Living with Jackie Chan (12 page)

Dave: [Inappropriate joke about Mary and Joseph.]

I flip back to the photo of the tree. Poor Rosie looks so embarrassed with that goofy ribbon around her neck. But looking at her like this makes me realize how much I miss her. Even her foul smell. I leave the photo on my phone propped up on my side table and shut off the lights. The glow-in-the-dark stars come to life, and I imagine they’re Christmas lights.

Next to my phone, I grab Stella’s box and pull out the rock. It slowly warms in my hand as I hold it in my fist. I picture her somewhere in the building above me, holding her own rock. I give it a squeeze. “Hey,” I say in my head. “Merry Christmas.” I hold the box to my face and smell her perfume again. Then I roll over, the rock still in my hand, and fall asleep.

When I wake up, I’m still holding Stella’s rock. I reach for the box and put it back, then wait for the cries to start. They’re quiet at first, then louder. I hear the familiar creaks. And then singing. Just muffled, but I recognize the tune from earlier tonight.
Silent night. Holy night.
I imagine Gene or Gil up there, holding the baby. Rocking him. Holding him and loving him. Holding him and being his father.

I cross my arms at my chest and hold the emptiness there. I feel it as if it is the heaviest thing in the world. As if it is crushing me. And I can’t breathe. I squeeze tighter, trying to smother the nothing that is slowly suffocating me.

But there’s nothing to hang on to but myself.

Larry flings open my door and spreads his arms out, like,
Ta-da!
He’s wearing red sweatpants, a white T-shirt, and a Santa hat.

I roll over and check the clock. “Larry, it’s seven thirty in the morning.”

“I know! And also? It’s
Christmas
!”

I put my pillow over my head. He pulls it off.

“C’mon,” he whines. “Christmas morning! Let’s go see what Santa brought.”

I groan. “You go see and let me know.”

He whips off my sheets in a dramatic tug. The cat goes flying off the bed.

“Oh! Sorry, Clover. I didn’t see you there,” he says. But she’s long gone.

I sit up and rub the gunk out of my eyes.

“On Christmas, mo-or-neen, wake up bright and er-er-lee!”
Larry starts to sing.

“I’m up, I’m up,” I moan.

Larry grins. “I already made cocoa!”

Maybe he was an elf in a former life.

He semi-bounces out of the room, and I drag myself after him. In the living room, the tree is all lit up. There are presents. And two stockings laid out on each end of the couch. And one tiny one in the middle with a little cat on it for Clover.

“Wow,” I say.

“Isn’t this great?” Larry comes out of the kitchen with two mugs of cocoa.

“No smoothie?” I ask.

“It’s Christmas!”

“Be right back.” I go to my room to get the small pile of presents I have for Larry and Clover. I put them under the tree, and Larry and I dig into our stockings. Larry makes us take turns pulling one thing out at a time. There’s some pretty crazy stuff in mine, including an Einstein bobblehead.

When Larry takes out gifts from his stocking, he looks genuinely surprised and thrilled about each one. Maybe Arielle gave him a pile of stuff to put in it before she left. Or maybe this year there really was a Santa Claus.

Clover races around the living room with her new catnip mouse while Larry and I finish. I get three chocolate Santas, a candy cane, and a bunch of other gag gifts from the comic store. A lot of them are karate-themed and totally embarrassing. Larry cracks up each time I pull something out, but he refuses to say he bought them. “Santa sure knows you!” he keeps saying.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

When we finish with our stockings, Larry turns up the Christmas classics he’s got playing on his stereo and says it’s time to stop for breakfast. He’s been teaching me how to cook, so I help him whisk eggs for omelets and chop up a bunch of vegetables to go in them. We chow down in the living room, watching the blinking lights on the tree. Clover settles in between us, having wiped herself out from chasing her mouse all morning.

After breakfast, Larry takes our dishes and tells me to stay put when I offer to help wash up. I lean back and close my eyes. Everything about this morning feels right. Like I belong here. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. Like I’m really wanted. But that’s how Larry makes me feel. Like he’s glad I’m here. Not some mistake. Some burden. I know I should probably check my cell and see if my parents called, but right now, I just don’t want to think about them. I just want to enjoy this moment. This day.

And then, as if I summoned it all just by bringing them to mind, the buzzer goes off and Larry races over to press the button. “Perfect timing!” he yells into the little speaker. “Come on up!”

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Stay put. You have some surprise guests.”

“What the hell?” I say. Because I know who it is and I am not happy and suddenly my merry Christmas feeling is gone.

“They miss you, Josh. Now try to look like you’re glad to see them. They’re nervous, and you’ll make it worse.”

Shit.

“I thought we agreed this wasn’t part of my
journey,
” I say, all whiny.

“I agreed you shouldn’t go home. I didn’t agree you shouldn’t see your mom and dad. Now —” Larry puts his fingers to his mouth as if forcing his lips to make a smile, a direction for me to do the same.

“Shit,” I say out loud.

“Don’t say
shit
on Christmas. It’s not nice.” He walks over to the door and opens it. “Hey, guys!” he calls down to them.

I stand up and feel sick. One-on-one, my parents are fine. I know they love me in their weird way. Growing up, my mom and I spent time volunteering at a soup kitchen once a week. We had breakfast together on weekends while my dad slept off his hangovers. She made sure I had money for food when she worked late. Whatever. She was fine. My dad and I spent our time hanging out in the garage while he worked on his van. Or eating crap food together while we watched crap TV. When I got older, he’d let me have one of his beers and we’d stay up late till he passed out on the couch.

Neither of my parents was ever mean to me. They never hit me. But they weren’t exactly the model parents. And most noticeably, they spent almost zero time together. In fact, they made avoiding each other almost an art. My dad would be snoring on the couch before my mom got home from work, and then he’d be up and off to work the next morning before my mom woke up. This was just how it always was with them. The three of us in a room at the same time was a rare and therefore extremely awkward occurrence. I can only imagine how much more so this will be now.

Larry gives my mom and dad each a huge bear hug as they step into the apartment.

“Surprise!” my mom says, rushing over to me and pulling me close. She smells different. Her hair is down, which it never is, and she’s had it colored or something, because there aren’t any gray streaks in it anymore. And she’s wearing makeup.

“You look fantastic, Sylvia!” Larry says to her.

She beams at me. “It’s so good to see you, honey!”

“Joshy!” My dad gives me a guy half-hug. I notice he doesn’t smell like his usual hangover at all. He steps back from me and looks me up and down. “You grew,” he says.

“He’s bulking up!” Larry says. “I’ve got him at practice five days a week plus weekends! He’ll be a brown belt by year’s end if it kills me.”

Larry leads my parents into the living room. “Sit, sit,” he says.

My mom rushes back over to the door and brings in the shopping bags my dad lugged up the stairs. “Just brought a few things for under the tree,” she says. She pulls out some wrapped packages and arranges them with the other gifts.

“Let me make you some coffee and we’ll get started,” Larry says, leaving me alone with them.

I sit in Larry’s usual chair and realize my hands are shaking. My parents sit across from me on the couch, carefully pushing our stocking stuff aside. But there’s still so much crap to move, they end up sitting right next to each other. They’re so close, their shoulders and legs are touching.

“What?” my mom asks.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at us,” she says.

“Oh. Uh, I’m just, you know, surprised to see you.” Especially together.

“We couldn’t not see you on Christmas!” My mom looks so nervously happy. Like she’s afraid I might yell at her.

Part of me wants to.

I don’t know why. Not really. It was nice of them to come. To make the four-hour drive, they must have had to get up at, like, five in the morning. On Christmas. But ten minutes ago, I was feeling happy. And right now, I feel like I have a weight in my chest, pulling me back against the chair cushion. Trapping me.

“We wanted to bring Rosie, but she’s having so much trouble getting around. We thought it might be too much,” my mom says.

“Is she OK?” I ask.

“Oh, sure. She’s fine. She’s just getting old.”

“She really misses you,” my dad says. “She sleeps in your room every night.”

“Really?”

My mom smiles, then gives my dad a warning look, I think to let him know he’s going too far on the Rosie thing. Because I know my eyes are watering up, and I feel like the worst son on the planet for not visiting them all this time. Not even at Thanksgiving, which I spent with Larry volunteering at a homeless shelter, just like I used to do with my mom. I knew it would’ve made my mom proud, but I never even bothered to tell her. I never bother to tell them anything. But let’s be honest. It’s partly because in the past, they never asked.

My dad shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “So, you doin’ all right?” he asks, changing the subject. “School OK?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s fine. I aced my midterms and everything.”

“That’s great! Wow. Aced ’em, huh?”

I try not to feel offended by how surprised he is, because mostly, he sounds proud. And that is a first.

“We’re so impressed with how hard you’re working, Josh,” my mom says. “You’re doing so well here.” She looks happy and sad at the same time.

I’m not sure how to reply. I’m doing well in school, yeah. I’m doing well in karate. But am I doing well in life? Would she say that if she knew about the two a.m. wake-up calls? Would she say that if she knew me well enough to be able to look at me and see beyond my mask? Isn’t that what most moms do? Instead, I feel like she’s looking at me for the first time. Maybe they both are. At this new me they think they see — hope they see. But I’m not new. I’m the same old me. Why can’t they see that?

Luckily, Larry comes back in to interrupt the most awkward conversation ever. “Coffee’ll be ready in a jiff.” He sits on the arm of my chair. “How was the drive? Any traffic?”

“Nope. Interstate was dead,” my dad says.

Larry nods.

My mom scans the apartment. She looks about as comfortable as I feel.

“So,” Larry says. “How’s the music goin’, Hal?”

“Ah, you know. Same ole, same ole.” My dad taps his hands on his knees. For a minute, I see him back home, sitting on the couch on that hot summer day when everything changed.

When I left the hospital that awful day, I walked all the way home. By the time I got there, I was dripping in sweat and all I wanted to do was stand under a cold shower. And maybe drown myself. Before I opened the screen door, though, I heard music coming from the living room. My dad was playing a lullaby he probably thought no one but Rosie could hear. I remember standing outside. Outside looking in. And wishing he would never stop.

“Why don’t you open your gifts?” my mom suggests.

“Great idea!” Larry says. He hops up and grabs some presents and piles a bunch at my feet. Then he hands one to each of my parents.

Wait. How long has Larry known about this little secret?

I pick up a smallish box and check the tag:
For Josh From Mom & Dad.

“Oh, wait,” my mom says. “Why don’t you save that one for last?”

“Here, open this!” Larry says, reaching over and choosing another package. “It’s from me!”

It feels like a book, but when I open it, I pull out a picture frame.
What Is a True Karate Man?
is written in beautiful calligraphy.

“So you won’t forget,” Larry tells me. “Do you like it?”

I read the words I’ve finally been able to memorize. The words that define Larry. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. It’s great. Thanks!” I smile at him so he knows I mean it.

“I want you to hang it on the wall near your bed and read it every day,” Larry says, getting all serious. “Because that’s who you are, Josh. A true karate man.”

I feel myself blush. Hardly.

“Let’s see,” my mom says, reaching for the frame. She and my dad read it at the same time. Larry beams at me.

“That’s lovely,” my mom says, handing the frame back. My dad nods quietly.

“Josh is making great progress,” Larry says. “We should show you some of our moves after dinner.”

That is so not going to happen. Karate seems cool when I’m with Larry and Stella. But the thought of doing katas in front of my dad seems totally lame.

“Here,” I say, reaching for a package for Larry in an attempt to change the subject. “Open this.” And please shut the hell up about karate. No offense.