Grace gets up off the couch, carrying the Chihuahua bundle in her arms. She stares at me, her heavy wings of eyeliner missing for the more casual family dinner. “What the shit is going on?” she asks.
“Gracie.” Ma doesn’t even have to get it out. My sister holds up a hand and stops her.
“Sorry, Ma, sorry. Why do I feel like you two really are telling secrets? What’s up?” She looks from me to our mother, a sincerely worried look on her face.
“I got into some hot water with Mags.” I think fast and then explain. “It’s nothing. Ma and I talked about it the other day. I was going to update her.”
Grace has a bold personality and takes no shit from anyone. But the one thing my sister has is a seriously generous heart. She juggles Ma’s dog in her arms and nods. “You need another ear, you can bend mine. You two talk. I’ll go find Pops.”
“He’s in the basement, Gracie,” Ma calls, which cracks me up because unless my pops is in the kitchen, the only other place he’d be before a Sunday dinner is the basement, where we have a whole second kitchen. Smaller, but when you raise four kids under one roof in a modest home, a second kitchen is a necessity, not a luxury.
Once Gracie goes downstairs, I lean close to ask Ma about the latest with Pops. She shakes her head. “He won’t say a word, Benny. I asked him what it was all about, why he’s so secretive about going to the doctor, but he just said it was routine and not to worry.”
I’d ask Ma if she’s tried that, but “not worry” and my ma are two things that never have gotten along together. I nod. “Well, sooner or later, you’re going to get a doctor's bill or a co-pay statement from your insurance, right? That should have the name of the doctor on it, and then you just ask him. You show him the paperwork, and you demand he give you the news.”
Ma looks elated at first and then just as quickly deflates. “I never even thought of that,” she says. “You’re right. But how can I go all private detective on your father? I don’t even want to. Things between us have never been like that, Benito. We’ve been together since we were fifteen years old. How many secrets do you think we’ve kept from each other?” She holds up a hand, her fingers circling together to form an O. “Zero. No secrets. We tell each other everything. I want him to tell me what’s going on of his own free will. I’m not going to go all Sherlock Holmes on Mario.”
I don’t blame her. I’d want to know too. I can’t imagine why Pops would be holding out on Ma, unless it’s serious. “You want me to say something?” I ask. “I’ll tell him right now that I know he had a doctor’s appointment last week and—”
The sound of Gracie bellowing as she stomps up the basement steps stops me cold.
“So, Pops, you made two pans of lasagna?” She’s practically screaming.
I groan and shake my head at Ma. “She needs fucking acting lessons, that one.”
Ma grimaces, and I hold up a hand. “Sorry, sorry. Freaking. Freaking acting lessons.”
Pops throws open the door, carrying a steaming hot pan of lasagna between two well-worn, red-checkered oven mitts. “Benny,” he cries out, looking over his shoulder at my sister. “Gracie, why didn’t you say your brother was here?”
She doesn’t answer and gives me a death glare, her eyebrows bouncing up and down on her expressive face. “Well, Pops, you’re on your way up. I didn’t think Benny getting here was exactly front-page news.” She sounds grumpy, but her attitude is directed at me.
I step away from Ma, knowing our conversation is finished. She reaches for my arm, though, and gives it a squeeze. “Benito…” she says.
“I got it, Ma. I’ll help Pops with the other tray.”
I can hear her huff a sigh of relief. She knows I won’t confront my pops until she says she’s ready. But I’m uncomfortable as I follow Pops into the kitchen. He sets the lasagna down on a dish towel and then turns to hug me.
“Benito.” He holds me tight. This isn’t just a quick welcome, a routine peck, or a slap on the back. Pops is holding me. “Great to see you, son. I didn’t expect you so early. You need to take off right away? You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”
I nod slowly, releasing my dad even more slowly. I try to look him over for signs that something’s different. Same thick, graying hair that stands in waves like mine. Same reading glasses Ma forced him to get not that long ago. He even smells the same, the faint whiff of his cologne hitting my nose as I clap him on the back of his flannel shirt.
He gives me a huge smile, then gestures excitedly to the lasagna. “Make a plate, son. I don’t want to hold you up. Eat, eat.”
I shake my head. “It’s all right, Pops. Mags is covering dinner tonight. I’m not going in to work.”
That may have been the worst possible thing I could have said. Now my dad’s looking at me like I said I wanted to put ketchup on his lasagna. “Mags? Running the kitchen? Benny, what’s going on? Is everything okay at the restaurant?”
I nod and wave a hand at him. I don’t know what to tell him. Part of me wants to share the shit going on. The roof, the SBA grant that Mags wants me to apply for, the mix-up with the flowers that Mags still hasn’t forgiven me for. But then I think about my dad, his heart, his who knows what. How can I stresshim out with my shit when I don’t know how stress will affect him?
I rub my face and head to the fridge for the pitcher of water. My throat is suddenly dry. I’ve never, literally never, been in this situation with my parents before. I’ve hidden shit from them all my life, but nothing serious. Getting drunk at prom and throwing up on the rented shoes. Crashing Pops’s truck the first time I used it alone because my girlfriend at the time was trying to jerk me off while I was behind the wheel. Sneaking a whole unopened bottle of wine to drink in the basement with my brothers on a hot summer night.
All that shit, though… It’s kid shit. Normal growing-up stuff. Not secrets. Not like whatever it is Pops is hiding from Ma.
“You make the salad yet?” I ask.
My dad’s face breaks into a massive grin. “It’s been years since we cooked together. You got the tomatoes?”
I grab a couple of tomatoes and groan. “Pops, you need me to go shopping for you? These look like something the dog shit out.”
