Cory said, “Meg, what are you talking about? He totally likes you!”
Charlotte added, “I think he was just trying to put you at ease,” giving Cory a mischievous smile, she added, “after you tripped over your tongue in front of him.”
I was prepared to be angry at them for getting their laugh at my expense, but as usual, my attempt was futile. I knew they weren’t laughing at me, but with me, and I never could refuse a good laugh with anyone.
Once she had stopped laughing enough to speak, Charlotte said, “That’s what you need, Meg. Take someone like him and go have yourself a nice, romantic weekend. You’d be surprised how much differently you’d see things when you got back.”
“Yeah? And what do I do about Brian, invite him along or leave him home and take pictures to share with him later?”
My question was sarcastic and hypothetical, but Cory had an answer for it anyway.
“Take a better look, Meg… north to south...” Pointing in the direction of the waiter, she continued, “A weekend with Popeye over there and you’d be asking yourself, Bluto who.”
I pushed my chair underneath the table and said nothing. Instead, I offered a smile as I waved them goodbye, Cory’s words running through my head. I could have disagreed, I could have made excuses but I didn’t because at that moment, I knew exactly where Brian and I stood. It took a lot of courage to admit what I’d known for a while, but now that I had admitted it, I had to say it aloud and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
Seven
...Picking up her flask, she stared at it for a moment and then placed it back on the table, deciding against another swallow...
Before I had even arrived at my grandparent’s house, I found myself wishing I had taken Charlotte up on her offer to join me. With her, I could have kept the conversation simple, without her, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to initiate a serious discussion about the past.
“Gram, what did you mean when you said Aunt Karen wasn’t always the way she is now? How well did she understand things when she was young?”
Taking a silver flask from her purse, Gram casually looked around as if expecting to find someone else in the room. With a twist of her wrist, she poured a healthy shot of vodka into her tea.
“Well…” She tipped her hand once more, before capping the flask and returning it to her purse. She continued, “She used to speak. Simple words, short sentences, but she was quite capable of getting her point across. Why do you ask?”
“She stopped speaking after what happened to her?”
“Oh, heaven’s no! We couldn’t shut her up after that. Hell, she’d tell anyone who’d listen.” Shaking her head, she said, “Not that she knew the proper words to describe what had happened.”
“Then when did she stop speaking?”
“After you were born.”
I gave that a lot of thought. I couldn’t help but wonder why she chose never to speak again, only after I was born. As if reading my mind, Gram pulled her chair closer, a serious expression crossing her face.
“Child, you have to understand, she was able to communicate but with a limited vocabulary. She grasped only so much.”
I nodded in understanding, although I understood nothing.
“What did my birth have to do with her ability to speak?”
I saw doubt flash through my grandmother’s eyes. Realizing that she was uncertain about revealing more than she already had, I begged, “Gram, please. I have to know.”
Using every stall tactic she could think of from smoothing her skirt, to wiping the table with her bare hand, she looked up at me several times, her head making jerky movements.
When her words finally came, they were sharp and fast.
“Meg, when this happened we all agreed the truth could never come out.” Lowering her head, she continued, “I may have had a little too much to drink and chirped like a bird the last time I saw you, but I’m not so sure that telling you was for the best.”
“Why? Gram, I have the right to know; besides, without knowing who my real parent’s are, I have no way of knowing who I am or who else I may be related to.” I hesitated. “Gram, what I’m trying to say is… I could be marrying a blood relative.”
“Well for the love of God, child, what wretched thoughts!” Reaching for her purse, she added, “If it’ll help put your mind at ease, Brian is not relation.”
“So then you do know who did it?”
Taking a swallow straight from her flask, she looked around the room and pulled her chair in even closer to me. I instinctively glanced around the room also, not sure who or what I should be looking for.