I rub my thumb across the picture, trying to burn it into my memory. It makes me want to see more from his childhood.
She brings out an apple cake and some coffee.
We talk a little bit more about what they were like as kids. Even though Callahan seemed to take everything seriously, it didn’t stop him from getting into trouble. Apparently, once something seemslike a good idea to him, there is no talking him out of it. Which I have learned firsthand.
“That racing stuff he got himself into started here on bikes. He used to pump his little legs and race everyone for a couple of coins. Got so good at it that people stopped taking the bet. So then he started betting he could outrun cars.” She slaps her knee and falls back. “Shame it ended the way it did.” Shaking her head, she gets up and starts to take the plates into the kitchen.
I get up to help her by bringing in our coffee mugs. We wash in silence, our hands working in unison. Lost in the beat of this moment, I bask in the homely of being in her presence. Even though he surprised me with more of his relatives, I’m happy he did. The apparent love they have for one another is obvious in each person I meet. It’s the kind of family I’ve always wanted. It could be the one my kids get.
Still, the lingering twinge in my gut won’t go away entirely despite the warmth filling in all around it. As right as this feels, the parts I didn’t tell Callahan about my mom sit there as a block to accessing all this goodness. Since she left, her actions have shaped every relationship that has come after it, and there is no telling what it will do to these ones.
I shake my hands dry, trying to dislodge that thought as well. We need to stop putting the horse before the cart.
“You seem like a sweet girl,” she says, turning to me once we’re done.
“Thank you.”
“I just want you to know that he’s a good man. He’ll do right by ya.”
“He put you up to this?”
She huffs, waving her hand in the air. “The way that boy feels, you would think no one has ever spoken a kind word about him in his life. He is so used to his bad being pointed out, he forgets he’s got good in there, too. More of it than the rest, if you ask me.”
I squeeze her hand and pull her in for another hug. This time, I squeeze her as much as she does me.
“I’ll tell him. I’ll make sure he knows that he is better than his worst days.”
“Seems like he chose right, then.”
When we pull back, we look at each other for a moment, just soaking up this conversation.
I’m sad to go, and can’t stop myself from promising to visit again before I leave. If only to have more of that food. They send us off with jam and bread and a memory that is irreplaceable.
#
When we get back to the hotel, Farrah has to go right to bed. I sit in the lobby contemplating whether I should call him. It’s 3 a.m. in San Francisco, but he did tell me to call after.
Deciding to text first, when he confirms he is up, I ring him.
“Are you mad?” he asks in greeting.
“No, actually, I’m thankful. That was a more authentic experience than any restaurant could give me.” I sit back and pick up the tea I ordered just to have something to do with my hands. I was mad when I first realized what he had done, but I think I needed to meet them.
“How did you like my aunt and uncle?”
“Well, your uncle didn’t say a word, but your aunt was very kind. I liked her a lot. Don’t tell your mom, but your aunt is a better baker than her.”
I hear shuffling of blankets, like he is sitting up. When his next words come out, they sound more alert.
“Say that to my mom and you’ll find out how good we fight, too.”
“I can’t fight my mother-in-law. What would our kids think?”
“Our kids?”
“The ones we may or may not have.”
I take another sip, now trying to give my mouth something to do. I want to keep playing into this, but building a future with him still makes my skin itch, so I rub my hand up and down my leg. The urge to stay away is ever-present.
