“I amnoteating pot brownies,” I said. “Not happening.”
“Oh, Ansley, just have a bite,” Mom said, chewing heartily, holding her huge pot brownie daintily in her manicured fingers.
I sighed and reached out my hand to Jack. The crowd cheered.
“All right, all right,” I said. “Simmer down, all of you.” Then, under my breath, I added, “Peer pressure is not just for kids.”
I ate mine very, very slowly, as I had rarely done any drugs, and even those were in the late ’70s.
After about twenty minutes, I saw my mother’s face relax. Really relax. She seemed more comfortable than she had in weeks. I leaned over toward Hal. “Keep the brownies coming,” I said.
“Oh, Ans, Kimmy and I have a whole kitchen full of amazing things for Grammy to try. We’re going to be ready when marijuana is legalized in Georgia.”
Jack burst out laughing, and then we all did, of course. If anyone had ever told me this would be happening, I wouldn’t have believed it. But, sometimes, when all seems lost, the last thing you would have imagined starts to seem normal, natural even. I wished I could freeze this moment, all our happy faces, all the people I loved most in the world sitting around my front porch, the flags blowing in the breeze, the lights from the sailboat masts in the harbor reflecting off the water.
“Grammy,” Caroline said, “we’re going to have the best party ever on the beach tomorrow. I mean, I can’t even tell you.”
“Oh, darling,” she said, “you can give me one of these brownies and tell me I’m at the beach and save yourself the trouble.”
That set us all off again. I felt calm and peaceful and happy. All the hard angles of life were gone and we were floating along on its soft, fluffy curves. There had been so much pain the last couple of months. So much uncertainty. So many tears shed, sleepless nights, new worry lines. I hoped beyond hope that when I looked back, I would forget all that. This was the night I wanted to remember.
TWENTY-THREE
love connections
sloane
June 27, 2010
Dear Sloane,
I never understood why, but I never felt at home in college. I was searching for a purpose, a passion, something that lit me up inside. I know it sounds crazy, but the day I signed those papers to join the Army, I felt whole. I felt complete. I knew I would never be fulfilled unless I was fighting for something bigger than me. It’s only now that I consider what this job really means in terms of what it is I’m giving up. Because being away from you feels like a punishment. Even still, I know this is where I’m supposed to be. Just like I know when I come home, in your arms is where I’m supposed to be. Meeting you, Sloane, loving you, has given me another purpose. And where, at one time, I lived for my country, now, my beautiful bride-to-be, I live for you.
All my love,
Adam
MARIJUANA SHOULD BE LEGALIZEDfor military spouses. It’s a fair concession. We have to spend years of our lives worrying about our partners—for the good of our country. We should get this in return.
I hated smoking of any sort. But eating brownies was fab-u- lous.
I peeked into the boys’ room. They were both still out cold. I don’t know what I did to deserve a twenty-one-month-old who slept until nine in the morning. Maybe it was restitution for the fact that AJ was such a terrible sleeper as a baby. I took a moment to gaze at them, the best parts of Adam and me. Clutching their stuffed animals, they looked like little angels. I prayed quickly that I wouldn’t have to break their hearts and blow up their world.
I hadn’t gotten that with my father. It seemed like a fair request.
The smell of pancakes wafted up from the kitchen, lazily and unhurried, like the morning itself. There is nothing in the world—and I do mean nothing—like having your mom make you pancakes. You don’t have to worry about what you’re going to feed yourself or how you’re going to handle the million requests of, “Mommy, I’m hungry,” when your little ones wake up. It’s all taken care of. Our mom had always just known what we needed, understood what to do.
I wanted to be that effortless. But that nagging feeling that I needed something more had never really gone away. What did that do to the vision I’d had of myself as the ever-present, constantly available mom?
I walked down the hall and slid into bed beside Emerson. She was sleeping so peacefully, her blond hair draped across her beautiful face. She would be horrified when she woke up and realized she wasn’t on her back. She was convinced sleeping on her face would cause wrinkles. As the big sister, I had always felt the need to protect. Only, this sickness wasn’t something I could fix.
I couldn’t even make her go back to the doctor. She kept putting it off and rescheduling. She was afraid to learn the truth. So was I. But there comes a point when even bad news is better than no news at all. She would get there soon. Or maybe she would get tired of Caroline and me harassing her mercilessly about it. Either way.
I got up and walked quietly down the carpeted steps in my sock feet. Mom was alone in the kitchen, crying into the pancake batter.
“The recipe only calls for a pinch of salt, Mom,” I said, hugging her from behind.
She smiled at me and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I think this is how it’s going to be around here for a while.”
