A wise man once told me that everything changes. He’s gone now, but his spirit lives on in the evolving patterns of our family life. Today is our second ever Walsh Family Sunday brunch. Jeremy and Fleur are back together, so last month we met at their new house in Pullman. But this month it’s my turn. Hunter and I have been cooking all morning, and we couldn’t be prouder to play our part in maintaining the tradition Dad started all of those years ago.
In the end, we sold Dad’s house—it was much harder to justify keeping a connection to it once we’d completely cleared it out. Besides, Jeremy decided that he wanted his share of what was left after Dad’s care fees for a deposit, so that he could set up his own nest with Fleur. Not one of us could have begrudged him that.
It’s a beautiful spring morning outside—the air still bitter, but the sunshine gloriously bright. Outside, Ruth’s kids are playing tag, and from Hunter’s arms Noah is watching his older cousins make mischief—one of his favorite things to do. The rest of us—the sensible ones—are all enjoying the relative warmth of my living room.
There’s change everywhere I look these days. It might still be cold outside, but emotionally, my family has marched into spring.
“I think this brunch arrangement is going to be good for us,” Ruth murmurs, walking up to hand me a glass of champagne. Family brunch will happen once a month now, and it will rotate through each of our homes. I’m relieved that something of our old tradition exists, less worried now that I’ll drift apart from my brothers. Jez set up email accounts for us all, and between those messages and phone calls, we’re still in reasonably frequent contact.
“Yes, I think it’s going to be great,” I agree, knocking my glass against Ruth’s. “We only have to cook and clean up once every five months.”
Ruth grins and sips at her champagne.
“I already miss drinking,” Fleur sighs beside us. Jeremy slides his hands around her waist and pats her nonexistent belly as he grins. “Only eight months to go!”
“It’ll be over before you know it,” I tell them, and I mean it. Time flies by so fast at the best of times, somehow even more so when there’s a baby involved. Then again, my experience has hardly been typical. My first five months of parenthood were, in hindsight, something close to hell, and I’ve spent the past few months focusing on getting better. I still see a therapist every week, and once we got the dose right, Prozac has made a world of difference to my life and my parenting. Just like Grace once said, the dawn has come and the night is fading. It’s fair to say that accepting the help I needed to get through that stage of my life completely changed my relationship with my son.
“Here’s Mommy,” I hear Hunter say from the doorway, and then my boys are approaching me—both sets of cheeks rosy from the cold, both of them beaming big, cheeky grins. My heart just about melts whenever Noah’s face lights up like this, especially when I know that enormous smile is just because he’s seen me. It hasn’t been an easy road from where I was months ago to where I am now, but I’d walk it again in a heartbeat to be able to wake every day and enjoy the way this gorgeous, cheeky face beams at me.
“Maryanne’s here,” Hunter tells me, as I take Noah from his arms.
“Where is she?” I ask, peering back toward the door.
“She’s playing chase with the boys.”
“Seriously?” I say, then I pass Noah right back to Hunter and Ruth, Jeremy, Fleur and I all bolt for the window, catching sight of my senior citizen aunt just as she tackles Andrew, who is laughing so hard he’s almost in tears.
“Should I go out there and tell them all to calm down a bit?” Ruth asks uncertainly. “I’d hate for her to get hurt.”
“I think we all know Maryanne can take care of herself,” I say wryly. She playfully tickles Andrew one last time, then rises and dusts off her black dress pants and sweater, before smoothing over her hair and carefully rearranging her fuchsia scarf. She sees us watching through the window and flashes us a wink.
Tim and Alicia arrive last. He’s come straight from a night shift, and there are shadows beneath his eyes and a scruff on his cheeks. He scoops up a handful of crackers from Fleur’s cheese platter before he approaches us. There’s a manila folder tucked under his arm, but that’s not what we’re all staring at.
“Timothy Walsh, are there blond tips in your hair?” Ruth asks, eyes wide.
“That was my idea. They look amazing, don’t they?” Alicia interjects, and Ruth and I both tense with the effort it takes not to laugh.
“I think he looks younger,” I force myself to say.
“I think they really suit you,” Ruth says in an admirable attempt at politeness.
“Timothy, they do not look ridiculous, and you definitely do not look like a forty-three-four-old man fighting off his midlife crisis,” Jeremy says, and Ruth and I thump him. Alicia laughs, then rolls her eyes. These days she gives as good as she gets—and I know part of the reason why she’s so much more relaxed around us is that we’re all making an effort to include her, even in the good-natured ribbing.
Right on cue, she raises her eyebrows at Jeremy, and says drily, “We’ll all come to you for fashion advice, Professor Walsh, when you manage to buy an item of clothing that’s not brown or beige.”
“Those colors bring out the sparkle in my eyes,” Jeremy says defensively. “Fleur always says so, don’t you, honey?”
Fleur grimaces, and we all laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Maryanne asks.
“Just our usual childish banter,” I tell her.
“In that case, I’m sad to have missed it. How is everyone?” Maryanne moves around the circle of my siblings and their spouses, planting a quick kiss on each of our cheeks, then slips right into the group. We’ve come a long way since that awkward dinner at Dad’s place last year. Maryanne is as much a part of this family now as I am.
“Let’s get the kids settled and take a seat,” Tim says. “There’s something I want to show you all.”
Ruth and Ellis set their boys in front of the television while I fix a bottle for Noah, then the adults of the family meet back at my dining room table. I’ve made Dad’s apple cake for dessert, and the air is heavy with cinnamon and apple. Between the noise and the crowd and the scent of that cake, it feels like Dad’s spirit is alive in this house today, and I love it.
Hunter and Maryanne playfully fight over who’s going to feed Noah, but inevitably she wins, and she grins at me as she sits down to give my son his formula. Noah is old enough to hold the bottle himself these days, but he seems delighted to lie back and let Maryanne feed him instead. I chuckle at the blissed out look on his face as he nestles into her and starts to gulp, then chuckle again at the matching look of contentment on Maryanne’s face as she stares down at him.
Tim opens the manila folder, revealing a thick stack of bank statements. He’s highlighted some lines and Post-its are attached to some of the pages. Tim smooths his hand over the papers, then pushes the folder into the middle of the table.
“You can look through this yourselves if you’re interested in the details, but I wanted to let you know that I found out where Dad’s money went.”
“Oh, God,” Jez groans. “I’m scared to ask.”
“No need to be scared,” Tim says, then he smiles. “He donated it. All of it, it would seem—to Planned Parenthood. There were small amounts going back as far as I could find, but since he retired, more and more money every year.”
“Wow. That’s so sweet,” Ruth says, eyes wide.
“Wait—do you think this means he felt guilty for all of those decades? Was he trying to make atonement for what happened to Mom?” Jeremy asks, frowning.
I shake my head.
“You read the notes. He probably did feel guilty, but I don’t think that defined his life, and I don’t think that’s what this is about. I have a feeling that these donations were Dad’s way of honoring Mom, and his way of quietly trying to make things better. For us...and for all of the women who come after her.”
Maryanne looks up at me, and a gentle smile transforms her features. In this woman, I’ve found my mother—not just because of my childhood memories of her or because she can share her own memories of Grace with me, but because of who she is to me now. She’s a living example of the kind of bold, brave woman I want to be.
“A beautiful gesture,” Maryanne murmurs now. “From a beautiful man.”
“I miss him,” Ruth says softly. There are quiet murmurs of agreement from around the table.
“Everything changes,” Tim says quietly.
“You’re right about that. The whole family changed this year,” Jeremy remarks.
“But can you imagine us any other way now?” I ask, and one by one, they all shake their heads.
If there’s one thing I’m sure of these days, it’s this: our chaotic, quirky family was built with love, and whatever comes next for us, that love will continue to grow.
That’s the way Dad raised us, and I like to think that somehow, he knows we’re continuing on in his honor.