Twelve Steps to Normal(18)
Nonnie plays another video, and immediately I hear music starting up. From over her shoulder, I see she’s watching one of Queen’s live performances. As if I didn’t hear enough of it this morning. When Freddie Mercury takes the stage, Nonnie claps and hollers as if he can hear her. I wonder if anyone’s told her that the internet doesn’t work that way.
“Peach is teaching me how to make her basil marinara sauce,” my dad says. “She’s a chef.”
“Oh, stop.” Peach swats him with the dishcloth in her hands. She turns to face me. “I’m not. I’m just a big foodie.”
Nonnie waves her off. “She’s being modest.”
I stand there with my hands in my pockets. They’re going about this so casually, as if they’ve lived here for years. I never thought I’d feel so awkward in my own home—a place that was once my sanctuary. Now I’d be lucky to ever find a moment’s peace to watch Crime Boss in my ratty sweats.
The back door swings open. Saylor walks in carrying my old boom box that I haven’t seen in years. His face is beaded with sweat, but he’s smiling as if it’s seventy outside instead of ninety.
Peach looks up from rubbing roasted garlic on the slices of bread. “How was your practice?”
I look at him, wondering what he could possibly be practicing.
“Awesome.” He notices me, his face brightening. “Hey, Kira. Your dad told me you dance. You should join next time if you want.”
“You dance?” He doesn’t seem like a pirouette kind of guy.
Saylor laughs. “No, yoga. I mean, I practice yoga. But it helps with flexibility and technique and inner strength. Balances your chakras and all that.”
“Sounds very… Zen,” is all I can think to say.
“We did a lot of yoga at the ranch,” my dad explains, then turns to Saylor. “You hungry?”
He grins. “Like an ostrich!”
I look from my dad to Peach, wondering if this is some inside joke that I’m not in on.
Saylor must sense my confusion because he looks at me and says, “Ostriches have three stomachs.”
I blink. “Right.”
After Saylor heads upstairs to shower, my dad turns to me and says, “Can you set the table, Goose?”
As much as I would rather hide out in my room, I begrudgingly obey. I grab five plates from our cabinet and start placing them around the table. The faster this is all over, the faster I can escape.
It’s strange. After Grams passed away, the house felt smaller. Emptier. I never expected it to feel crowded again without her.
When I was little, way too young to remember, my dad obtained full custody of me. He met my mom in college during their senior year, and from what Grams shared with me, they’d only been seeing each other for a few months when she became pregnant. He supported her through it, but not too long after I was born she got herself in trouble selling drugs and served a hefty amount of jail time.
After she was released, she didn’t have any interest in getting to know me, and the feeling was mutual. I had Grams and my dad. That was enough.
You’d think an unplanned pregnancy would result in a lengthy sex talk, but my father’s version involved awkwardly setting a twenty-four-pack of condoms on my dresser when I started dating Jay. Which—OH MY GOD—we hadn’t even kissed at that point.
My dad moved back in with Grams to take care of me, completing his last few university credits online and skipping his graduation ceremony altogether. Grams had done her best to fill the void of my absentee parent. I remember she used these colorful Styrofoam letters to help teach me the alphabet, and she’d let me prepare tea parties using her antique tea set. Birthdays were always momentous occasions with family trips to water parks and Six Flags. I could talk to her about things I couldn’t talk to my dad about: boys and bras and the proper application of eyeliner.
When Grams died, my dad wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone close to him.
I was lucky to have Whitney, Lin, and Raegan to turn to after she passed. I’d sleep over at Whitney’s house a lot, and her parents always went out of the way to make me feel comfortable. They even bought a toothbrush for me and kept it in her bathroom. Raegan made sure I stayed involved with school activities to keep my sadness out of my mind, and Lin was there whenever I did need to break down. The three of them, in their own way, helped me heal. But there were moments when I’d catch myself wondering what things would have been like if she was still alive.
Michael, my dad’s AA sponsor, would come around sometimes. Twelve years sober, Michael was a divorced IT technician who’d dedicated much of his life trying to save others from destructive behavior. My dad talked about him constantly. Sometimes he was happy with the twelve-step program and Michael’s help, and other times he was defensive and reclusive.
When Michael first started sponsoring my dad, he reached out to me through e-mail. One part in particular stuck out in my mind.
Alcoholism is a disease. I know that can be hard to understand—it’s not like cancer or diabetes, and people are less sympathetic toward it, but it is. You need to know that he would have struggled with his addiction even if your grandmother didn’t pass.
He was right. It was hard for me to understand. It still is.
I push aside the heaviness in my chest as I finish setting the table. A live rendition of “We Are the Champions” erupts through the computer speakers. I turn around to see Nonnie watching Freddie Mercury strut across the screen. It’s clear she’s enamored by his majestic presence, but I’m starting to wonder if she knows YouTube contains more than just Queen videos.