“The purse I saw in the store?” Mom giggled, then went so far as to hug the handbag to her chest and give it a little snuggle. “Emma, it’s simply gorgeous.”
Oh, no. No. There was absolutely no need for pomp and circumstance. Mom had always been fine with the bare minimum. My sister was single-handedly ruining everything we’d worked so hard for! How could Mom ever go back to ground beef now that she’d had a taste of filet mignon?
“Sweetie,” Mom said, scaling down her excitement as she demurred. “I don’t need something this fancy. It’s too expensive.”
Of course it was,EMMA. No money was allowed to change hands! Like I said – ground beef. That hugged purse was going to go back to the evil place it came from. That’s what my sister got for trying to show us up… no, for trying to bury us. Give it to her, Mamacita!
But Emma’s voice shook with emotion. “I wanted you to have it. I bought it with the money I earned from babysitting the neighbor kids. You’re the best mom in the world, and you deserve to have pretty things.”
Oh, no. Don’t do it! Don’t you dare cry! And then came the tears. Once sis employed the waterworks, I knew the boys and I were officially doomed.
“Oh, Emma, I don’t even know what to say. I love it so much. Thank you, honey. I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful daughter.”
They hugged for an uncomfortably long time. Jake, Kyle, and I looked on in disgust. Emma had risen the bar – the one we’d now forever have to hurdle over.
I could no longer hold my tongue. “Um, I don’t mean to be a stickler here, but the rules state we’re supposed to give homemade gifts. Emma’s cheating.”
“No, Keith,” Emma answered. “It’s supposed to beheartfeltgifts, not homemade. You mixed up the words. Right, Dad?”
Dad jerked his head up like a skittish deer seconds before the fatal shot was fired. “Well, I uh… I…”
Come on, dude.I urged him with my eyes.Stand strong with your sons!
“Technically, Keith, Emma is correct. The word used was ‘heartfelt.’ You boys always just interpreted that to mean homemade, and since your mother seemed okay with pasta necklaces and Popsicle stick photo frames, I saw no reason to correct you.”
“Kids, listen, I love all my gifts. They mean the world to me.” Tears pooled in her Caribbean blue eyes. “When I was growing up, there was always a pile of gifts on the table on birthday morning, but no one was ever there to watch me open them. There was no love or joy. That’s why it doesn’t matter to me if the gift is homemade or bought. I just want the idea to come from a place of love and to have all of you right here by my side. That’s all I want for my birthday.”
I sighed. How nice for everyone that wentbeforemom’s profound speech. Now I had to follow it up with my crap gift. I fumbled with my shell photo frame. Yes, it was a step above the Popsicle sticks, but not by much. Instead of Emma’s fancy wrap job, mine looked pathetic wrapped in paper towels and scotch tape. Out of options, I slid the gift across the table. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
She smiled as she peeled the wrapping back with meticulous fingers. Mom examined my offering, running her fingers over the delicate shells, ones I’d spent about thirty minutes collecting. Probably not my best effort, but no matter, because she appeared pleased regardless. “You made this?”
I nodded.
“It’s beautiful, honey.”
“Did you see what was inside?”
Mom checked the photo before bursting into a fit of hysterics. “Who took this?”
“I did,” Dad replied. “And might I add, I now understand why other species eat their young. It was a nightmare, Michelle. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get all six of these kids in the same shot? And then that one” – he pointed at Grace – “just when I had them all in place, boom, she’s gone, scaling the back fence. Her white dress was ruined. That’s when Keith suggested that instead of taking a perfect photo, why not take one as they really are – a bunch of shi…” Mom’s glare stopped the swear word from fully forming. “Poopheads. So, there you have it.”
In the photograph, each of us was mugging for the camera, but in our own unique way. In my arms, Gracie was hanging upside down in her dirty dress. Quinn was brandishing a plastic sword, a look of steely determination forever captured on his face. Kyle was performing the splits while suspended in midair. Jake was strumming an air guitar as his left pointer finger reached for the sky. Emma was showcasing her bestCharlie’s Angelskissing pose. And there was me, wagging my tongue as my signature pirate hair blew in the wind.
We weren’t a perfect family, not by a long shot, but as Mom had just proven in her speech, perfection was overrated. She wanted heart. She wanted love. And she got all of that with her tribe of well-meaning delinquents.
“This right here, Keith.” Mom smiled. “This is what I’m talking about.”
8
Samantha: My Favorite Word
Keith was knee-deep in a geometry worksheet when he disintegrated before my very eyes. First from somewhere in the recesses of his throat came a pitiful groan, and then the fake cry, and finally, he buried his head in his arm and loudly declared, “I’d rather slam my flaccid penis in the car door than satisfy one more Pythagorean Theorem.”
Such meltdowns were not unusual for my lab partner, but this particular one had me chuckling behind my book. No one could say he wasn’t creative in his self-expression.
“Shhh, Keith, we’re in a library.”
“Who cares? It’s a ghost town in here.”
