SIENNA
November 27th, 2014
Dressed in a new black V-neck pleated dress, 2” heels, and a black shawl, I felt as beautiful as Vince said I looked. Vince was dressed in dress jeans, dress boots, and a black button down shirt. Much to my surprise, he allowed me to drive, and we listened to Christmas music the entire way to his mother’s house. I felt for the entire trip that my life was finally not only precisely where I had always wanted it to be, but exactly as I deserved it to be.
The neighborhood wasn’t exactly what I had expected, and as we pulled into the driveway of the two-story brick home, I was immediately surprised at the size, perfect landscape, and southern appeal. The home clearly stood out as being different than all the others surrounding it.
A red brick home with wrap-around porch complete with porch swing, white shuttered windows, and a yard filled with huge trees in a middle class neighborhood wasn’t where I expected Vince’s mother to be living. Considering the fact that Vince’s father was a biker who had died in prison, and Vince was an only child, I expected a little more modest – and much smaller – home.
“This place is huge,” I said as I shut off the engine.
“Pop built this place,” he said. “Bought three lots to build it on so he could have this huge yard.”
“Seriously?” I asked as I admired the home.
He gazed in the direction of the house and nodded his head. “Yep, pretty cool place, huh? He was a biker, but being a construction contractor was his day job. Hell, he wanted a dozen kids and a place where they could always come back to for Sunday dinners. I grew up in this big fucker all alone. Lots of cool places to hide, though.”
“Wow. That’s crazy he built it. Good for him,” I said. “And the yard is huge.”
“Just remember, no cussing. Oh, and you can call me whatever, but she’s going to call me Stephen,” he said.
“Got it,” I said as I reached for the door handle.
“And don’t call Bradley fat,” he said.
“Okay,” I said with a laugh as I got out of the car.
Vince got the pies from the back of the car and we began to walk up the drive. I continued to admire the massive home as we walked up to the sidewalk leading to the front steps. Growing up in such a place would be heaven for a child, especially with the yard as large as it was. As we stepped off the sidewalk and onto the steps, the reality of it all hit me. I had never met a man’s parents, at least not a man I was in a relationship with. I suspected Vince felt the same way, but as far as I was concerned, this was a huge step toward securing our relationship as being one that was solid and secure.
“After you,” Vince said as he opened the door.
I nervously stepped into the home. The very large living room was decorated as I expected a home to be in the south, and although it wasn’t ornate, it was pretty close. Camel back couches, arm chairs with carved wood, and various coffee and end tables were scattered about the room, and very plentiful. There was no doubt the home could easily be used to entertain dozens, but from what Vince said it was never more than him and his mother who occupied the home.
As I inhaled the aroma of the Thanksgiving meal, all of the emotions associated with the holidays I had at home as a child filled me. We rarely had a large crowd, and frequently ate alone, but the holidays were special nonetheless. From time to time my father would invite a less fortunate friend, and I remember times when I had friends from school visit during the holiday season, but the holiday meals were typically only my father and me. Although the holiday dinner table was less than full, the love that filled the dining room was immense.
My father loved to cook, and his recipes for the holiday meals were always traditional. Although we often ate meals which were more customary in his actual home land, Ukraine, he never introduced any of his family recipes into our holiday meals. He was proud of being a U.S. citizen, and proud of adopting the traditions and policies of the country, recipes included. His sweet potatoes were my favorite; he put big marshmallows in with the potatoes, and because it was only him and me eating, I always got plenty of marshmallows with my sweet potatoes.
“Oh my word,” his mother said as she walked out of what I expected was the kitchen.
According to Vince, she was in her early fifties, but she looked to be in her forties. She was petite, dressed in a burgundy dress, had long brunette hair with highlights, and was absolutely beautiful. A white apron was tied around her waist, and contrasted completely with her beautiful dress, but clearly showed how much time and effort she had placed in the preparation of the meal we were about to eat.
As she stood in the doorway and gazed in our direction, she slowly raised her hands to her mouth and pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips.
“Sienna, this is my mother, Anita,” Vincent said. “Ma, this is Sienna.”
She lowered her hands from her face, opened her arms, and curled her fingers toward her palms repeatedly as if she was trying to coerce a small toddler to come see her.
“Go give her a hug,” Vince sighed in the form of a light whisper.
I walked across the living room toward where she was standing, and as I stepped directly in front of her, realized she was softly crying. I felt an odd sense of pride that Vince adding me to his life provided her with such joy, but also felt guilt for some reason. As she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into her, I realized the guilt was more a feeling of responsibility.
“I love him very much,” I whispered in an effort to comfort her. “And it’s nice to meet you.”
“Where do you want the pies?” Vince asked.
“You know where to put the pies,” she said in a sarcastic tone as she released me. “Now, go play with your brother, Stephen. We have work to do.”
“Follow me,” she said as she turned toward the kitchen.
I glanced over my shoulder, grinned, and winked at Vince. As I followed his mother into the kitchen, an adorable – and obviously overweight – English bulldog ran past us and toward the living room. As he ran, slobber flipped from his lips.
“That’s Bradley,” she said as he ran past. “He’s Stephen’s brother.”
“Hi, Bradley,” I said jokingly even though he was long gone.
“Stephen was right, your hair is perfect,” she said as she stepped to the side and studied me.
“Why, thank you,” I said.
I glanced over my shoulder and upon confirming we were alone, lowered the tone of my voice to a whisper. “He told you about my hair?”
“Honey, I’ve been hearing about you since the day you met back in June. He tells me bits and pieces at a time, but that hair of yours…he just won’t stop talking about it.” She said.
“He’s silly,” I said.
She pulled the oven door open slightly and peered inside. “He sure is. And just so you know, he’s been known to tell a fib or two. Now, back in July, what happened to his face? Someone beat him up, didn’t they?”
I pointed to my cheek innocently. “When he got the stitches?”
She glanced up and nodded her head. “Mmmhhhmm.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I thought he wrecked his motorcycle.”
“Well aren’t you cute,” she said. “Sticking up for him already.”
She opened the oven again and pulled out a sheet of dinner rolls sufficient to feed a small army. After placing them on the counter beside the rest of the meal, she sighed.
“Stephen’s always prompt, and so am I. I think that’s about all of it,” she said as she glanced around the kitchen.
“It smells wonderful,” I said.
“So do you, Honey. I absolutely love that perfume you’re wearing. And that dress? It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “I just got it.”
She walked past me, peered through the doorway, and turned to face me. “He’s in there talking to Bradley.”
She walked back into the kitchen, picked up the platter of turkey, and nodded her head toward the sweet potatoes. “Honey, grab the yams and follow me.”
I glanced in the dish. The sweet potatoes were covered in marshmallows. As I inhaled the sweet aroma, a rush of emotions washed over me. Other than in my father’s home, I had never seen them prepared in the same manner, and although I never assumed my father invented the recipe, I had yet to deal with such a strong reminder of him. I bit into my quivering lip, picked up the sweet potatoes, and followed her into the dining room, my mouth watering the entire way.
A table large enough to seat eight with a large chandelier over it sat in the center of the room. She placed the turkey on the table and reached for the potatoes. After situating them in what I suspected was her perfect place, she turned away. After a few steps, she paused.
“Do you want children?” she asked.
I was slightly shocked by her question, and wondered how I should respond. It was something Vince and I had yet to discuss, but I was sure we would at some point in time. Talking to her about it first seemed strange.
Still facing away from me, she turned her head and gazed at me over her shoulder. “Just between you and me.”
I grinned and nodded my head eagerly. “I do.”
“How many?” she asked as she turned away.
“Just between you and me?” I asked.
“Honey, everything we discuss is between you and me. It’s what mothers and daughters do, they keep secrets with each other,” she said.
Her response didn’t immediately sink in, but as I responded, I felt flattered and considerably more welcome in her home. Whether she intended to or not, she made me feel wanted, and almost as if I was already truly a part of the family.
“Enough to fill this house if I got my say in it,” I said.
She blinked her eyes, smiled, and quickly turned toward the sink.
“Grab the green beans, honey, I think I’ve got something in my eye,” she said as she turned away.
I carried the remainder of the food to the table as she walked to the bathroom and tried to get something out of her eye. As I gazed down at the table and wondered if she would be mad about my placement of the food, I heard her yell at Vince.
“Bradley, Stephen! Dinner’s ready, you two,” she shouted.
“It’s perfect,” she said as she walked into the dining room.
“I didn’t know where to put everything,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. “It looks wonderful.”
“So, we’re ready?” Vince asked as he walked into the room.
His mother shifted her eyes toward me and grinned. “We sure are.”
“You been crying, Ma?” Vince asked as he walked into the room .
“No, I got something in my eye, didn’t I, Honey?” she responded as she shifted her eyes toward me.
I nodded my head.
“Yeah, and I wrecked my bike,” Vince said with a laugh.
“Just be quiet and sit down,” his mother snapped.
We all took a seat at the large table, Vince and I sitting on either side of his mother, and Bradley on the floor beside Vince.
“Who’s saying grace?” she asked as she alternated glances between Vince and me.
“Well, according to your rules, it’s Sienna’s turn,” Vince responded.
His mother tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes.
“I’ll say it,” I said with a nod.
I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and inhaled a shallow breath. As I began to pray, Anita rested her hand on my knee.
“Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today to give thanks. There are so many, Lord, who are less fortunate, and for them I ask you to give special consideration on this day, and throughout the holiday season. Bless them with understanding and a willingness to continue, for one day they, just as we have, will find their calling in life and see the world through clearer eyes, through your eyes, and through you they will pave the way to a brighter future. Today, Lord, I thank you for Anita, I thank you for Vince, and I thank you for Bradley, but most of all, I thank you for providing all of us with something as sacred as the ability to love. I give these thanks in your name, Lord, amen.”
I opened my eyes, lifted my head, and glanced around the table.
“Pass the potatoes, Ma,” Vince said.
His mother stood and patted me on the shoulder.
“Hand him the potatoes, Honey,” she said as she turned away. “I’ve got something in my eye again.”
I did wonder when she walked away the first time if she was crying or if she had something in her eye, and now the answer was pretty clear.
But I’d never tell.
Because that’s what mothers and daughters do, they keep secrets with each other.