Mari!” A chorus of one word—my name—rings loudly in my ear. I have fallen asleep at the dining table and can barely rouse to consciousness even with the earsplitting vocal alarm.
“What time is it?” I wipe a bit of spittle from the corner of my mouth and “Uncle” Marcus takes a picture of the awakening grouchy woman.
I punch his arm hard. Angelica would be proud.
“See, what’d I tell you?” Marcus shouts to the gathering of kids who stand behind him trying to get a look at me. “Well, maybe she is petite, but I was right about the angry part!”
My heart is still racing. I am unable to defend myself in the moment. This seems to be the reaction Marcus was hoping for. He winks at me and leads the kids in a dinnertime hand-washing-and-food-preparation drill while I struggle to my feet too slowly to regain my composure.
Just what I needed—to start off feeling like the loser girl.
I am weary and feeling tousled in general, but instead of doing what I want, which is run and hide, I decide to step in line and find my place in the dinner routine. Marcus calls out orders for the color-named teams. Red team prepares vegetables, blue team breads the chicken for frying, the white team scoops up portions of potato salad from an industrial-sized container, and the green team sets the table.
Since the long, narrow kitchen space is filled with teens, I opt to be green. Thankfully the silverware is in the same oak buffet in the corner. Turns out Matty is green; I follow him as he sets mats at each place setting. Every couple paces he looks back to see if I am still following. I think I am growing on him.
The sounds of this chaos are stimulating and relaxing, like surprisingly rhythmic white noise. Matty and I finish our task facing the soda fountain bar, which divides our area from the kitchen. “Hey, Matt. Could you tell me everybody’s name?”
He considers this. I can almost see the rule about not talking to strangers flashing behind his blue eyes.
“I was the one who was supposed to be here when you got home from school. I’m sorry I was late. And I’m not just a friend of your housefolks, I am their daughter. I grew up here. We have something in common.” I motion between us, drawing an invisible thread from his heart to mine and back again.
His hand goes to his chin in a very adult gesture of contemplation as he thinks it over. “Left to right—Tara, Jon, Liz, Camden, Elsa, Grant, Josiah, Lou…”
“Lou?”
“Short for Louise. Katie, Alf—short for Alfred, Ben, and the little guy on the end is Wallace.”
“When I was here the girls outnumbered the boys. Good thing I came.” I give myself a reason to feel good about being here, even if nobody else will.
“Music. Music. Music.” Red team refuses to cut one more carrot until Marcus approves stereo usage.
His walk over to the sound system involves passing by me. I have not made eye contact with him yet, and I hope to keep up the avoidance. During my last visit here, Marcus mentioned having feelings for me, or at least the hope of developing feelings. I want to make it clear why I am here. For the sake of my parents and the kids, nothing else.
“Our special guest will make the music selection for this evening.” Marcus comes behind me and pulls me by my shirt until I am standing next to the rather large collection of CDs.
A large groan comes from the kitchen.
“Order in the galley,” Marcus hollers back.
I play up the importance and pressure of the decision by pacing along the bookshelf containing the music options. The kids stand watching me, grimacing as they anticipate some oldie from way back in the eighties or something equally disgusting. I break my initial rule and look to Marcus for a clue, but he looks past me and shakes his head no. I notice a few CDs are sticking out a bit from the shelf as though someone quickly put them back after use. I reach for one of these.
When U2 comes blaring out of the stereo the restless cooks send up a cheer. I even get a high five from Matty. The ice is broken, and I am no longer staring in from the outside. I know there is a long way to go before I am accepted as part of the group. Many times I watched a new child enter this home, uncertain and worried. The boys often acted tough and insensitive, the girls often shy or nervous. Always it took time before they became themselves among the brood.
The ring of the bell attached to the front door announces the arrival of my parents. I watch my mother’s eyes light up with joy as she sees the kids in motion, working together and creating a meal. Before she can notice me, standing in the corner, I notice Dad following behind her. His face is hollow and narrow. Even the smile which reflects his pleasure in the scene before him does not reflect the sparkle it once did. My news of his illness has been so recent I had not expected to see such a frail person.
Marcus notices my expression. He gives my elbow a squeeze of support. And as he does, my parents scan the room and rest their eyes on me. They rush over to give me a hug. My arms can practically reach around the both of them.
“Yeehaw! We are thrilled you are here. Hey, kids,” Dad shouts, his voice a bit strained, “this is our daughter, Mari. She’s the one who insisted I build that clubhouse out back.”
“And the library slash phone closet upstairs,” Marcus adds, laughing.
I notice Lou, Elsa, and Ben clap. Looks of recognition and appreciation cross the faces of the others. Wallace walks over to me shyly. “Are you the Mari who invented the poetry pizza night?”
I lean over to look him in the eye. “That’s me. Do you enjoy the pizza?”
He nods earnestly, shaking his black curls. “Yeah, but mostly the poetry.”
Mom kisses Wallace’s forehead and looks pleasantly surprised by his social interaction with me.
Dinner is just like old times. The chaos doesn’t bother me. I actually enjoy the experience when there isn’t attention on what I am eating. If Beau could see me here, with these kids devouring platters full of food, he would laugh at how similarly we all eat—quickly and as much as possible.
I find myself looking at Dad often, trying to readjust my sense of him and his health. They reported that today’s doctor’s visit was a positive one. If Dad follows his diet and medication plan, his recovery will be surprisingly fast. Periodically, Mom will check his plate to be sure only baked chicken is resting next to his salad.
Before the strawberry shortcake is brought out by the blue team, Marcus stands on the fourth stair leading up to the bedrooms. “Since the green team got to make the music selection, they also have kitchen cleanup.”
There is a groan, and this time I am joining in. It isn’t easy being green. But for a moment, I have high hopes of spending this visit home being me.