED KIM AND THE REST OF THE CLAN for months after that beer with Dave Preston. I didn’t really think she’d ask me what I’d learned, but I couldn’t be sure. And I wasn’t sure that I’d be able not to say anything, either. I knew that it was really none of my business. The whole thing was just embarrassing, and I kind of wished I’d never looked into any of it.
Seedy had permanently moved a toothbrush and several changes of clothes into my apartment, and it became apparent that we were definitely seeing each other again. One night, over Indian takeout, we were talking about one of the local environmental foundations when she abruptly changed the topic.
“You still go over to your mom and dad’s on Sundays?” she asked with a mouthful of chicken vindaloo.
I nodded. “Most weeks, yeah.”
“You going this weekend?”
“Probably.”
“Good,” she said, and although I waited for her to continue, she just reached for the box of lamb korma.
“Why?” I finally asked.
“’Cause it would be good to see them again,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
I was mopping up the last of the sauce on my plate with a piece of naan when I got it. “You want to come with,” I said, the sound of dawning realization in my voice.
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Why else would I mention it?”
“Why else, indeed?” I said, under my breath.
“That’s okay, isn’t it?” she asked, putting her plate down and fixing me with that stare that always worried me. “I mean, you’re not hiding me from them or anything?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But I ... uh ... haven’t mentioned you to them, either.”
“Jesus, Brian,” she said. “We’ve been going out for, like, four months, now.”
“More like three months and two weeks,” I said, and she glared at me. “It just hasn’t come up,” I said, not liking the wheedling I heard in my voice. She stared at me some more.
“I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted finally. “If we’d met again in the line at Thrifty’s or something, I probably would have said something by now. But it was Chuck and Terry’s wedding. I feel weird talking to them about anything to do with Kim now. So, it just never came up.” I looked down at my feet. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “But I’m coming this weekend. You don’t have to tell them how we hooked up again, but if they ask I’m not going to lie. I’m sure they’ll be cool. They’ve always been cool.”
“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t believe it for a second.
I TOLD THEM ON THE PHONE I was bringing my girlfriend. Dad said, “How come we haven’t heard anything about her until now?”
“You have,” I said, but didn’t bother to explain. “We’ll come over around two on Sunday, okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “She isn’t a vegetarian, is she?”
“No, Dad.”
“Good,” he said. “I was going to make ribs.”
When we arrived, Mom immediately knew she recognized Seedy, but couldn’t quite place her. Dad was fussing in the kitchen, probably still pouting over my lack of kibitzing about my love life.
“Have we met?” Mom asked Seedy as she held the door open.
“A long time ago, Ms. Holmes,” Seedy said, grinning.
“Mom, this is Celia-Dee,” I said. “Remember, from university? Seedy?”
Recognition flashed across Mom’s face and she smiled widely. “Celia-Dee. The punk rocker. How nice to see you again.” She gave me a significant glance that held a handful of questions, which I ignored. “Well.” Mom took Seedy by the shoulders and drew her into the house. “You’d better come back and say hello to Dom. He’ll be so thrilled to see you again. And I’m sure I asked you to call me Shirley.”
“Thanks. And I’m just Celia these days,” Seedy said. “Except to Gumbo here. He still calls me Seedy.”
“Well, you should break him of that habit,” Mom said archly. I rolled my eyes and toted our bag of salad, cookies and wine.
“It’s okay,” Seedy said. “I’ll always be Seedy for him, anyway.” I felt my stomach lurch in embarrassment, but Mom just smiled and ignored the double entendre. I hoped.
DINNER WAS NOT AS PAINFUL as I’d feared. Dad was, as Mom had guessed, thrilled to see Seedy. You’d have thought that she was his old girlfriend, not mine. He fussed around her, doling out platefuls of food and refilling her glass. I’d be the one doing the driving on the way home, that much was clear. It was okay, though. It was nice to see them so happy. Sunday dinners hadn’t been very lively the past few months.
Seedy was her usual charming but strange self. She and Mom argued about the role of the police in political protests; then she spent about an hour educating Dad about the differences between punk, metal, hardcore and industrial. He even seemed to be interested.
I just watched as the three of them interacted and marvelled at my luck. I knew it was only a matter of time until we had The Fight, but none of the signs had appeared yet. I was trying not to think about the end and just enjoying the time we were having together. There is something marvellous about being with someone you’ve known for almost half your life. You have these common experiences, a common language already built into your relationship. It’s almost as if you’ve been together the whole time, but you’ve had all this time apart to make things interesting. It made me wish I’d had more women friends.
I’d zoned out of the conversation, thinking about the family tree I was constructing for myself. I’d already decided to slot Jim Connor in as my birth father and was thinking about how to find more about his relatives. My mind had wandered off well into the wilderness when something Mom said reached me from the distance. I was immediately drawn back into the present and started to pay attention again.
“So, Brian must have told you his big news,” she said, and I snapped back to see Seedy’s face take on a quizzical expression.
“Oh?” she said nonchalantly.
“Yes,” Mom continued, a smile on her face. “He found his birth mother. A lovely woman named Kim Heinz. They’ve met a few times now, I believe.” She turned to me, and I went cold.
“Yeah,” Dad picked up the thread. “It turns out that Brian has a bunch of half-siblings. We got to meet the whole family this summer. One of them was getting married — it was quite the gathering. Very interesting.”
I glanced at Seedy and she looked at me. There was no way out of it, so I just shrugged and looked away. Seedy turned to my parents and smiled.
“I did know about that,” she said. “Actually, that’s ho
w Brian and I reconnected. At the wedding. I’m a friend of Terry’s, Charlotte’s wife.”
“Oh,” Dad said, inquisitively, but with a tiny side of hurt in his voice.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in the wedding,” I said.
“That’s fine,” Mom said, a false smile on her face. “It’s just great that the two of you managed to meet up again. It’s a funny world sometimes.”
“It sure is,” Seedy said, looking at me. “Full of all kinds of funny things and funny people, right?”
“Right,” Dad said. “Speaking of which, do you have family here on the Island? I can’t remember.”
“My parents are divorced,” Seedy said. “My dad lives in Vancouver and my mom moved to the States with her new husband. Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Dad said, eyeing Mom, who seemed to know where he was going with this, “we were thinking that if you didn’t have other plans, it would be nice if you spent Christmas with us, here. Just a couple of days, but it would be good to have another mouth to eat all the food.” He smiled hopefully at Seedy and then at me.
Seedy caught my eye and I smiled at her. “Sure,” she said. “I’d love to. I wasn’t planning on doing anything special and it would be nice to have a big winter feast. I haven’t done that in a long time.”
“No?” Dad asked.
“I don’t see much of my mom anymore,” Seedy explained. “She lives in Arizona, and it’s too far and too expensive to travel very often. And I don’t really get along with my dad ...” She broke off and Mom nodded at her.
“I understand,” she said. “Not everyone has a close family.”
“No,” Seedy said, then turned to me. “You’re all very lucky.”
WE PACKED A WEEK’S WORTH OF CLOTHES into the Civic and drove out to my parents’ place after work on December 23. Seedy had two whole weeks off for the holidays — the library just closed down for the duration. It was great because if you timed it right you’d get an extra two weeks on your loans. I’d taken out five DVDs. I booked only three days off the week after Christmas, but with the stat holidays I got ten days off. Maximizing annual leave was just one of the other useful skills I learned as part of the Competition Club.
It was dark by the time we arrived, but Mom had built a fire in the living room fireplace and had the kettle on. Within ten minutes our bags were stowed in the guest room — my room — and we had mugs of hot apple cider in our hands. It was like something out of a poorly written Hallmark movie of the week.
Seedy seemed happy enough and Dad liked having someone to fuss over. Mom seemed relaxed, and once she’d handed out the ciders she just curled up in her chair and threw a red tartan fleece blanket over her lap. “Isn’t this nice?” she said when Dad had taken Seedy into the kitchen to show off the goodies he’d stocked in the fridge. “I’m so happy you and Celia reconnected, Brian. I always liked her, even though she put so much effort into trying to shock people. I always felt it was a bit of a shame that you two met so young.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she said, sipping her cider, “hardly anyone finds the right person when they’re a teenager. It takes a little living, a little bit of trying things out before you know what you really want in a partner. And you and Celia made such a good match that it seemed a shame to waste it on a youthful relationship.”
“Huh,” I said.
“It was such a pity when you two split up,” she went on. “But now here you are. Together again.” I suspected that she’d been spiking her cider.
“Don’t get too attached,” I said morosely. “Nothing lasts.”
She frowned. “Is there something wrong?” she asked. “You two having trouble?”
“No, nothing like that,” I said, wishing we could stop talking about this. “I just ... Things don’t ever last, is all.” I tried to put an air of finality into the conversation, and she must have understood because she didn’t say anything else about it. But she didn’t look convinced. Not one bit.
32
FIRST THE POTATOES
December 18, 1980
Dear Kimmie,
I got a letter from Mom. She says you’re going by the house once a week to see Roscoe and the other birds. You don’t know how much this means to me. He really likes you, you know. I don’t know anyone who’s as good with him as you are. Mom thinks he’s a menace. It makes me feel better being here knowing that you’re still taking care of him.
It’s getting festive around here, though it’s strange not to have any rain or cold at Christmas. The guys from the interior are going crazy, they’re used to snow. It’s just not Christmas without snow, they say. You should come out to the Island, I tell them. We’re still counting the flowers in December.
There probably aren’t really any flowers blooming now, I guess. But I always imagine you with a bundle of daisies, like you used to pick in the summer behind the house. I guess it doesn’t hurt to imagine summer here, where it never even gets cold.
Say hi to Roscoe for me and if you see my mom thank her for the letter.
Jim
ON CHRISTMAS EVE we didn’t do much. Dad got us going on a cards tournament, in which Seedy tried to teach us how to play contract bridge. We kind of got the hang of bidding, but we all did much better at hearts and cribbage. The day disappeared in a haze of cards, cookies, wine and Dad’s home-smoked salmon. I didn’t know he’d started doing that and it turned out he was great at it. We ate our faces off.
Seedy turned in at about ten with a large book she’d brought along. I stayed up, strangely enjoying the warm company of my mom and dad. We were just chatting aimlessly the way people do. Mom had asked about my current project at work, and I could tell I was droning on. They seemed not to mind, so I didn’t bother to stop myself.
More wine was consumed and soon spiked apple ciders appeared from the kitchen. “How’s Kim?” Mom asked out of the blue.
“Uh, fine, I guess,” I said. I could almost feel Dad staring at me. “I, uh, haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“You did send her a Christmas card, didn’t you?” That was Mom. Who never sent anyone a Christmas card in her life.
“Uh ...”
“Really, Brian,” Dad said, “after she was kind enough to invite you — to invite us all into her family, the least you could do is put yourself out a little and keep in touch.”
“I will,” I said. “I am. It’s just been ... busy, you know? Work, Seedy. I’ll send Kim an email, promise.” Dad seemed appeased, but Mom had that look. The one that I always imagined she used on suspects that says I don’t believe a word of it, scuzzball. Luckily, Dad got sidetracked by my mention of Seedy.
“Is Celia okay? She’s been gone a while.”
“She went up to bed,” I said. “It’s been busy at her work all week. It’s the price of being closed down for two weeks — lots of work before the holiday. I think she’s just tired. Plus, she’s had her nose in that book ever since she picked it up. She’s been bringing it with her everywhere she goes, even over to my place.” I waited for the blush to appear on my face at the obvious insinuation of what Seedy would be doing at my apartment, but it didn’t seem to come. Embarrassment frightened off by excessive wine consumption, I guess. It never worked that way before, but it might just be one of the perks of age.
“Seems pretty serious between you two,” Dad said. Mom shot him a look, and I scowled at them both.
“Jeez, you guys,” I said. “You both seem to have us married off already. We’ve only been going out for a couple of months.”
“Sure,” Mom said, “but it’s not like with other girls. You know her, you already know each other. It’s not really just a couple of months at all. All the time you’ve known each other counts, Brian. It counts.”
“Shirley,” Dad said, smiling at Mom, “don’t push them. They’re still just kids, you know that.”
“We were married and already fighting with the agency by the time we were their age,” she
shot back.
“It was different then,” Dad said weakly. I sighed. Then I paid attention to what Mom had said.
“What do you mean, ‘fighting with the agency’?”
“Oh, it’s not that interesting,” Mom said airily. “Obviously, it all worked out in the end.”
“Dad.” I hoped he was less drunk or at least more forthcoming. “What is she talking about?”
“Well,” he said, sipping his cider, “it took a long time and a lot of paperwork to finally bring you home for good. We were busy with government and non-government agencies for a good couple of years. It was really frustrating, especially since we’d been your foster parents from almost the day you were born. There was just a lot of bureaucracy.”
“But my birth certificate,” I said. “It shows you as my parents from when I was born.”
“They backdate them,” Mom said. “It’s a legal thing, even when kids are adopted at an older age. We had a hard time making it official, though. For a while there it looked like we might lose you. It was a tough time, right, Dom?”
“I haven’t thought about it for years,” Dad said, his voice far away. “It was horrible.”
“What was the problem?” I asked.
“The problem was there was no problem,” Dad said. I frowned and he explained. “Most couples choose adoption because they can’t get pregnant on their own. The agency we went through expected a medical report confirming the infertility of the couple when you apply for adoption.”
“I still don’t think that was legal,” Mom said.
Dad shrugged. “What did we know?” he said.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “What was the problem?”
The Home for Wayward Parrots Page 17
