without energy or malice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lasagna please.”
I cut off another forkful and served it up. “Try to be nice,” I said to no one in particular.
“There is such a thing as an educated guess,” my mother said in her best schoolteacher-patiently-explaining voice. “I know why you fell in the past and I think it’s a fairly safe assumption why you fell this time.”
“You barely knew me fifty years ago. You couldn’t presume to know a thing about me now. Though I have to say you are in every sense remarkably unchanged.” My father looked around, glancing over his shoulder to the kitchen door. Maybe he had figured coming here wasn’t his best idea. I wondered if he was planning on making a run for it. “You would think that Sam would be back by now.”
“Dad never goes anyplace in a straight line,” Camille said. “He’s probably wandered off to look for a magazine or something.”
“Need that drink now?” my mother said in a nasty tone.
My father’s head snapped around and he looked at her with such vicious focus and clarity, I felt quite certain his eyesight was still good. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, of course. You know where it is, don’t you? Let me show you where it is.”
Now my father sighed with what I could only assume was exasperation with me. “I need some help.” He enunciated every word so clearly that they hardly fit together as a sentence.
“I bet Dad’s going to be back any minute,” Camille said quietly.
My father tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor in lieu of being able to tap his finger on the table the way he meant to. “It’s one of the many inconveniences of growing old. There is less time to wait.”
We all looked at each other for a minute.
It was a moment that most children of aging parents get to and maybe I was getting there a little earlier than some other people, but that was all right, right? Sooner or later there would be this moment, and if it was now, then there was nothing to do but step up to the plate. I did not put myself inside a cake. I didn’t want to bring the cake into this. “Well, okay then,” I said. “Let’s go.”
My mother stood up. “No.”
“Mother, please, let’s not make this—”
“I’m not going to have you touching your father’s penis.”
“Hollis, for God’s sake,” my father said.
“I have homework,” Camille said, and with that she stood up and left the room without the slightest hint of a good-bye.
“Come on, Dad.” I pulled out my father’s chair and helped him up. My mother came around and put a firm hand on his upper arm.
“I’m not kidding,” she said.
“So your final moral triumph is going to be to see me piss myself on the kitchen floor?”
“Shut up,” my mother said, and started to steer my father away from me.
“You’re taking him?” I said.
“I’m sure this will come as a great surprise to you, but I have seen your father’s penis before, and as much as I had looked forward to spending the rest of my days without ever seeing it again, it looks like I’m not going to be that fortunate.”
While I waited for my father to object, a look of such pure gratitude came across his face that I realized how close he had come to the biggest humiliation of his already humiliating day. Together my parents toddled off, arm in arm, toward the bathroom.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING I UNPACKED MY FATHER’S suitcases while he sat on Wyatt’s bed and watched me.
“I’ve checked into a lot of hotels in my day and I’ve never once watched somebody else unpack my bags.” My father’s face was fixed in an expression of pure pleasure. Looking only at his face, a person would never know he had steel rods driven through his arms. “I went to Japan once, and the bellboy opened the bags up for me. Looked to me like he meant to unpack them, but I thought then I’d owe him one hell of a tip, so I shooed him
I cut off another forkful and served it up. “Try to be nice,” I said to no one in particular.
“There is such a thing as an educated guess,” my mother said in her best schoolteacher-patiently-explaining voice. “I know why you fell in the past and I think it’s a fairly safe assumption why you fell this time.”
“You barely knew me fifty years ago. You couldn’t presume to know a thing about me now. Though I have to say you are in every sense remarkably unchanged.” My father looked around, glancing over his shoulder to the kitchen door. Maybe he had figured coming here wasn’t his best idea. I wondered if he was planning on making a run for it. “You would think that Sam would be back by now.”
“Dad never goes anyplace in a straight line,” Camille said. “He’s probably wandered off to look for a magazine or something.”
“Need that drink now?” my mother said in a nasty tone.
My father’s head snapped around and he looked at her with such vicious focus and clarity, I felt quite certain his eyesight was still good. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, of course. You know where it is, don’t you? Let me show you where it is.”
Now my father sighed with what I could only assume was exasperation with me. “I need some help.” He enunciated every word so clearly that they hardly fit together as a sentence.
“I bet Dad’s going to be back any minute,” Camille said quietly.
My father tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor in lieu of being able to tap his finger on the table the way he meant to. “It’s one of the many inconveniences of growing old. There is less time to wait.”
We all looked at each other for a minute.
It was a moment that most children of aging parents get to and maybe I was getting there a little earlier than some other people, but that was all right, right? Sooner or later there would be this moment, and if it was now, then there was nothing to do but step up to the plate. I did not put myself inside a cake. I didn’t want to bring the cake into this. “Well, okay then,” I said. “Let’s go.”
My mother stood up. “No.”
“Mother, please, let’s not make this—”
“I’m not going to have you touching your father’s penis.”
“Hollis, for God’s sake,” my father said.
“I have homework,” Camille said, and with that she stood up and left the room without the slightest hint of a good-bye.
“Come on, Dad.” I pulled out my father’s chair and helped him up. My mother came around and put a firm hand on his upper arm.
“I’m not kidding,” she said.
“So your final moral triumph is going to be to see me piss myself on the kitchen floor?”
“Shut up,” my mother said, and started to steer my father away from me.
“You’re taking him?” I said.
“I’m sure this will come as a great surprise to you, but I have seen your father’s penis before, and as much as I had looked forward to spending the rest of my days without ever seeing it again, it looks like I’m not going to be that fortunate.”
While I waited for my father to object, a look of such pure gratitude came across his face that I realized how close he had come to the biggest humiliation of his already humiliating day. Together my parents toddled off, arm in arm, toward the bathroom.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING I UNPACKED MY FATHER’S suitcases while he sat on Wyatt’s bed and watched me.
“I’ve checked into a lot of hotels in my day and I’ve never once watched somebody else unpack my bags.” My father’s face was fixed in an expression of pure pleasure. Looking only at his face, a person would never know he had steel rods driven through his arms. “I went to Japan once, and the bellboy opened the bags up for me. Looked to me like he meant to unpack them, but I thought then I’d owe him one hell of a tip, so I shooed him
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