Trudy, Claire, and Mercy were sitting at the kitchen table. It was weekday dinnertime, and Claire was waxing sentimental. “I always thought I would have another baby.”
“Mom. Come on. What are you talking about?”
“I always thought I would have a third baby. A boy. I would have named him Jerome.”
“Like the giraffe!” said Mercy.
Claire laughed. “Yeah, that’s right, Mercy! Just like the giraffe!”
Trudy rolled her eyes. Mercy rolled a meatball back and forth between her fork and knife.
Claire shot a look at Trudy. “It could still happen, you know. I’m not too old.”
“Baby Jerome,” sang Mercy. “Somebody younger than me!”
“He would be your uncle, Mercy. A baby uncle. What do you think of that?”
“That’s funny, Grandma Claire.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” Trudy pushed her chair back from the table. She picked up her plate and walked over to the sink. “This conversation is ridiculous.”
“Why? Because I want something good to happen?” Claire was standing now, arms rigid at her sides. Tears filled her eyes, and she let out a little sob. Startled, Speckles got up from her cushion in the corner of the kitchen and walked over to stand beside Claire. She lifted her big, heavy head and looked from Claire to Trudy still standing by the sink, plate in hand. Mercy put down her fork and knife.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Trudy shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s OK, Grandma. Trudy’s just tired. She doesn’t mean it. You can have a baby if you want to.”
“Oh my god.”
“You can be very cold, Trudy. And you lack imagination. Our lives could be completely different in a couple of years, you never know. You don’t know.” Claire’s chin started to tremble again.
Mercy got up from the table and walked over to her grandmother. “Come on, Grandma Claire. Me and Speckles want to watch TV.” She grabbed Claire’s hand and led her out of the room. She looked back at Trudy and scowled.
Trudy turned her back on them and filled the sink.
For the love of Christ, she thought. Where are the grown-ups?