Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City)

by Penny Reid

  Then he said, “Do you remember that trip? You caught the largest fish.”

  I nodded, staring at the photograph. “I remember.”

  “You look confused, son,” he said; his blunt words were not a surprise. For better or for worse, he was always blunt. He was also always careful with the words he used.

  My eyes narrowed on the picture then slid to the side to meet his. He was watching me like he knew what I was thinking, like he was just waiting for me to say it out loud.

  “I am confused,” I admitted. “I thought you would have….” I didn’t finish the thought because it felt disrespectful to say out loud that I thought my parents would have burned all pictures of my image, or cut me out of them.

  If the roles had been reversed, I would have done that.

  He studied me for what seemed like a long time. His hair was almost completely gray now, and deep frown lines had carved themselves between his eyebrows.

  “I regret….” He started, stopped, cleared his throat before continuing. His voice was low so as not to be overheard by the ladies present. “I’ve regretted for a long time what happened, what I said to you, when your brother died.”

  I stared at him. My shock must’ve been plain because this man of few words kept speaking.

  “Your mother and I were blinded by grief, but that’s no excuse. It was wrong what we said, how we acted. It was dishonorable, and we both regret how we treated you. I hope you can forgive us.”

  My throat tight, I responded automatically. “No. There is nothing to forgive. I deserved it.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I may not have….” I glanced over his shoulder. “I was responsible.”

  “You weren’t.”

  I met his eyes again, was surprised to see his expression full of remorse.

  I shook my head, said between clenched teeth, “You did nothing wrong.”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder, his head shake mirroring mine. “We did, and we’re sorry for it. And we’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let us.”

  “I’ll eat almost anything, but my friend Elizabeth hates mayonnaise.” Janie’s voice was at my back, her hand on my hip. “Excuse me, guys. I need to get out the mayonnaise for the deviled eggs. I was just telling Katherine that I’ll eat almost anything, but that Elizabeth hates mayonnaise. I think it must have something to do with the texture, because she also doesn’t like pudding. I’m not implying that she has a sensory processing disorder; it’s just that soft, gelatinous foods make her gag.”

  My dad’s hand dropped and he stepped away. His eyes arrested mine for a beat then moved to Janie. “Sensory processing disorder?”

  “Yes. Extreme sensitivity to textures—in food or fabric or really anything that has a texture.” Janie pressed on my hip to move me out of the way. She smiled at me as the fridge door opened, hiding us from my father’s view. “Sometime people just need some time to process the way things feel—to get used to it before making a judgment about it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. I was still disoriented by my father’s words, but I pressed my lips together in order to communicate that I understood her heavy-handed attempt to speak of both Elizabeth’s aversion to mayo and my present discomfort.

  She shrugged, wrinkled her nose. “I’ve tried pushing her into eating it, but it never works. So I’ve learned to be less pushy.”

  “You’re still pushy,” I said, taking a swig of my beer. After what my father had just admitted, I needed something stronger.

  “I’m not that pushy…am I?”

  I let my eyes travel over her face, enjoyed the shape of her eyes when they were wide and curious, noted that she wasn’t wearing any lipstick. This meant I could kiss her later without any evidence.

  “Yes. You are that pushy.”

  Her mouth twisted to the side, and I knew she was biting the inside of her lip. She let the fridge close and held the mayo jar between both of her hands.

  Then she blurted, “But you must like it if you want to marry me.”

  “I do like it.” I stepped closer and gave her a quick kiss, momentarily forgetting where I was.

  Or maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe I wanted just such a moment in my parents’ house with the woman I loved as if we belonged here, all of us together.

  When I looked up, I caught my dad glancing at my mother. He was smiling.

  ***

  My father didn’t bring up my brother again. He said almost nothing leading up to dinner, which was typical of how things were when I was growing up. He was never a talker. I’d learned from him early on that the less you spoke, the more people listened.

  But quiet in this house was atypical. Between my brother Des, Shelly, and my mother, the house was never quiet.

  Everything here was the same—the furniture and carpets, the pictures on the walls—and nothing felt right. I kept thinking about the last time I saw my parents. My mother couldn’t even look at me without crying.

  My father’s apology felt too fast, too soon, and—as Janie would say—dissonant with reality. I trusted that he meant it, but I didn’t understand it. I’d lived with the guilt of my part in my brother’s death for ten years. Since walking into the house, I was choking on it, and the apology only compounded it.

  The only thing that kept me from bolting out the door was Janie. I think her presence created a buffer for my parents and me. She was the necessary conduit through which we could co-exist. I saw her as a reminder in this house full of history and memories that things had changed and would continue to change. I was no longer a selfish, dumbass teenager. I was trying to be more.

  Janie and I were setting the table. She followed me with the silverware as I set the plates and glasses on the table. I could tell she wanted me to talk about what I was thinking, but she didn’t push. She seemed to sense that I needed some time with my thoughts.

  My mother brought out dinner. I realized once all the food was assembled that she’d made almost all of my favorites: sausage with gravy and mashed potatoes—otherwise known as bangers and mash—deviled eggs with ham and pimento, butternut squash, carrots with brown sugar, and homemade brown bread.

  The smells made my mouth water and I was bombarded with memories. During grace, I could feel my mother’s eyes on me, so I glanced up.

  She was a mixture of anxiety and hope. She made no attempt to hide her emotions.

  I wanted to say, “I don’t merit your hope or your worry. I don’t deserve to be your son.”

  Instead, after grace, I said, “This all looks really great. Thank you.”

  Her smile was immediate and her response sounded a little breathless. “Well, it’s not every day we get to…I mean, we’re just so happy you’re here. Both of you.”

  A brief moment of silence stretched, because I didn’t know what to say. Again, I wanted to ask her how she could be happy that I was there. I wanted to know how they could possibly think that I deserved an apology. Part of me wanted to shout at them, ask how they could stand the sight of me.

  “I’m happy to be here,” Janie blurted. “I hope I set the silverware right. I forget if the spoon goes on the inside or the outside of the knife. Usually, at home, Quinn and I only use the utensils needed for any given meal, so, usually just a fork, unless we have steak or chicken, then we also have a knife. Of course, soup needs a spoon.” Janie scrunched her face, looking a little frustrated. “Sorry, that’s all very obvious.”

  “Do you know what you’re serving for the wedding?” My mom asked Janie in a gentle voice.

  Janie sighed. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not suited to plan a wedding, not a real one. I think I told you the last time we spoke on the phone that I still haven’t found a location for the reception. Everything, all the other parts, really revolve around the reception location.”

  “You don’t have a place reserved yet?” My mother exchanged a glance with my father as Janie cut into the sausage on her plate.

  “No. Honestly, n
othing has been accomplished. Planning a wedding is like organizing a beauty contest for cats. It feels like the ultimate effort in futility.”

  Then, a second later, Janie mumbled mostly to herself, “I guess I shouldn’t say that, because there is a feline beauty contest in Bucharest, Romania every year.” She turned to my father and added, “Over two hundred cats participate, and the winner gets a little cat crown. Although, I have no idea how they secure it to the cat’s head….” She picked up her wine to take a sip.

  I couldn’t help saying, “Maybe you should enter the kitten contest.”

  Her eyes flew to mine, widened, and she covered her mouth before the wine she’d just sipped ended up on the tablecloth. I felt bad that I’d made her choke, but I was pleased to see the first signs of a blush spread up her neck.

  “Do you have a kitten?” my mother asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “No,” Janie croaked.

  Then, addressing my mother, but still holding my gaze, Janie quickly added, “I’m sorry, you were asking me about the wedding.”

  “Oh, yes. Well…I know that this is your special day, and it’s about the two of you—the love you have for each other—but….” My mother hesitated, and her eyes caught mine. “But if you haven’t already found a place in Chicago and you don’t have your heart set on getting married there, I wonder if you would consider getting married in Boston.”

  I masked my surprise by chasing a bite of mashed potatoes with a large gulp of beer.

  “In Boston?” Janie asked; her tone made her surprise obvious.

  “Yes. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. I was thinking about it after our last call. So I checked with the Irish Club and they’re holding the date for me, just in case. If you had the wedding here, we could have the entire family, and I could help with the planning.”

  “It would mean a lot to your mother.” My father said this to me, though his eyes were on his plate.

  “It’s not about me,” my mom said, a frown directed at my father. She shifted her attention back to Janie. “It’s about you and Quinn. It’s about starting your life together and celebrating with all your friends and family, who should be there to support you. And of course your family must be taken into consideration, so if Boston is too far then just forget I said anything.”

  “To be honest, my family doesn’t need to be taken into consideration. I’m not saying this to be unfeeling; it’s really just the way things are.” Janie said this with no malice. In the past, she’d remarked that her family’s dysfunction was one of the laws of thermodynamics.

  “What about your parents?”

  “I’m sure my dad will come, if given enough notice and we reimburse his travel expenses, regardless of location. My younger sister is a sociopath, and I don’t know where she is. Quinn might know. But I don’t think we want her there…” Janie shook her head at the thought, and I suppressed a grimace at the mention of Jem.

  Janie didn’t notice. “My older sister can’t come. The last I heard she skipped bail on a conviction for prostitution; she was running an escort service on the West Coast. Besides, June often turns what would typically be a normal event into an awkward and uncomfortable function. She came to my college graduation and tried to solicit my favorite professor. We don’t really keep in contact.”

  “You and your sister, or you and your favorite professor?” My father asked.

  “Neither. I’m afraid that bridge was burned when she cornered him in the men’s room.”

  My mom stared at Janie for a long moment, absorbing this information, then asked, “What about your mother?”

  “She’d dead.”

  My mother’s eyes widened. I read both sympathy and shock on her expression. “I’m so sorry.”

  Janie gave her a smile meant to ease her mind. “Thank you, but she wasn’t around very often when I was young. I have very few memories of her that don’t involve the botched preparation of vegan dinners.”

  My mother’s gaze drifted to and searched mine. She appeared troubled. She also appeared determined.

  “Speaking of dinners, these sausages are delicious.” Janie’s voice was a little higher pitched than usual, and I knew she was trying to change the subject. Discussions of her family—really, the aftermath of discussions and people’s reactions—always made her agitated.

  “My partner gave them to me. You remember Tom?” My father asked me, spooning more mashed potatoes on his plate. “He goes moose hunting in Canada every year, always brings back sausages.”

  “M-moose?” Janie asked.

  Something about the tone of her voice caught my attention, and I glanced at her, did a double take as she’d suddenly become pale.

  “Yep. Moose.”

  Janie set down her fork, one hand going to her stomach, the other to the water glass, shaking.

  I frowned at her, tried to catch her eye, especially since she was now turning green.

  My mom also noticed, because she asked, “Are you okay, Dear?”

  “Deer too?” Janie’s eyes grew wide and she’d firmed her chin. “Deer and moose? Any other woodland animals included in the sausage? Beavers maybe?”

  “No,” my mother said, “just moose. I was calling you Dear. There are no deer in the sausage.”

  “Oh….” Janie blinked. I could see her throat working; she was struggling to swallow.

  “What’s wrong?” My concern was escalating to alarm. I’d never seen her this way before. She looked like she was going to be sick.

  “It’s just….” She lifted her eyes to mine, and I saw she was panicked. She covered her mouth and shook her head.

  “Janie,” I started to stand but she lifted her hand, staying my movements, keeping me in my seat. “Janie, what is wrong?”

  She shook her head again, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to say.” Her words were muffled because her hand was still in front of her mouth.

  My mother looked at me imploringly.

  “Say it,” I said. My heart rate spiked, and I was pulling out my phone. I didn’t know who I was going to call—maybe Elizabeth. She was a doctor and Janie’s best friend. She’d be able to tell me if I should call an ambulance. Maybe she could talk her through this crisis.

  “It’s just….” Janie buried her face in her hands, her elbows hitting the table. “It’s just that moose carry a strain of mad cow disease, but it’s not mad cow disease, it’s mad moose disease.”

  “Mad moose disease?” my father asked, his fork halfway to his mouth with a piece of moose sausage speared on it. He glanced between Janie and the bite of moose meat.

  “The moose go mad, break off their antlers, just crazy moose running around in the forest. They can weigh seven hundred pounds or more, so you can imagine the devastation. And there is no cure—not for the moose. And if you eat moose meat, you can get it—assuming the moose you eat has the disease—and you won’t know because it doesn’t present for ten years, or thereabouts, after you’ve consumed the moose meat. So we could all be infected and our brains could melt and we could all go mad…in about ten years.”

  The end of her tirade was punctuated by deafening silence. Then, the silence was followed by a muffled burst of laughter from my mother. I looked at my mom, found her trying to contain her giggles with a napkin covering the bottom half of her face. But her eyes shone with mirth, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop laughing.

  I looked to my father and found his shoulders shaking. He was doing a better job of hiding his amusement, fighting harder against it, because his eyes were closed and his hand was clamped over his mouth.

  Even I was grinning and shaking my head.

  Janie was peeking at us from between her fingers. Her face and neck were every shade of red, but a weary smile tugged at one side of her mouth as her eyes moved between my parents. Her hands fell away.

  “So I guess….” She shrugged her shoulders, looked pained but also reluctantly pleased with herself, and took a deep breath. “We should just make
the best of the time we still have left!”

  CHAPTER 16

  *Janie*

  Quinn and his father did the dishes.

  As soon as dinner was over, Quinn stood, began collecting the dishes, and left the dining room with his father as if it was imprinted in his genetic code. I watched them come in and out, these two giant men, clearing the serving plates in silence while Katherine spoke to me about one of her favorite students.

  I debated whether to stand, made up my mind to do so, but Quinn shook his head when I pushed my chair back and indicated through our developing means of silent communication that I should stay and chat with his mom.

  When the last of the items was taken, I turned to her, leaned close, and whispered, “Does Desmond always do the dishes?”

  She glanced at the doorway to the kitchen and nodded. “Yes, if I make dinner then he does the dishes. If he makes dinner then I do the dishes. It’s how we’ve always done it. It’s also nice because, since it’s tradition, we both know what’s expected of us, which leads to fewer dirty dishes and less nagging.”

  “Oh.” I started to stand.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To help with the dishes.”

  “No, no. Stay with me, you helped with dinner and, if you don’t mind, I appreciate your company.” Her smile was warm, affectionate and therefore felt maternal, which made me a little uncomfortable. But Katherine reached for my hand, squeezed it. “You know, you remind me of Shelly a little.”

  “I do?” I grinned at the thought. Other than being tall, awkward, and loving Quinn, I didn’t think we had much in common.

  “Yes. It’s the curiosity, I think. She was the most curious kid I’ve ever met, always taking things apart, wanting to know how they worked, putting them back together—but never in the way they were before. Always in a new way.”

  “I am curious. It’s true. That’s a fact.”

  “And also the goodness. She felt everything so deeply as a child and as a teenager. We once found a dog running around the neighborhood with three legs. She was only eleven, but she fashioned a prosthetic limb for the animal out of wood and old car parts Desmond had laying around. It rolled, had a wheel, so the dog could run with the others.”