The Christmas Orphans Club(72)
“What are you doing down here?” I ask.
“I could ask you the same question. I heard you pull up in that monster truck out there last night and I’ve been waiting for you to come in ever since.”
“I needed a minute. And then, I guess I fell asleep.”
“I did, too,” she says, and I’m not sure if she means that she needed a minute or fell asleep.
“How about I make us some coffee?” she offers.
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?I’m sitting on a stool at the kitchen island with my second cup of coffee as my mother dictates a list of everyone we need to call with the news. When to call is an etiquette quandary she doesn’t have an answer for. After ten, she decides. People will sleep in the day after a holiday, and she wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone with the untimely death of her husband.
The list is going on three pages: co-workers, golf partners, distant relatives, college roommates, credit card companies, and the insurance broker. I never realized death required so much admin. I naively assumed you placed an obituary and the funeral home did the rest. My heart breaks for Hannah who had to do this as a teenager, not once, but twice.
“What do I say if they ask how he died?” Amanda didn’t give any specifics between tearful gasps when she called with the news.
“Holiday heart,” she says, like it should mean something to me. It sounds like the name of a Hallmark movie she’d probably enjoy.
“What’s that?”
“The doctor said it’s common, fifth one he saw yesterday.”
“That’s a pretty callous way to break the news,” I interject.
“He said people eat and drink more than usual over the holidays and their hearts can’t take it and it leads to heart attacks. Amanda googled it in the car, Christmas Day and New Year’s Day have the highest incidence of heart attacks out of the whole year.” She sounds numb, like she’s relaying the plotline on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and not discussing something that happened to her husband of thirty-five years. At her lack of emotion, I wonder what their marriage was like during the decade of my exile. I wonder if she’ll miss him, or if, like me, maybe she’s the tiniest bit relieved to be free of him.
“But Dad was so healthy,” I counter.
“He was getting older.” She reaches for her cell phone and pulls up a picture of Dad with Amanda. “This was Thanksgiving.”
I pull the phone closer to inspect the photo. His Georgia Tech polo strains across his bulging belly, and his hair is thinning. He adopted a bad comb-over to try and hide it. This man, who is obviously my father, looks nothing like the image I’ve been carrying around in my head. It’s not like he was on Facebook, and no one sent me any family photos to update my mental image. He looks old, like exactly the sort of person who might drop dead of a heart attack.
A knock at the door interrupts our conversation.
“I think it’s one of my friends.” I’ve been inside for over an hour and failed to mention I didn’t come alone.
“I’m not ready for company.” She pats her hair, trying to smooth it down, and pulls her bathrobe even tighter over her already modest nightgown.
“Don’t worry, they’re staying at a hotel. They probably want to make sure I’m alright before heading over there. They’ll only be here a minute.”
Hannah is on my mother’s doorstep, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, still in yesterday’s clothes. “Hi,” she croaks when I open the door. “I’ve really gotta pee.”
I lead Hannah to the downstairs powder room, and wait outside the door while she relieves herself. Even though things have been going well with my mother, a knot in my stomach loosens knowing Hannah is here as backup.
“Do Theo and Priya want to come in, too?” I ask when she emerges from the bathroom, wiping her wet hands on her day-old jeans.
“We were going to go over to the hotel and check in so we can shower and change.” Of course they already missed their reservation last night because I made them sleep in the car.
Ignoring my mother’s wishes I ask, “Maybe you could . . . stay?” I don’t know when she and I might run out of death admin to talk about, and then what?
“We could stay,” Hannah confirms. “I’ll get Theo and Priya.”
Amanda makes an appearance at ten thirty, trudging downstairs on leaden feet. She whines from the kitchen that there’s no coffee left. When no one answers she makes her way back to the family room. “Mom, did you hear me? There’s no coffee.”
When she spots Theo sitting on the overstuffed brown leather sofa, her posture snaps to attention and she whips a hand up to snatch the silk bonnet out of her hair, trying to cover by fluffing her curls.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she says to me in an accusing tone.
“Wow, what a warm welcome,” I quip back.
I stand to go make a fresh pot of coffee so my mother doesn’t have to. As I move to cross the room, Amanda launches herself into my arms and wraps me in a hug so tight I can’t breathe. “I’m glad you came,” she whispers in my ear, her voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t sure you would. But I hoped.”
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