All Adults Here(21)
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Porter said, shaking her head. She drew a line across her neck with her finger. “Mom, don’t.”
“No, Porter,” Astrid said. She wasn’t in the business of telling someone else’s secrets. Porter took a breath and nodded. That was something, right there! She would have to remember to tell Birdie, it was an anecdote in the making, something she could tell her grandchild when she was born, her last grandchild, no doubt—your mother thought I was going to tell everyone about you, but Gammy would never. Elliot and Wendy were having an almost-entirely silent conversation about him taking the car, and her getting the boys home; no one was paying attention to her. The boys were running up the stairs, shouting, “POW POW POW.” Life wouldn’t slow down more than this. Astrid cleared her throat and continued. “Birdie and I are in a romantic relationship and have been for quite some time. And after seeing Barbara, well, I don’t know, it didn’t interest me to keep it from you any longer. If you have any questions, ask away. But brunch is served.”
“What did she say?” Elliot asked Wendy.
Porter let out a giant laugh and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She buried her head in Astrid’s shoulder. “Wow,” she said, and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Birdie, you are in for it.” Porter walked over to the sink and gave Birdie a hug. “Or you’ve been in for it, I guess.” Porter shook her head. “I love it.”
“Mom, are you serious?” Elliot kept his voice low. “This is totally crazy. What are you saying?” He scrunched his face and turned toward Wendy. “What are we supposed to tell Aidan and Zachary, that Gammy has a special friend? I can’t believe you’re springing this on us like this. Honestly, I’m angry.” He clenched his jaw. “How long have you been lying to us?”
“Oh, El. And, yes, you can tell the boys that Gammy’s friend Birdie is a special kind of friend, they’ll only care if you do. And why would you? You don’t need to put a name on anything. We’re not running off to join the circus. I’m not getting a tattoo on my forehead.” Astrid felt her cheeks burn, but she kept moving and put a stack of plates on the dining room table. She had expected this, even the word lying, as if that one slippery word could contain everything she felt for Birdie, everything she felt for her children, everything she’d wanted to share, and everything she wanted to keep to herself. “Please, help yourself. Bacon, Cece?”
Cecelia hadn’t moved from the edge of the hallway. Astrid couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. She slowly made her way through the foyer and into the kitchen, picking up a plate and a handful of bacon. “I thought,” Cecelia said, carefully, with just a hint of a smile on her face, “that I was here because it was a stable home environment.”
“Trust me,” Birdie said, picking up her own plate. “There is nothing more stable than—forgive me, Astrid—an elderly lesbian.” Birdie was nine years younger than Astrid—only fifty-nine years old. Those nine years would have meant something, once upon a time, different schools, different phases of life, but now nine years felt like a blink. In the not-too-distant future, nine years would be a lot again—the difference between eighty and seventy-one, the difference between ninety-five and eighty-six, but for now, they were floating through time together, both healthy and active, both breathing.
Elliot exhaled through his mouth. “I’ll get the boys and tell them it’s time for pancakes. Can we please cool it with the L-word, please?” He stomped toward the stairs and called their names, to which the only response was a high voice bellowing, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU IN THE FACE WITH MY SWORD!,” which could have been either twin. Wendy hurried along after.
“I wouldn’t call myself a lesbian,” Astrid said. “Just to be clear, I’m bisexual. I think that’s the word one would use. Not that I’m using a word!” Though it did feel electric to say out loud, and Astrid looked forward to saying it again, in private, just for fun, to see if it zipped up her spine again, like the county fair game with the hammer and the bell. Birdie kissed her on the cheek.
“I have to say, Mom,” Porter said, “I really thought you were going to let me be the complicated one in the family for a few more minutes. Honestly, I’m impressed.”
“NFG,” Cecelia said, and then tightly pursed her lips, as if she could swallow back something she shouldn’t have said. Birdie and Porter and Astrid all looked at her expectantly. Cecelia rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me say it,” she said. They didn’t move. “No fucks given.”
Astrid let out a whoop. “I love it! That’s my new motto, my dear. NFG, Birdie, you hear that?” When had she last whooped? What else was she capable of? Birdie made her feel like she could parachute out of an airplane like George Bush on his ninetieth birthday. She watched Porter’s eyes fly open with surprise and, she thought, amusement.
“Mom, if you start saying the F-word in front of Elliot or his children, he will actually die.” Porter stuck her finger into one bowl of the pancake batter and then put the finger into her mouth. “What is this garbage?”
“Gluten-free,” Astrid said. “Try the other one. And I’ll be good, promise.” Porter ladled out the regular batter onto the hot griddle and the room filled with the smell of warm butter. Birdie put her hand on Astrid’s back and left it there, where it glowed and hummed for several minutes, until Aidan and Zachary were finally dragged downstairs under punishment of death and they all sat at the table and ate, except for Elliot, who excused himself after seething for fifteen minutes, not to be seen again.