“Oh my god, Nan, keep it down. And she’s not a lesbian, she’s bisexual.” I paused. “I didn’t mean to say that. She’s not out.”
“Not out? Of the closet, or out of her mind? Because she’s sure as hell the first, and she’s sure as hell the second if she thinks we don’t all see her staring at your ass. Good for her. You’re making sure she’s not too deprived, right?”
I blinked. “Are you asking how often I sleep with your great-granddaughter?”
She squinted. “What? Speak up.”
“Are you—asking—” I fumbled. I wasn’t shouting about fucking Victoria. “No, forget it. It was a silly question.”
The situation got worse, because the dining room door swung open, and Miss Jameson came in the room, a frown that turned into a smile at the sight of me. “Grandma, what are you shouting about—oh, Bridget. Your taco’s getting cold, sweetheart.”
The mashed potatoes in it had already been cold. Hence the gravy clumping like drying blood. I felt sick thinking about it. “I told Victoria—” I started, and Nan ruined my life.
“Ah, leave the girl’s taco to her girlfriend.”
“Nan!” I said.
Miss Jameson put a hand to her chest. “You’re really okay with Victoria eating your taco?”
“Oh, she sure is,” Nan said. I stepped in front of her, plastering on a smile.
“You know, I really appreciate you having me over for Christmas,” I said. “Your Christmas decorations are beautiful.”
She gave me a long, studying stare before she melted. Poor woman just never got compliments and was desperate for validation. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re okay being here instead of back with your family?”
“Oh, uh, yes, certainly, my family’s…” I didn’t have the heart to break it to her that my parents were homophobic, my brother was in and out of jail, and that somehow worst of all was that my dad was just kind of annoying about movie trivia. “My family understands there are better places to be. You know, with my best friends and a big, happy family like yours.”
She stared at me a bit more before she welled up, just a bit, and she wiped at her eye. “I’m glad you think so,” she said, her voice wispy, barely there.
“I need some more eggnog for this,” Nan said, walking into the kitchen. Miss Jameson didn’t even look at her.
“I have to admit, it’s…” she started in a small voice. “I’ve often… had a hard time… thinking that we’re doing okay as a family.”
“I mean, you raised two great kids.”
She nodded, wiping her other eye. “I hope you like the food, too. The holiday tacos are a family tradition.”
“Oh, yeah, they’re, uh.” I managed not to gag. I tugged awkwardly at my collar. “They are a dinner to remember, no doubt about that. I’ve never had anything like them.”
She wiped a hand over both her eyes, fully crying now, out of pride for the Geneva Convention violation in a taco shell thatshe’d tried to trick me into eating. “I’m sorry. I think I need to sit down. I’m not normally like this.”
“Hey, it’s okay to have your feelings. Let’s get you a nice warm drink and sit somewhere away from everyone else for a second.”
She choked on tears she was doing a bad job of holding back. “I don’t want to make you miss out on the rest of your holiday taco.”
“I… Miss Jameson, our good relationship is more important to me than that.” Hey, it was true. She looked overwhelmed with emotion.
She got a cup of coffee, gross swill from a drip machine served black as night, and she led me into a library room with tall windows frosted over with snow and ice, dense trees behind the house huddling up for warmth in their coats of white, and we sat in the tall-backed armchairs by the window, Miss Jameson staring heavily down into her mug. Christmas cheer and merriment hadn’t reached her eyes yet. From the looks of her, maybe they hadn’t ever.
“I know I haven’t done a very good job,” she said. “I just want them both to be happy.”
I was just glad I had about sixteen liters of rum somehow squeezed into one glass of eggnog for this. Thanks, Nan. I took a sip. “What makes you think you haven’t done a good job?”
She pushed out a short, frustrated sigh. “Maybe it’s that you never really feel like you’ve done okay as a mother. Everyone has an opinion on how you’re doing it. And if you’re not perfect, you’re terrible, and if your kids aren’t perfect, you’re terrible.”
“Someone out here saying your kids aren’t perfect?”
“I don’t mean like that. Just… Vicky’s given up on love. I just want to see her do well in life. Did I let her down?” She shook her head. “And Kevin has low standards and is letting himself be led down a dark road by thatman.”
