“Dead?” Oh, what the holy hell? He and Blake had just gotten home—no detention for once, and better than that, he’d sprinted past Blake and gotten to the door first—and there was Mom, home between two of her three jobs, and some strange old lady who was looking at them with a hopeful smile.
“Our father’s dead?” Blake asked, sounding as numb as Rake felt. It was like walking in the door and getting whapped with a pillow full of popcorn. Not painful, but disorienting.
“I’m afraid so, boy.” Mom let go of the back of the kitchen chair and gestured to the old lady. “This is your grandmother, Ruth Tarbell. Ruth, this is—”
“My son’s seed!”
Rake flinched. “Oh, man. Please don’t call us that.” Before he could ask her not to call them anything, really, the old woman had moved
(like a basketball forward! quick, with fast hands)
and pulled him
(ack!)
and Blake
(ack!)
into a hug that smelled like lemon tea.
“Thank God,” she was babbling, and her lipstick was perfect, which was kind of amazing. “Oh thank God. Look at you, so handsome. I haven’t seen you since you were babies, when I made your idiot father— When I was at the wedding.”
Blake was gently trying to get free of her lemony embrace. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m missing b-ball practice for this,” Rake reminded everyone.
After a decade, their fuzzy
(what’s that sweater made of? wool? very soft steel wool?)
grandmother let them go, observing, “You’re surprised.”
“People aren’t usually this happy to meet us,” Blake said. Rake rolled his eyes, because he knew what was coming. “Rake is terrible.”
He flipped him off, low and quick, so the other two wouldn’t see. “Blow it out your butt sideways, Blake. Um, Mom, are you…” Then he took another look and went over and put his arm around her. “Um, I know you guys were technically married, and it’s okay to be sad. And it’s okay not to be sad. Right, Blake? That’s okay?” Blake was way better with the whole “this is socially acceptable, that is not” thing.
“Of course.”
“See, Mom? Blake’s all ‘it’s cool.’ So if you’re sad—”
“I am fine, Rake.” Then to their—this would take some getting used to—grandmother: “Thank you. Mrs. Tarbell—”
“Ruth, darling.”
“—was telling me about your father’s will. It seems…” She paused, took a breath. Let it out slowly. “It seems he left us some money.”
“Oh.” Blake looked cautiously hopeful, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why: Blake balanced the family checkbook, and they both knew any amount of money would be great. Their mom not only worked hard; she wouldn’t let either of them get jobs to help. If their newly dead old man left them a few hundred bucks, that was great. More? That’d be more great.
“Look, you don’t expect us to cry or anything, right?” Rake said to his, err, grandma. He stuck to his mom’s side like a sweaty barnacle. “I mean, we get how you’d be upset, but we’re kind of not.” Okay, maybe that’s a little heartless. Try again. “Because he never visited. We didn’t know him. I mean, we’re sorry for you, Mrs. Tar—”
“Please don’t call me that,” she interrupted. She didn’t sound mad or anything, which was good. “Ruth, if you like. Nonna, if you want to know my preference.”
“Italian for grandmother,” Blake spoke up. Rake instantly decided to learn Italian so that stupid Blake couldn’t show him up in front of his new grandma again.
Nonna Tarbell gave Blake a great big smile. “Clever, clever boy.”
Rake managed not to roll his eyes. “Oh, gross.”
“God, you’re both his very image.” Then—No!—Nonna’s eyes got brighter. Or just wetter. Please let it be allergies! No tears! No little old ladies crying in their kitchen! Luckily, she recovered, which is when Rake started to like her. She never lost her smile, either; it seemed she really was happy to meet them. Rake was old enough to know that not everyone had a positive reaction to the news that they had bastard grandchildren. “I’m told you have your mother’s brains.” Pause. Her smile got even bigger. “Thank the Lord.”
“Yep, praise Jesus and all that…” Grandmas were usually religious, right? Ugh, she wasn’t going to insist they go to church while she was in town, was she? Their mother would shit. “So what’d he leave us?”
Their mother gave him a look. “Rake.” Ulp. Time to hand off the rest of the chitchat to Blake.
Then (amazing! miraculous! a dead dad, a live grandmother, outracing Blake, Blake sticking up for him—what a day!) Blake actually took his side.
“It’s a fair question, Mom. Nonna wouldn’t have come all this way for no good reason.”
“Everything” was the stunned response. “He left you everything.”