The Home for Wayward Parrots

by Wehm, Darusha;

  Johnny and I drove in together on Saturday afternoon, and I was immediately transported back in time to someone or another’s sixth or seventh birthday party. There was the long rented table with bowls of chips, dips, cookies, chocolates and the pretty superfluous veggie sticks, along with two giant bowls of iced punch. Multicoloured streamers wound through the branches of the trees and along the awning over the deck. There was a whole block’s worth of patio furniture: folding lawn chairs, side tables and even several round tables with umbrellas. Mrs. McKirk could easily have had a career as an events planner. I sometimes forgot that she was a stockbroker.

  There had to be fifty people there already. I recognized a few faces — Mr. and Mrs. Frazier and Johnny’s sister Mary, Mr. and Mrs. Hoeffer, some other people from the neighbourhood who looked familiar but I couldn’t place. The rest of the people were strangers. It wasn’t too surprising. Mrs. McKirk would have invited all her friends, and I wouldn’t have known them twenty years ago, let alone now. Plus there had been the usual amount of turnover in the neighbourhood since I moved out and I hadn’t kept up with the new arrivals.

  Johnny went over to talk to his folks, and I hit up the food table. Laden down with a paper plate of goodies and a cup of punch, I stood by a small table under the shade of a big oak and nibbled and watched. I hadn’t seen either Blair or Angela since I got here, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here. I wondered how they felt about all this hoopla. Judging by the median age of the crowd, it was obvious that this party was really for Mrs. McKirk, not them.

  I was licking spinach and feta dip off my fingers when I felt a sharp poke in my ribs and heard a low voice say, “Hey, Gumbo. Welcome to the circus.”

  I turned and saw Angela half hiding behind me and the tree. She looked good. She had a little belly bulge that I wouldn’t have even noticed if I weren’t looking for it, but otherwise she was her usual wiry bundle of energy.

  “Hi, Ange,” I said. “It’s good to see you. It must be, what ...” I counted mentally, “something like ten years now?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Maybe more. I don’t know if I saw you after I got back from Guatemala.”

  I shrugged. “Hard to say. So, what have you been doing?”

  “Other than being the hapless fool lucky enough to make Carole McKirk’s lifelong dream of becoming a granny come true?” she said, a trace of true meanness in her voice.

  I decided to ignore that. “Yeah, other than that?” I grinned and she smiled too.

  “Well, long story short,” she said, “I worked for Oxfam after Guatemala, then Greenpeace and now I’m the western coordinator for Food Not Bombs.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “They say you get more conservative as you get older, but that’s sure not the way it worked for me. Who knows where I’ll end up next. Running some crypto-anarchist group that doesn’t even have a name, probably.”

  I laughed. “Sounds about right,” I said. “You should either spend a lot more time with Johnny or make sure you never see him again.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  “He’s a Crown prosecutor now,” I said. She laughed. “So, how did you hook up with Blair again?”

  “Again isn’t really the right word,” she said. “We always stayed friends, though we didn’t hang out much in high school. After I got back from Guatemala, we hooked up. He’s a social worker, so we found ourselves together at a lot of political gigs. He asked me out a few times, but I just wasn’t seeing what was in front of me. I mean, we’d been friends forever, so it seemed weird to go on a date with basically your best buddy. But it turned out that he was right. We’re pretty good together and we shacked up something like six or seven years ago. He’d know for sure.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I never saw that coming. You always seemed so, I dunno, self-sufficient.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly the marrying type. But Blair is good for me, we’re a good team. And regardless of his mom, I’m really looking forward to this.” She rubbed her belly and smiled.

  “Well, congratulations,” I said. “To both of you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for giving me a few minutes to hide out. It won’t last forever. Carole’s going to put me on display as soon as she sees me. But it was really good to talk to you again, Gum. We should try to keep it to less than a decade next time.”

  “Yeah,” I said, fishing out my wallet for a business card. I wrote my cell number and email on the back and gave it to her. “Let’s get together sometime — away from all this,” I said, jerking my head back to the yard full of people.

  “I’ll call you,” she said and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “But for now, duty calls.” She squared her shoulders and marched into the fray.

  16

  CLEANING THE KITCHEN

  IT ARRIVED THE WEEK AFTER CAROLE MCKIRK’S party. At first, I didn’t know what it could be. The envelope was cream-coloured, heavy stock with a gold foil seal. It was the kind of thing I imagined the Nobel Prize would come in. It had my name in a fancy font on the front, or I would have thought that there had been a mix-up at the mailboxes.

  Of course, it was the wedding invitation.

  Teresa Jean Frost & Charlotte Hildegard Prokopnik cordially invite you and a guest to help celebrate their marriage

  August 13, 2011, 4:00 p.m.

  There was a stamped RSVP card included with the invitation. It had several options I could tick — Yes, I was attending; No, I wasn’t attending; Yes, I was attending with a guest.

  With a guest. I knew what that meant: a date.

  Maybe it was a sign of the times — fewer people bothering to formalize their relationships, fewer people bothering to settle down at all. Maybe it was a sign of my lack of friends. Whatever the reason, this was the first wedding invitation I’d ever received. I’d been to a wedding before, some distant cousin of Mom’s or something got married when I was a kid and we all went. But I was a kid, and kids get to run around under the tables and sneak sips of wine at weddings. Adults are expected to show up in a nice suit with a nice date. Even I knew that much.

  Maybe I could bring Johnny. Surely a same-sex date would be acceptable at a gay wedding. Or would they be offended, since we’re not actually a couple? And how do you ask that kind of question? Who knew that family would be so complicated?

  I PUT THE INVITATION ASIDE FOR A DAY or two and spent my free time cleaning out my kitchen cupboards. To be honest, it was a little early for that. Kitchen clean-out wasn’t on the schedule until late August, but I needed something to ease my mind, and scrubbing cupboards was a particular balm. I stacked my plates on my small kitchen table and set to work. Vacuum, soapy water, bleach, rinse, dry. The orderly steps calmed me and filled the hour between dinner and DVD time.

  The phone rang while I was kneeling on the countertop and scrubbing the top shelf of the pantry. The obnoxious ringtone I was using that week startled me, and I wanged my head on the roof of the shelf. I slid off the counter, rubbing my sore head, and grabbed for my phone. The caller ID said Kim. I tried to compose myself.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Brian,” she said. “It’s Kim here. How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” I lied, my head throbbing. “And you?”

  “Great,” she said. “Busy as hell with all the wedding stuff, you know how it is.” I made some positive noise and she went on. “That’s why I’m calling. We’re having a rehearsal next weekend and then the usual big family dinner after. I was hoping you’d come for the dinner. And I was also hoping you’d bring your parents. I’d really like to meet them, if that’s all right with you. And with them, too, I guess.” I couldn’t get a word in. I wondered if she was actually nervous. It hadn’t occurred to me that anything could faze her. “I know that some people would find it a bit awkward, so I don’t want them to feel bad if they don’t want to come. But please tell them that we’d all really like it if they could make it. With all the other people
there, I’m hoping they’d feel less conspicuous, but we can do it some other time if they’d rather. It’s just ...”

  I finally just interrupted. “Kim,” I said and she was quiet. “I’ll ask them. I don’t know what they’ll say, but I’ll ask, I promise. Email me the details of the dinner and I’ll let you know what they say, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Thanks, Brian. Oh, and we’re all looking forward to seeing you, too.” She paused for a moment, and I thought I could hear the shuffling of paper. “I don’t think we got your RSVP yet ...”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll send it soon ... I’m coming, I just ...” I took a breath. “I’m not, you know, seeing anyone and I, uh ...”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Kim said. “Just come on your own. You know enough people to get by without needing a date. I’ll just mark you down as a yes. And if things change, don’t worry about it. There’s enough room for an extra person.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling embarrassment flush over me. This was just as bad as talking to Mom.

  THERE WAS A LOT OF NEWS TO PASS ON AT DINNER with the folks on Sunday. I’d somehow neglected to mention the wedding, which took about an hour to explain. “So, Chuck’s a woman?” Mom asked after I thought we’d finally gotten through it all.

  “Yes,” I said, exasperated. “Short for Charlotte. You know, Charlotte, Charlie, Chuck. Her fiancée, Terry, is also a woman. They’re getting married in a few weeks, and I’m going to the wedding. There’s a big dinner next weekend after the rehearsal, and we’re all invited. You, me and Dad. They want to meet you both.”

  “Those things are usually just for family,” Dad said. “It seems weird to be invited to that.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re pretty loose with the definition of family, I think.” I looked at Dad and Mom and was surprised to see them both looking like they didn’t know what to say. “Kim thought that being part of a big group would help — that you’d feel less like you’re on show or something. She’s happy to meet some other time if you’d rather.”

  This information didn’t seem to ease their minds one bit. Finally, Mom said, “This is a lot to digest all at once, Brian. I mean, we always knew that it was possible you’d want to find your birth parents someday. And always, in the back of our minds, we knew that you’d probably meet them and that they might become a part of your life. But I don’t think we ever thought ... I mean, I never thought that they would become part of our lives.” She broke off and looked out the window.

  Dad picked up where she left off. “It’s not that we don’t want to meet them, Gumbo,” he said. “It’s just that it’s tough. We’ve spent all this time being a family, just the three of us; it’s hard to deal with the fact that all of a sudden there’s all these strangers ... It’s just hard to know what to do.”

  “Well, it’s up to you,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and I’m sure no one is trying to make any kind of claim on you, or on me or anything. They’re just curious, is all. Aren’t you curious, too?”

  They looked at each other. “I’ve only ever been grateful to the people who brought you into the world,” Mom said, her eyes wet. “All I’ve ever thought about them was that I was so lucky that they were able to give us the child we wanted so much.”

  “I never wanted to know much about them,” Dad said. “I wanted to get to know you myself, without any of the genetic or sociological baggage that knowing about your birth parents would pile on. So it’s hard, after all these years of just kind of ignoring them, to all of a sudden be forced to recognize that these are real people, real human beings, you know?”

  I nodded. “You don’t need to decide now,” I said. “Just let me know before the day so I can let them know whether to expect you or not.” I knew I should leave it alone, but before I could stop myself I said, “But whether you like it or not, they are my family. It would be nice if you met them.”

  They both looked at me with pained expressions. Mom looked like I’d just slapped her and Dad had his I’m very disappointed in you face on.

  “Family isn’t about genetics, Brian,” Dad said. “I would have thought you’d know that by now. I’m sure they’re lovely people and I’m glad you’re learning about your roots, but don’t be fooled. They may be related to you by blood, but they don’t know you and you don’t know them. They are not ...”

  “Dom,” Mom said, stopping Dad from going on. “You’re going to say something you regret. Brian.” She turned to me. “You’re going to have to give us a little time with this, okay?”

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, getting up. “I’ll clean up.” I picked up the stack of dishes and started to walk into the kitchen with them.

  “No,” she said, and I stopped. “I’ll do it later. You should probably just go now. I’ll call you later in the week, okay?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I left the dishes on the kitchen counter, said goodbye and drove back to my apartment. It was ten after seven, I was thirty years old and it was the first time I’d ever been kicked out of my parents’ house.

  17

  MEET THE PARENTS

  I WAS KNEE DEEP IN A SPEC REPORT for a new repair site on the Malahat when the phone rang. I was expecting Sandeep to call to discuss suppliers, so I just picked up without looking.

  “Hi, Brian,” Dad said. “Is this a good time?”

  “Sure,” I said, though really I was busy. “What’s up?”

  “I, uh,” he said, “I’m sorry for some of the things I said the other day. I was just surprised, and ...”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t mean what I said, either. Not the way it sounded, anyway.” I kept my voice down. It was an open-plan office and I didn’t really want to be having a big personal conversation where anyone could hear.

  “Anyway, your mother and I have decided that we’ll come to this dinner. It’s not going to be easy, but it probably will be less horrible if there’s a lot of other people who don’t know each other there. We’ll manage.”

  I smiled, but tried to keep too much happiness out of my voice. I could tell that they were doing it for me, not because they wanted to. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I’ll let them know. You want to drive out together?”

  “Sure,” he said, sounding a little less miserable. “That would be nice.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you tonight to organize it.”

  “Thanks, Gumbo,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I said, and I almost didn’t care who overheard it.

  “YOU’RE SHITTING ME,” JOHNNY SAID on the phone. “You are not seriously taking your mom and dad to the wedding rehearsal of the daughter of your birth mother. I can’t even believe I just said that sentence. It’s crazy.”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked. “Kim and the rest of them want to meet my parents. Why shouldn’t they?”

  “You are such a moron,” Johnny said. “Honestly, I only ever kind of understood why you’d want to meet your birth parents. I mean, on the face of it, it sounds like the kind of thing that makes sense, but when you really think about it, what’s the point?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What’s the point?’?” I asked, my voice getting louder. “This is my mother and father we’re talking about here.”

  “No, Brian, it isn’t,” Johnny said in what I thought of as his closing arguments voice. “Shirley and Dom are your mother and father. They are the ones who changed your shitty diapers, who watched you take your first step, who took you to emergency that time you fell out of the tree.”

  “That was Angela’s fault ...” I began, but Johnny cut me off.

  “For Christ’s sake, that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said. “I’m talking about who your parents, your real parents, are. Anyone can get knocked up, anyone can have a baby. That doesn’t make you a parent. Being there, loving your kid, that’s what being a parent is. And it seems to me like you’re forgetting that right now.
”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I said.

  “Probably not,” he admitted. “But there’s plenty you’re not understanding, too, that’s a lot more important. Think for a second about what it’s like for them, for Shirley and Dom, while you’re gadding about on this journey of discovery. How do you think this makes them feel, Gum? Maybe you need to spend a little time thinking about that.” He hung up on me and I sat there with the dead phone in my hand for a long time.

  I PICKED UP MOM AND DAD on the way to the Maple Bay Yacht Club where the dinner was being held. Dad folded himself into my small back seat and let Mom sit up front with me. They were both dressed up a little; Mom had even put on makeup. It wasn’t until I saw the red lipstick that I really understood what Johnny was trying to tell me. They reminded me more of teenagers trying to make a good impression on someone’s folks than grown people on a night out. I wondered if I’d made some terrible mistake.

  It seemed like Kim had invited everyone she’d ever met to the dinner. There were more people there than I could possibly meet, and I recognized only a handful of them. When we first walked into the dining room, Mom’s face took on that wary look all cops get when they’re walking into a potentially dangerous unknown situation. Dad just looked like he was going to puke. In a few moments, though, they both calmed down. There was a kind of anonymity in the huge crowd that put us all at ease.

  I was scanning the room for someone to introduce them to when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Rob and Anna standing behind us. “Welcome to the madhouse,” Rob said. “I don’t know what Mom was thinking. This is going to be insane. I just feel bad for Terry.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Because she’s a sweetheart and doesn’t deserve this kind of stress,” he said. My parents had turned toward us now, hearing the sounds of a conversation.