Attach ments(40)

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Not long. They have those super-sensitive pregnancy tests that can tell whether you’re even thinking about getting pregnant.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> So, are we rooting for a positive or a negative result, here?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Just root for me.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I always do.





“I HAVEN’T HEARD you complain about work for a while,” Eve said. “Are you liking it better?”

She’d brought her boys over for Sunday brunch after church. Lincoln’s mother had made potato casserole with eggs, turkey, tomatoes, mushrooms, dandelion greens, and three kinds of cheese.

“Work is fine,” Lincoln said, taking a bite.

“You’re not bored?” Eve asked.

“I guess I’m getting used to it,” he said, covering his mouth.

“Are you still looking for something with better hours?”

He shrugged. “These hours will be great if I decide to go back to school.”

Eve frowned. She was especially edgy this afternoon. When she’d walked into the house, their mother had asked the boys if they’d had a good conversation with their higher power.

“Jesus,” Eve had said. “We call him Jesus.”

“That’s one of the names he answers to,” her mother had said.

“So,” Eve said to Lincoln now, stabbing a mushroom, “you must have enough money saved to get a place closer to campus.”

“It’s not a bad drive from here,” he said evenly.

Their mother started giving everyone a second helping of casserole. He could see she was torn. On the one hand, she still didn’t like him going back to school, on the other, she hated when Eve bullied him.

“Why are they doing that?” his mother said, frowning at her grandsons. The boys were sorting the casserole into piles on their plates.

“Doing what?” Eve asked.

“Why aren’t they eating their food?”

“They don’t like it when things touch,” Eve said.

“What things?” his mother asked.

“Their food. They don’t like it when different foods touch or mix together.”

“How do you serve dinner, in ice cube trays?”

“We only eat two things, Grandma,” said Eve’s older son, six-year-old Jake Jr.

“What two things?” she asked.

“Like hot dogs and macaroni,” Jake said. “Or hamburgers and corn.”

“I don’t like ketchup on my hamburger,” said Ben, the four-year-old.

“I like ketchup on the side,” Jake said.

“Fine,” Lincoln’s mom said, taking their plates and scraping them onto her own. “Are you boys still hungry? I’ve got fruit, I’ve got bananas, do you like bananas?”

“So you’re staying here?” Eve turned on Lincoln with new ferocity. “You’re just going to keep living here?”

“For now,” he said.

“Lincoln is always welcome here,” their mother said.

“I’m sure he is,” Eve said. “He’s welcome to rot here for the rest of his life.”

Lincoln set down his fork.

“Grandma,” Ben said, “this banana is dirty.”

“That’s not dirt,” she said.

“It’s brown,” he said.

“It’s banana-colored.”

“Bananas are yellow,” Jake said.

“Lincoln is not rotting,” their grandmother said.

“He isn’t living,” Eve said.

“Don’t tell me how to raise my son.”

“He’s twenty-eight years old,” Eve said. “Your job is done. He’s risen.”

“Like Jesus,” Jake said.

“Not like Jesus,” Eve said.

Lincoln stood up from the table. “Would anyone else like juice? Ben? Jake?” His nephews ignored him.

“You’re never done raising your children,” his mother said. “You’ll see. You’re not done until you’re dead.”

“Jesus died when he was thirty-three,” Jake said.

“Stop talking about Jesus,” Eve said.

“Jesus!” Ben said.

“I’m still Lincoln’s mother. I’m still your mother. Whether you like it or not, I’m not done raising either of you.”

“You never started raising me,” Eve said.

“Eve …” Lincoln winced.

“You’re excused, boys,” Eve said.

“I’m still hungry,” Ben said.

“Can we go to Wendy’s?” Jake asked.

“Tell me more about how to be a good mother,” Eve’s mother said.

“I’ll tell you this,” Eve said. “My boys are going to have lives of their own. They’re going to go on dates and get married and move out. I’m not going to make them feel like they aren’t allowed to say good-bye to me.”