 Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash  THELMA The town car pulls up out front of the modest, two-story home. It’s nothing like the luxurious condo between West Queen Anne and Uptown I grew up in. I love it on sight. The house is between the White Center and Highline neighborhoods and is only a fourteen-minute drive frown our Downtown condo. Jimmy slides out, holding the carrier bag full of fancy wine and whiskey that I insisted on bringing. His hand appears to help me out as I cradle the ridiculously huge bunch of flowers I got for his mother. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb as Jimmy tangles his fingers with mine, leading me up the paved driveway, past Trey’s truck and his parent’s Volvo wagon. So, this is where Jimmy grew up. It suits him. The front of the house on the ground level is a single-car garage, which is closed, so Jimmy leads me through a tall wooden gate, alongside the cream clapboard-sided house, to the front door, on the side near the back. Pulling open the decorated grill, he hammers on the blush pink wooden door, opening it before anyone can answer. We step directly into the kitchen, and Lucille, Jimmy’s mother, turns with a huge smile, wiping her hands on her flowered, ruffled apron. “You’re here!” she cheers, wrapping Jimmy into a tight hug. Releasing him, she accepts the carrier bag, sits it on the counter, and turns to me. “I’ll just blow kisses at you,” she laughs, kissing her hand and waving it at me, turning to use a damp cloth to wipe the flour off Jimmy’s shirt that transferred from her apron. Once he's clean, she drops the cloth into the sink, taking the flowers from me with a huge smile. “Oh, they’re gorgeous, Thelma! You didn’t have to. I love them!” “Hey, they’re from both of us!” Jimmy protests, earning a look of shade thrown his way. “Oh, hush. You are no more responsible for these flowers than your father is for your birth.” Jimmy smirks, holding up a finger. “An inch of credit is still credit.” He laughs, snatching a beer from the fridge and retreating out of the kitchen as she throws a tea towel after him. Stooping, I pick it up, hanging it on the towel rack over the cabinet door under the sink. “Is there anything I can help with?” I look awkwardly around. Mom caters these things. I’m not a useless cook, but a pumpkin pie from scratch or an enormous turkey like Lucille is basting is a little out of my expertise. “Not at all. I’ve got this. I only need to finish basting and pop it in the oven, and then I’ll be right through. Why don’t you pick a nice wine, pour us a glass and take them through to the living room? I’ll be in shortly.” Flashing a grateful smile, I unpack the wine carrier, selecting a nice Semillon and pouring two glasses. Lucille points her turkey baster at the archway Jimmy disappeared into, and I offer a smile as I steel myself and walk through. Five faces turn to me as I take another deep breath. Jimmy grins, holding out his arm from where he stands near the maroon leather couch, and I walk right under it, snuggling against his side. Trey vaults out of the matching maroon easy chair he is lounging in, relieving me of Lucille’s wine glass, which he sets down on a cute World’s Best Mom coaster near the easy chair. I wave to Hogan and Gayle Houston, Jimmy’s grandparents, and they beam back at me, Hogan turning his attention to the football game on the TV while Gayle continues to grin at me. Ed, Jimmy’s father, stands and kisses my cheek, turning to bellow at Trey, who has sunk into his fabric Lay-Z-Boy. “I paid for that chair. Get your sorry ass outta it, boy!” “I believe you’ll find that Jimmy and I bought you this as a Christmas gift five years ago, Dad. Find another seat.” Hogan shakes his head, striding into the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful brats and needing another drink. Gayle rolls her eyes, shuffling over on the couch until she’s seated in the middle, closer to Hogan, and pats the empty end spot. “You come and sit here, Thelma. I want to hear all about the trouble Jimmy has been getting himself into. I’m sure there’s lots of it.” Giggling, I leave Jimmy as his mouth drops open and cross, sitting beside Gayle as she pats my leg. Her eyes drop to my wine, and she laughs. “I owe Lucille twenty dollars. I was hoping for a happy holiday announcement, but she thought you’d still want to focus on your career for a little while.” Oh. Oh. My cheeks burn as my eyes meet Jimmy’s. He is also red with embarrassment, although he looks like he’s trying not to die from laughing. She’s talking about my getting pregnant. How mortifying. At least she’s being good-natured about it. “Yeah,” Trey pipes up, saluting Jimmy with his beer. “Why haven’t you knocked your wife up yet? You’ve been married for over six months. Get on with it.” Jimmy flips his brother off, but Trey winks at me while his grandmother glares at him. “It’s cute when a senile old lady like me asks. You just sound like an idiot,” she scolds him. I can’t help the giggles busting out of my lips. This is nothing like Thanksgiving with my family. We never have the football on. Dad and Artie usually sneak into the den to watch portions at a time while pretending to use the bathroom. And no one laughs and teases this much. It’s a much more somber affair. JIMMY
Shit. Thelma will never agree to come to a holiday event with my family again. They’re grilling her about babies, about work. She’s going to bail and refuse to come back. I meet her gaze across Pop’s head, my eyes stricken, but she’s giggling, pressing her fingers to her mouth to try to stifle the sound, and I relax. Thank goodness Mom and Dad come in to break the tension. Mom drops into her easy chair, snatching up the wine and saluting Thelma before taking a sip. Her eyes flutter closed as she smiles. “That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she sighs happily. “You’ve been cooking. I’m glad you have a moment to sit and enjoy it,” Thelma offers, sounding nervous. “I’ll second that!” Dad agrees, shooting Trey a glare. “Last chance, boy.” Trey studiously stares at the TV, pretending not to have heard. Dad shakes his head, handing his beer to Mom and crossing to the Lay-Z-Boy. This is typical for when we all get together, but Thelma watches with wide eyes as Dad unceremoniously drops into Trey’s lap, squashing him into the chair. “Help!” Trey calls, his voice muffled by Dad’s back. “You were asking for it,” Pop calls back. “Now pipe down. I want to listen to the commentary.” Thelma giggles again, sipping her wine and turning back to Nanna. “We haven’t talked much about kids,” she admits. Mom is listening carefully now – so am I. “But I would like to keep focusing on my career for another few years. Maybe when I’m closer to thirty.” Nanna and Mom managed to hide their disappointment well, and I sag with relief. Thelma is twenty-eight in February. Thirty gives me two years to selfishly have her to myself before I have to share. I can live with that. Mom beams, holding out her hand to Nanna with a gimme gesture. “Pay up, Dolores.” Thelma blinks in surprise, a confused frown crossing her face as Nanna grumbles, digging into her purse at her feet and pulling out a crisp twenty, leaning forward over the coffee table to slap it in Mom’s hand. With a smile, Thelma stands, coming to stand beside me, slinging her arm around my waist. I lean my head down to hear what she is going to say. “I thought your grandmother’s name was Gayle?” she murmurs, taking another sip of wine. I bite back a grin. “It is. Mom calls her Dolores, and she calls Mom Alma. No one knows why.” Thelma nods. Whatever she was about to say is cut off when Trey gives another half-hearted yelp, and Dad finally gets off him. With an exaggerated gasp for breath, Trey stands, shuffling out of the way so Dad can claim his chair back. He moves toward us, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me. Mom catches the look and speaks before either of us can. “No wrestling in the house. You take that outside!” Thelma’s head whips around, her eyes darting between Trey and me. “Wrestling?” she whispers. Trey grins cockily, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, it’s not wrestling. It’s Jimmy’s punishment.” I smirk back at him. Trey usually beats me. The man coaches a middle school wrestling team. But I have a secret weapon this year. I got Grady Quinn from the Rothwell Agency to show me some moves. Trey isn’t going to know what hit him. Dropping a kiss on Thelma’s cheek, I move to follow Trey outside. “You sit and enjoy your wine. Don’t let them give you a nickname!” Thelma sinks into the seat next to Nanna as we leave the room. I’m in the kitchen when I hear Mom’s bright exclamation. “What do you think of Beryl? I think it suits you.” The door to the backyard swings shut, cutting off Thelma’s giggles. Beryl? Ah, I can live with it. If it makes Thelma giggle, it’s okay in my book. Trey lets out a war cry, and I spin, ducking out of his grasp before he can take me to the ground. Right. Time to put these new moves to some use. I have a twin to wipe the floor with. THE END. |
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