Flesh and Blood

by Allison Hobbs

  “What I mean is I don’t have to study to get good grades. I have a photographic memory, and whatever we cover in class, I automatically remember. That’s how I nail all my tests.”

  “Photographic memory. Wow, that’s impressive. When I was in school, I had to cram hard for every test.”

  “I guess I didn’t get that genetic gift from you, Malik.” He shook his head as if only losers had to study for tests.

  “No, apparently you didn’t get that ability from me,” I said with a chuckle.

  His youthful appearance was misleading. Phoenix was at the maturity level of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old—at least. He was confident and conversed with ease, and I liked the amiable personality he revealed when his mother wasn’t around.

  The atmosphere was less intense without Elle’s anxious energy added to it. It was easier for us to break the ice and communicate when we weren’t being observed by a third party.

  Over the course of the next three hours that I spent with my son, I discovered numerous behavioral traits we had in common. Like me, he preferred Little Caesars to Domino’s. His handwriting was as jagged and unattractive as mine. We shared the habit of chewing on our middle fingernail when we were in deep thought.

  I learned that we were both Marvel super fans, and I told Phoenix that one of my secret wishes was to attend a thirty-hour Marvel marathon where twelve or so previous films in the Marvel Cinematic Universe were screened one after another, followed by the latest Marvel release.

  “Yeah, only serious fans could endure a Marvel marathon. That’s something we should do together one day.”

  “I’d like that, Phoenix.” I wanted to call him “son.” It was on the tip of my tongue, but realizing it was too soon to use a term that described a familial relationship, I restrained myself.

  “What’s your secret fear?” Phoenix asked, giggling in a playful sinister way as he raised his eyebrows up and down mysteriously.

  “My fears?” I shrugged and shook my head.

  “Yeah, everyone is afraid of something. Snakes, spiders, heights. You can be straight with me, Malik.”

  I thought about his question, and while I was considering my response, I noticed we were both nibbling on our middle fingernail at the same time.

  “I suppose I’ve periodically experienced glossophobia.”

  “Glossophobia? What’s that?”

  “The fear of public speaking. It’s weird, but I can go on and on when I’m speaking to a small group, but put me in front of a large audience and I freeze up. How are you with public speaking?”

  “It’s a breeze for me; I love doing presentations at school. But lately, my greatest fear has been that I’ll go bald. That’s why I wear my hair cut low…for practice, you know,” Phoenix said as he smoothed a hand over his buzz cut.

  “Why do you fear going bald?”

  “Well, the top of my dad’s head is almost entirely bald, and up until the time I found out he wasn’t my real dad, I thought it would happen to me, too.” He eyed my full head of hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. “It’s a relief to know that I’ll keep all my hair when I get older. I’m sure I’ll be able to deal with a little premature graying.”

  “Wait! Your dad is bald?” I couldn’t keep the delight out of my voice. Although I had much respect for Everett for stepping up to the plate when I couldn’t, I was only human and still harbored feelings of resentment toward him.

  “By the way, I know you took swim classes when you were much younger; did you become a world-class swimmer?” I asked, thinking back to those videos of Phoenix that I used to watch on Everett’s Facebook page.

  He furrowed his brows. “Did my mom mention that I used to take swimming classes?”

  “No. I used to cyberstalk your parents’ social media pages to watch your development.”

  “Used to? Meaning you stopped at some point?”

  “Yeah, I forced myself to stop because not being in your life was painful, and watching you from afar only increased my sense of helplessness.”

  I thought about telling him that I’d been close to kidnapping him when he was three, but that was too much information. “Tell me about your fancy French school,” I said, switching the topic.

  He responded by showing off his fluent French, and I didn’t understand a word he said.

  “You’d think I’d be able to pick out a few words since my wife, Sasha, speaks French, but I never tried to learn. Our daughter…”

  “You have another kid?” Phoenix blurted.

  “I adopted her. Her name is Zoe. She’s Sasha’s biological daughter, but I love her like my own,” I said, watching him closely and trying to get an idea of how he felt about having a stepsister. But his expression was unreadable.

  “How old is she?” he asked, still maintaining a blank expression.

  “She’s nine, and the funny thing is Sasha has been speaking to her in French since Zoe was a baby, and although Zoe can understand the language, she can’t speak it. Isn’t that weird?”

  “Not really. Zoe’s immersed in American culture, and there’s no reason for her to bother learning to speak a foreign language. I still haven’t figured out how speaking French is going to enhance my life, here in the States.”

  “I suppose your parents wanted you to be well rounded. It’s always beneficial to speak another language. It’ll definitely look good on your college applications,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

  One of Phoenix’s counselors came to the activity room to let us know that it was dinnertime, and I was welcome to join Phoenix for dinner. I wanted to join him, but I didn’t want to wear out my welcome, and so I looked at him questioningly.

  “Pizza’s on the menu, Malik. It can’t compare to Little Caesars, but it’s palatable.” He flashed me an inviting smile and it warmed my heart.

  In that moment, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than share a slice of institutional pizza with my newfound son.

  After dinner, Elle and Everett came to the hospital to participate in a family therapy session that included the four of us. As I shook hands with Everett, I noticed Phoenix making a face and furtively cutting his eyes toward Everett’s shiny, bald dome. It was hard not to burst out laughing, but somehow I managed to keep a straight face.

  My son and I were bonding quickly, and it felt amazing.

  CHAPTER 12

  At the end of the week, before leaving Philadelphia, I paid a visit to my parents.

  Aside from them both being completely gray, they hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen them during the Christmas holidays six years ago. The healthy diet they adhered to seemed to be working. They looked great. My father’s olive complexion was smooth and unwrinkled, and my mother’s coffee-colored skin contrasted well with her glistening silver hair. To keep fit, my father walked five miles a day and my mother practiced yoga at a senior center. In their mid-sixties, they both maintained full-time jobs, determined not to retire or collect social security until they reached age seventy.

  Recalling my last visit home put a bad taste in my mouth. Zoe was three years old at the time and I wanted her to experience winter weather, particularly snow. I also wanted her to get to know her step-grandparents, but they were so lukewarm toward Zoe, Sasha felt offended. She vowed never to visit them again and I supported her decision and stayed away as well.

  But here I was, standing in their living room, and telling them I had some important news to share.

  “I think you both should sit down,” I suggested.

  “If this is bad news, I’d rather take it standing,” my father grumbled, stubbornly folding his arms as he stood near the staircase, as if prepared to bolt up the stairs if I said something he didn’t want to hear.

  My mother took a seat on the sofa. “What’s this about, Malik? Does it have something to do with Elle calling last week to get your number? And now you turn up…what a coincidence. Have you two decided to get back toge
ther?”

  “It’s a little late for that,” my father chimed in. “She’s married with a child and you’re married with a stepchild.”

  “Believe me, Elle and I are not having an affair,” I said.

  My mother peered at me through the tortoise shell glasses that were perched on her nose. “When are you and Sasha going to have a child? Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, and we’d like to experience being grandparents before we depart this Earth.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Is Sasha pregnant?” my dad asked hopefully.

  “No, but I wanted to tell you that you’re already grandparents. Elle’s son, Phoenix, is also my son.”

  “What are you saying, Malik?” My father gazed at me confusedly.

  My mother briskly patted the empty space next to her. “You’d better sit down, Winston.”

  Taking her advice, my father flopped down next to her. Sitting together, my parents held hands as they stared at me, waiting for me to provide an explanation for my earth-shattering news.

  “Elle got pregnant around the time that I overdosed. When I was in prison…”

  At the word, prison, my mother breathed out a loud sigh, one hand fretfully twisting a lock of her silvery hair.

  “Elle came to see me when she was seven months pregnant and told me she was getting married. I let her talk me into signing over my rights to our child.”

  My father reared back and gave me a look of disdain. “Why would you do something like that, son?”

  “Under the circumstances, I felt like I was doing what was best for the baby.”

  My mother pulled off her eyeglasses, something she did when she was upset. “So, let me get this straight…we’ve been grandparents all these years, with a grandchild who lived nearby, and you didn’t think we had a right to know?”

  She pressed four fingers against her forehead and rubbed circularly. “This can’t be true. All these years we’ve been yearning for a grandchild and we had one all along. Yet we weren’t even allowed to meet him. How old is the child—about eleven or twelve?”

  “He’s thirteen.”

  She dropped her head in her hand briefly and when she looked back up, there was anger in her eyes. “You waited until the child was practically grown before you decided to tell us that he existed.” She gawked at me and then turned her incredulous gaze toward my father. “Can you believe this, Winston?”

  “No, Ruth Ann, I cannot believe that our son would deprive us the right to be grandparents for all these years.” He leaned forward. “Let me make sure I have a clear understanding of all this. You let another man raise your son while you were off raising someone else’s daughter. What kind of cockamamy nonsense is this, Malik?”

  “Mom! Dad! I came to Philly to spend time with my son—to officially meet him for the first time. But he’s not doing well right now, and I—”

  “What do you mean he’s not doing well? What’s wrong? Is he sick?”

  “It’s a long story, but he only recently found out that Elle’s husband is not his biological father, and he’s having a tough time dealing with it. I’d like for you to establish a relationship with Phoenix, but not right now.”

  “Then, when? Don’t you think thirteen years is a long enough wait?” my mother asked.

  I had no intention of telling them about Phoenix’s suicide attempt and thirty-day hospital stay. I didn’t think they could handle it. “He’s going to therapy and his doctor says he needs about a month to process everything. Phoenix thought that Everett’s parents were his grandparents, so he’s going to need about a month before he’s ready to meet you two. Are you okay with that, Mom and Dad?”

  My mother’s expression softened. “Of course we are. Do you have a picture of our grandson?”

  I took my phone out of my pocket and pulled up a picture of Phoenix that I’d taken the other day. He was holding a ping-pong paddle in the activity room and there were no telltale signs that he was in the mental unit of a hospital. The picture could have been taken at school, at a rec center, or anywhere.

  “This is your grandson, Phoenix,” I said, handing the phone over to my mother.

  “Oh, my God, look at him. What a handsome boy. He’s the spitting image of you, Malik.”

  “I know,” I said proudly.

  “And I see a little bit of Winston in the way he’s standing,” she added.

  “Really?” My father took the phone from my mother and scrutinized the picture. “He sure is a handsome boy, and he has your mouth, Ruth Ann.” He took on a sudden stern expression and said, “Did you get a DNA test done?”

  “No.”

  He burst out laughing. “It doesn’t matter; you don’t need one. If that boy isn’t your own flesh and blood, then I don’t who is.” He peered at the photo again. “Look at him! He’s you all over again at that age, only you were a little taller.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t get the growth spurt yet, but I told him that it’s coming,” I said gaily.

  The tension in my parents’ household had lifted. All of their pent-up resentment and disappointment seemed to dissipate with the glimpse of their grandson. Seeing them happy made me happy, and I was finally able to forgive them for treating Zoe so coldly. I couldn’t force them to love her, and with the way Sasha and I poured our love on her, she wasn’t missing anything.

  “Let me send a copy of this pic to your phones,” I said, retrieving my phone from my father’s hand. “Elle is going to send you guys a ton of pictures of Phoenix over the years. I gave her your email address, Mom, so be on the lookout for an email from her.”

  I sent the picture to their phones. My father pulled his phone from his pocket, and my mother bustled to the dining room to get her phone that was plugged in and charging at an outlet.

  The smiles on their faces put a smile in my heart. It was a shame that it took Phoenix’s near-death experience to bring our family back together.

  Now I had to get back to Arizona and make sure that my marriage was intact.

  • • •

  At the airport, Sasha and Zoe stood near the baggage claim area, waiting for me. I saw them before they noticed me and drank in the lovely sight of them. I’d never been away from my girls for longer than an overnight business trip and hopefully, I’d never have to leave them again.

  As I grew closer, Sasha saw me and broke into a smile. “There he is,” she said, nudging Zoe.

  Thrilled to see me, Zoe ran toward me. “Daddy!” She leapt into my arms, her long legs wrapping around me as she hugged me tightly.

  Sasha joined us in a family embrace, and I felt like the luckiest man in the world. I was completely at peace with everyone who was important to me: my parents, my son, and my wife and daughter.

  During the ride home, Sasha quietly concentrated on driving while Zoe excitedly filled me in on all the adventures I’d missed at the Grand Canyon.

  “We have to go back next year, Daddy.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  “Do you promise?” Zoe asked, aware that it took years to pull this trip together due to her mother and my hectic work schedules.

  “I promise, Zo-Zo.”

  “Mom said you had an emergency in Philly, but she wouldn’t say what it was.”

  “We’ll talk about my trip later,” I said, glancing at Sasha and trying to gauge her feelings, but her expression was imperceptible.

  “I hate it when you guys treat me like a baby and keep secrets from me.”

  “We’ll talk about it after your mother and I have a serious discussion.”

  Zoe frowned and held up her hands. “What could it be? Did Grandma and Grandpa Copeland die and leave us a fortune?”

  “No, they didn’t die. Don’t be disrespectful, Zoe,” Sasha chastised.

  I understood Zoe’s blasé attitude regarding my parents. She barely had a memory of her trip to Philly, but she remembered that they made her feel unwelcome. She was aware that my relationship wi
th them was strained and she sensed that it had something to do with me adopting her. She therefore felt no loyalty or connection to them at all.

  “I made your favorite meal, Foza sy hena-kisoa,” Sasha said, trying to elevate the mood in the car.

  I didn’t speak or understand much French or Malagasy, but I knew that Foza sy hena-kisoa was an incredibly delicious dish that consisted of stir-fried pork, crab meat, lobster, fresh greens, and lime juice that was served with a pile of rice. I wasn’t sure about the herbs and spices that gave it that Madagascar island flavor, but my stomach began to rumble at the thought of the meal.

  At home, the three of us sat in the dining room, eating dinner. Sasha and I chatted, but Zoe didn’t join in on the pleasant small talk. She picked at her food, deciding to pout until she got the information about my trip to Philadelphia.

  I cleared my throat. “I went to Philly to meet your stepbrother.”

  Zoe frowned. “What stepbrother?”

  I looked at Sasha and she placed her hand on top of mine and squeezed it.

  “His name is Phoenix, and he’s thirteen,” I said before I launched into the sad story of my life before I’d met her mother. I told her about my drug usage and the time I’d spent in prison. I even told her how a change of heart about kidnapping Phoenix had led me to my new life in Phoenix, Arizona. Then I divulged that Phoenix was so unhappy not knowing the truth about his paternity that he’d tried to commit suicide.

  “But he’s doing fine, now,” I quickly added.

  “Wow!” Zoe said after taking it all in.

  Despite the good food, the mood at the dinner table changed. We were all so somber and quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

  “Let me get this straight,” Zoe said, breaking the silence. “If your son had been named Memphis, you would have ended up in Tennessee?”

  Sasha and I burst out laughing. The levity Zoe brought to the grim situation was exactly what was needed.

  “So, when am I going to meet Phoenix?” Zoe inquired.

  “If things go as planned, he’s going to spend two weeks with us this summer,” I replied. I spoke in a casual manner, but inside I was giddy—as happy as a kid at Christmastime.