by A. E. Wasp
Frances smiled at the woman. “Thank you. I just hit fifty, and I’ve been feeling every year of it.”
“Sterling, party of three?” the hostess called, arms full of heavy menus.
“That’s me,” the woman said. “Enjoy your stay. The food here is amazing.”
“That’s what the Yelp reviews said,” Frances said. “Nice meeting you.”
Frances read Yelp reviews? And she’d turned fifty. Should he have sent a card? Should he have known? She’d called him her son-in-law even though he and Julia had never married. Mikey’s head spun, and he loosened up his tie to try and get more air. Then tension and the heat were killing him.
Frances caught his movement out of the corner of her eye. “You do look very handsome in that suit, but you must be dying. Why don’t you put your jacket and tie in the car?”
“That’s a good idea.” They’d taken his car, so they didn’t have to move Jasmine’s car seat. Getting that thing put in correctly was a pain in the ass. In anticipation of such an event, Mikey had detailed the car to a shine. He’d even gotten the old french fries and goldfish crackers out from the cracks of Jasmine’s car seat.
He walked down the wooden steps of the patio, texting Benny as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk. This is so weird.
Taking advantage of the fact that his mom and dad weren’t getting in until later that afternoon, Benny decided to go into the studio and get in some more practice with the tablet. Maybe he could straighten up a little to make up for taking Friday afternoon off.
He loved being in the studio by himself, most times he didn’t even turn on the music, preferring the background hum of traffic and birdsong. He needed quiet more than ever now. He loved Mikey and Jasmine, no two ways about it, but he’d gotten used to the quiet in his little house in the woods. Now unless he went home in the middle of the day, the house was noisy. He hadn’t been able to take his post-work naps in weeks. Though Mikey told him to go ahead, he felt guilty sleeping while Mikey cooked and took care of Jasmine alone after working all day. And of course this week, it had been impossible with Mikey in full freak out mode. He was exhausted. On the plus side, the house looked great. Even the boxes of his things he’d shoved into the garage had been unpacked. He liked looking around and seeing his and Mikey’s things mingling in the house. The best find had been the photo albums Mikey’s parents had left him when they’d moved.
Benny realized he’d been standing in a patch of sun in the doorway for a while. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he got to work.
In half an hour the studio was neat and tidy, and Benny was wondering how pissed off Chris would be if he threw his computer through the wall.
Benny’s phone vibrated against the wooden table. Grateful for any distraction from the infinitely frustrating combination of shaking hands and fluctuation pen pressure, he picked it up. It was a text from Mikey. He read it and smiled. What’s weird? he texted back.
Julia’s parents are being nice. And they are friendly and George’s wearing jeans.
OMG it’s almost like they’re real people, Benny texted back.
Benny was relieved to hear that George and Frances hadn’t leaped on Mikey as soon as they saw him, demanding that he hand over Jasmine. Not that he had expected them to, but Mikey’s anxiety had been contagious, and Benny had been on edge all week. Have you talked about Jasmine yet?
Not yet. Still waiting for a table. I’m dying in my suit, it must be 100° out here today.
It’s even hot in the studio, Benny texted back. Keep me posted.
I will.
Obviously a local favorite, the restaurant buzzed with overlapping conversations and Cajun music playing from the speakers. An army of servers carried enormous, mouth-watering platters of food over the heads of diners. The menu offered an array of amazing sounding dishes. They had a kid’s menu that would appease even the pickiest of eaters.
George ordered a platter of beignets with coffee, surprising Mikey once again. He had pegged George for an egg white omelet type of guy. A big man with wide shoulders and body of a former athlete, George had black curly hair cut close to his head and piercing eyes that seem to look right into Mikey’s soul. At least that’s how he had seemed the last few times Mikey had seen him.
Seeing him now with Jasmine, he looked like a normal man in his mid-50s, with laugh lines around his eyes and touches of gray at his temples. Both Frances and George had a hard time taking their eyes off of Jasmine. Mikey could tell they were drinking her in, gathering up her every gesture and hoarding her words.
“I guess we’d better get this out of the way,” George said. “Or brunch is going to be even more awkward than it already is. We came here to talk to about how we can be more involved in Jasmine’s life.”
Here it came. Mikey gripped his coffee cup hard, hand shaking, and it rattled a little against the saucer.
“Good Lord, George,” Frances said. “The boy looks like he’s going to pass out.” She reached out across the table stilling Mikey’s trembling hand. “We’re not going to try to take her from you. I promise.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mikey said unable to stop the words from coming out.
Benny wiped the sweat off his forehead and took a long swallow of the lukewarm water from his water bottle. The studio wasn’t air-conditioned, and today even opening the wide barn doors didn’t help cool it off.
The pixels on the screen danced in front of his eyes, and his hand refused to do what his mind was telling it to do.
He threw the stylus down in disgust and shook the cramps out of his hand, then rubbed his tired eyes. This was useless. He wasn’t accomplishing anything except getting more irritated. His mind was all on Mikey. He might as well go out, stretch his legs, and get something cold to drink. Maybe an ice cream cone. It was a good day for ice cream.
Chris was meeting him at the studio in half an hour to drive him to the airport to pick up his parents. There was just enough time to grab a cone and eat it before he got in Chris’ car. Chris had a hard and firm rule about no food in the car.
Benny stood up, stretched, and went to lock up the studio.
The beignets were hot out of the oven and covered with a fine dusting of powdered sugar. Jasmine reached for one soon as the plate hit the table. Mikey grabbed her hand.
“You can have a doughnut after you eat your breakfast,” Mikey said.
Jasmine looked at her grandparents imploringly, big brown eyes open wide.
George put the beignet he had picked up back down on the plate. “I guess I should wait until after I eat my breakfast, too.” He looked at the platter of warm, fluffy deliciousness almost as longingly as Jasmine was doing.
Frances shook her head with a small smile. “It’s good for you. You don’t need any beignets.”
“But they’re warm, Franny.”
She laughed briefly, and Mikey could see the fondness in her eyes.
They had been making pleasant conversation since Mikey had met them at the hotel earlier that morning and Mikey’s patience for small talk had run out. “Mr. Young, can you please tell me what you wanted to talk about that you couldn’t say over the phone?” Mikey felt badly discussing this in front of Jasmine, but the knots in his stomach were so tight he was seriously afraid he was going to have excuse himself to the bathroom.
With a pointed look at Jasmine, Frances pulled a small wrapped package out of her purse and handed it across the table to Jasmine. “Here, Jasmine. I got you a little present.”
“Oh, present.” Jasmine reached for the package and started to rip the paper off.
“What do you say?” Mikey asked.
“Thank you, Grandma Frances.” Inside the package were a tiny house that opened up and some even tinier people and animals.
“That should keep her busy for a little while,” Frances said in a low voice. “I used to do that for Julia when she was that age, and she had to go to boring meals with grown-ups.”
“Michael,” George started in his deep
rumbling voice. “I know our relationship has been strained over the years. You don’t trust us. And it’s true, in the beginning, we did think the best place for Jasmine was with us. We have more resources, we’re older, more settled.”
Mikey’s eyes shifted to Jasmine. “All that is still true.”
“Yes. But things have changed. Our minds among them.”
The knots in Mikey’s stomach loosened a little, but he was still wary. “What made you change your mind?”
“What’s changed, Michael,” Frances answered, “is time. It’s been two years since Julia… passed.” She stumbled over the word. “And while we will never be over what happened, eventually you start to think straight again.”
The waitress arrived bearing a huge tray with all their food on it. A basket of hot cornbread and andouille sausage omelet for Frances, sausage, and biscuits with red beans and grits on the side for George, and chocolate chip pancakes for Jasmine which had somehow sounded healthier than beignets but Mikey wasn’t so sure there was any difference.
“Thank you,” Mikey said to the waitress, as she handed him his Eggs Benedict.
Mikey poured the syrup for Jasmine and cut her pancake into little pieces for her. She made happy noises as she shoveled the food into her mouth.
“I guess someone likes her food.” George took a bite of his sausage and biscuits and groaned happily. “I don’t blame her, this is amazing.”
Frances didn’t spare her food a glance, looking earnestly into Mikey’s eyes instead, imploring him to understand. “Michael, you’ve been a father now for four years. An excellent father I have to say, Jasmine is a delightful child. Put yourself in our shoes. Really try to imagine it.” Frances’ lips trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Julia was our only child.” Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with her hand. George put a hand on her shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said, standing up. “I need to go the ladies room.”
“I hafta go pee, too,” Jasmine said, sliding off her chair before Mikey could stop her.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Young, do you mind?”
“Not at all. I would love the company.” She held out her hand for Jasmine to take. “And, please, call me Frances.”
George and Mikey returned to their food in silence. Mikey was sure his eggs were delicious, but he couldn’t taste a bit of them. He didn’t have to work very hard to imagine how the Youngs must have felt. The idea of Jasmine dying before he did had haunted him since the day she was born. When Julia had died, he’d had nightmares for months about something happening to Jasmine.
Trapped in his own pain and grief, thrust into a role he was completely unprepared for, he had never really considered what George and Frances must have been going through. It hit him like a blow to the heart. They were talking to him as a peer, as a person experiencing all the exhilarating, terrifying, wonderful, and heartbreaking gifts of parenthood. They might even be sources of support for him. He’d been so alone in raising Jasmine. “I’m so sorry,” Mikey said when Frances had returned. “So sorry for not acknowledging your pain. I must have seemed like such a selfish bastard. No wonder you hated me.”
“We never hated you,” George said at the exact same time Jasmine piped up with “Curse, Daddy.”
“What’s that, honey?” George asked.
“Daddy doesn’t let Benny say bad words around me. Every time he does, he has to put some money in the jar. Daddy said a bad word so now he has to put a quarter in the jar.”
“Who’s Benny?” Frances asked.
“Oh, he lives with us. Well, it’s his house, but we moved there. It’s pretty, and it’s in the trees. And he said I could get a kitten.” Jasmine dragged a piece of pancake through a puddle of syrup, making patterns on her plate.
Mikey broke out in a cold sweat. “Jasmine,” he said, then stopped, at a total loss for words.
Jasmine stabbed a big piece of pancake and held it up, nibbling around the edges. “Did you know two boys can get married?”
George and Francis turned their heads as one to Mikey.
Outside the heat felt even more oppressive than it had in the studio. Benny vetoed the idea of an ice cream cone. It would melt before he made it back to the studio. He gazed in the windows of the boutique stores lining the sidewalk, trying to decide between iced tea or a milkshake from the expensive but delicious Old Tyme Soda Shoppe. Benny pronounced it shop-ee in his head every time. I’ll get the milkshake, he thought right before a wave of dizziness crashed over him and the world went black.
While the server refilled their coffees, Mikey gulped down some water and thought quickly. He remembered Benny telling him when they were kids that the secret to a good lie is to keep it as close to the truth as possible. And he had been taught early on in law school that while under questioning they should answer exactly what had been asked and not volunteer information.
“Benny is an old friend, from high school,” Mikey said. “You may have met his parents at the funeral, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“But not him? He didn’t come to the funeral?” Frances asked.
“He was in the Marines at the time.”
“Oh, he’s a veteran,” George said, nodding as if that automatically made their living arrangement less suspect. If only he knew.
“So why are you living with him?” Frances wasn’t as easily distracted as George.
“My landlord moved his son into the house we were renting, and I needed a place to stay on short notice. Benny had two extra bedrooms, and he offered to let us stay there for a while.”
George and Francis seemed satisfied with that explanation. Mikey hoped they let the boys marrying comment go unremarked upon.
“Are you ever going to go back to law school?” Frances asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I want to do.” Mikey had been asking himself that question a lot lately. “I’m working at a law firm now with an amazing lawyer. He’s helping me come up with a plan. Maybe you can meet him while you’re out if you’re interested.”
“That would be great,” George said. “I would love to meet some of your friends.” He put his hand on his wife’s hand. “Actually that’s what we wanted to talk to you about. We were thinking of moving to Red Deer. We think it would solve a lot of problems. It would certainly make it easier for us to see Jasmine, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her travel across the country.”
Mikey blinked, sure he looked like a deer in the headlights. He carefully cut a bite of his eggs, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed it deliberately while he thought of something to say.
His phone rang, and he checked it. It was just Chris, probably calling to set up a time for Mikey to pose for him. He hit the send to voicemail button.
“Well, what do you think?” George asked.
The phone rang again, the sound harsh. Chris again. Irritated, Mikey hit end call. He didn’t have time for this. One second later the phone buzzed with a text from Chris. Pick up your fucking phone Benny’s at the hospital.
chapter twenty-one
Mikey was sure they looked like lunatics as they ran into the hospital. Jasmine hadn’t stopped crying since she’d heard Benny was at the hospital. In their rush to pay and leave Lucille’s, she had managed to spill her plate in her lap, leaving her covered with syrup and bits of pancakes.
Mikey carried her out, heedless of the syrup and food transferring from her dress to his shirt.
Sheltering her behind the open car doors, he stripped off her dress. Thank god he kept a diaper bag in the trunk with an emergency change of clothes. Unfortunately, the last time he’d cleaned out the diaper bag must have been months ago because all it held was a Christmas sweater and a pair of yellow stretch pants with ruffles on the butt. They must have fit Jasmine at one time, but now they hit her around mid-calf.
Still, it was better than nothing. He wiped her down with some semi-dry baby wipes, stuffed her into the clean clothes, and buckled her in her seat.
Moving quickly, he ripped off his dress shirt and threw it in the trunk, grateful that he had chosen to wear an undershirt today despite the heat.
Frances sat in the back with Jasmine, doing her best to console her.
“Is Benny gonna die?” Jasmine sobbed, tears and snot running down her face.
“Oh, no, honey. I’m sure he’s not.” Frances dabbed at Jasmine’s face with a wet nap she’d pulled from her purse.
Mikey caught Frances’ eyes in the mirror, but he had no answer for the question he saw there. Please let her be telling the truth, he prayed.
George made Mikey get out at the front entrance to the hospital. “Go find out about your friend. We’ll park the car and meet you inside.”
Jasmine screamed when Mikey tried to leave, so he unbuckled her and took her with him. She clung to him silently, arms clamped around his neck.
He pushed through the revolving doors into the lobby, too impatient to wait for the electronic doors to register his presence.
The hospital smell hit him like a punch to the gut: disinfectant, hothouse flowers from the gift shop and too-cold stale air. Goosebumps broke out on his arms, and he could taste bile in the back of his throat.
Chris met him before he was five steps in. His paint-streaked hair stuck up haphazardly, matching the paint stains on his hands and jeans. “Hey,” Chris said, walking up to them and pulling Mikey in for a hard hug. He kissed Jasmine on the cheek. “Hey, Sweetpea.” She buried her face even deeper into his neck.
“How is he?” Mikey kept his voice low as if somehow Jasmine wouldn’t overhear.
“I don’t know.” Chris ran his fingers through his hair again. “They won’t tell me much. Just that he was found unconscious on the sidewalk not far from the studio.”
“Jesus.” Mikey’s hands trembled as he imaged Benny collapsing to the ground in the middle of a group of strangers.
Chris glared back at the information desk. “I’m his emergency contact but not his next of kin. I can’t get them to tell me anything.”
“Let me give it a shot.” Mikey walked up to the desk, Jasmine clinging to him like a barnacle. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
