He looked up at Clare. He turned the phone so she could read it. She read it. Her eyes filled again and this time just this once one spilled over. She laughed at herself immediately, wiped it with the back of her hand.
God, she said he's 12. He's too smart for his own good, Marcus said. Tell him, she stopped, gathered herself. Tell him yes. Marcus typed.
She says yes. Darius texted back one word. Just Marcus set the phone down. He looked at Clare. She looked at him and for a moment neither of them spoke because some moments are complete without words.
And this was one of them. This ordinary extraordinary moment in a kitchen in November with tea going cold and the porch light on and everything that had been broken between them and within them sitting quietly now. Held managed. Survivable. Better than survivable.
Real and the light outside burned on through the dark steady amber. Faithful, no longer a vigil, no longer a grief, no longer a door held open for someone who was not coming back. It was a welcome now for someone who was already here. Thanksgiving came on a Thursday, the way it always does with no regard for how ready anyone is. Marcus had been cooking since 6:00 in the morning, not because the food required it.
He was making a turkey, cornbread dressing, collard greens, and sweet potatoes. None of which needed 6 hours, but because cooking was the thing he did when he needed something to do with his hands, while his mind worked through something larger than he wanted to sit still with, Darius came downstairs at 7:30 and stopped in the kitchen doorway and assessed the situation. "You're nervous," he said. "I'm cooking," Marcus said. You're nervous and cooking, Darius said.
You've checked the turkey four times in an hour. I heard the oven. Marcus didn't answer. Darius got himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table and watched his father move around the kitchen with the particular stillness of a kid who understands that the best thing he can do right now is be present without requiring anything. After a few minutes, he said, "Is it because of Miss Clare or because of Aunt Kesha?"
Marcus stopped, turned around. Both he said honestly. Darius nodded like this confirmed something. Aunt Kesha will be fine. He said she just needs to meet her.
You sound very confident about that. I've seen how Miss Clare talks to people. Darius said she listens. Aunt Kesha just needs to feel heard. He ate a spoonful of cereal.
I'm not worried. Marcus looked at his son for a moment. When did you get this wise? He said, I've been paying attention, Darius said. You taught me that.