Life Lesson #15: enjoy the small joys—like cookies

➸ Blackjack ★

My childhood home hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. A few trees are larger, and one is gone completely. The driveway looks recently redone, and the decorative shutters are black rather than green. Otherwise, the house stepped right out of my childhood.

“You were a baby here,” Yarrow says after climbing off my Harley.

“Yeah. I fell out of that tree when I was seven and busted my leg,” I explain and point to the large oak on the right side of the yard. “I used to sit on the sidewalk right here and talk about girls with my friend, Kenny. He owns a shoe shop in Little Rock now. Can’t imagine his business is doing well. Back then, he had braces, and it was my job to tell him when food was stuck in them.”

Yarrow scans the block from one end to the other before smiling at me. “This was your home.”

“Yes, and I liked it a lot. We had a swing set in the background, and lots of kids would come over to play in the summer. My mom made us Kool-Aid and sandwiches. She was the cool mom in our neighborhood. I remember feeling proud of that. It’s hard to believe I’ve gone so long without seeing her when I used to be a lame little mama’s boy back in the day.”

“Let’s see her now,” Yarrow says, tugging me along. “I want to meet your mom and see pictures of you as a baby.”

Yarrow meeting my parents will either be a godsend or a clusterfuck, though I’m leaning toward the latter. Assuming the worst, I’ve also decided to make changes to the townhome today. Yarrow will either have a good visit with my parents, or she’ll approve of the townhome’s new look. I can’t imagine I’m lucky enough to enjoy both outcomes.

Mom answers the door a second after I knock, and I assume she heard the Harley arrive. I look at her for a moment, taking in all the small changes from when we last stood together like this. She has a few more wrinkles and a different haircut, but I’m surprised to find her looking like the same woman I remember.

“Hey, Mom,” I say and lean down to hug her.

“Billy, you came.”

Sounding genuinely relieved to see me, Mom holds on tight, and I let her. Finally, I remember Yarrow is standing next to me.

“Yarrow, this is my mom, Barbra.”

My mother puts on her best friendly smile while Yarrow smiles like an insane person.

“She’s excited to be here,” I explain to Mom.

“We’re excited to meet her.”

I take Yarrow’s hand and walk into a house that reeks of early 1990s décor. No doubt my sister goes insane whenever she visits. Nothing has been updated in decades.

After taking our jackets, Mom announces, “Will, Billy’s here, and he brought his girlfriend, Yarrow.”

Watching his huge TV, Dad sits with his legs up and a beer nearby. He turns to look at us but doesn’t get up.

“Heck, boy, you got tall.”

Dad—like Bev days ago—isn’t reacting to my height. I just grin at his subtle shock at seeing his tatted son up close.

“It’s good to see you. This is Yarrow.”

“Come closer,” Dad says, and Yarrow immediately squats next to the chair. “Do you like TV?”

“Yes.”

“Want to watch TV with me while Billy and his mom catch up?”

Nodding, Yarrow plops down on the floor next to his chair. Mom and Dad both look surprised.

“You can sit in my chair,” Mom offers.

“She likes the floor,” I explain and gesture for her to follow me. “Yarrow’s fine. Trust me that she’ll say something if she’s not.”

Mom and I walk into the galley-style kitchen where the hideous vegetable curtains remain after all these years.

“She’s beautiful,” Mom says.

“Yeah. She’s something special.”

“Is she why you called after so long?”

“In a way. I mean she wanted to see my baby pictures, and it got me thinking about how I hadn’t talked to you in a while.”

“Why was that?” she says in a soft, scared voice. “Why did you stop coming around?”

“It’s complicated,” I mutter, not wanting to point fingers.

Mom glances into the living room and then returns her gaze to me. “Your father and Yarrow are enjoying cookies and watching TV. They’re fine, so we have time for you to explain why it’s complicated.”

Crossing my arms, I notice her gaze taking in the sight of my tats. “Things were different after juvie,” I say because I don’t want to have this conversation.

“Yes, they were,” she nearly whispers and reaches out to touch my inked forearm. “You were so angry.”

“Yeah, I was angry. I didn’t think I should have been locked up.”

“One of those men had a rich brother. They wanted to punish you, and the lawyer said the deal was the best you’d get.”

“Those men deserved to die.”

“I know.”

“Did you?”

Mom’s eyes reveal hurt at my question. “I didn’t want you to go to juvie, but they were talking about trying you as an adult. They said they could keep the rape out of the trial. Make you look like a thug. We didn’t want you to spend your life in prison when you only wanted to help that woman.”

“Whatever happened to the woman?”

“She moved soon after everything happened. I didn’t blame her from getting away from a town where no one cared. The police and prosecutor were so corrupt back then.”

Her words make sense, but they don’t fit what I remember. I’d felt abandoned by them. Judged too. Not just them either. Everyone treated me like the bad guy. I’d been a fucking Boy Scout my entire life, and they acted as if I were a career criminal.

I can’t say these things to my mom, not when she’s looking at me on the verge of tears. Besides, deep, deep down, I’m still the lame little mama’s boy who thought his mom was super cool for making Kool-Aid. That part of me doesn’t want to cause her pain by accusing her of long-ago wrongdoing.

“I got so angry until anger is all I knew. I changed, and maybe I didn’t think you’d want that new guy around.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” she says and tugs me into the hallway where family pictures hang from the walls. “I don’t care who you become because you’re still my Billy.”

Holding my hand, Mom caresses a picture of me from second grade. My front teeth are missing, but I smile confidently. Eight-year-old me knew where I belonged in the world. Until Yarrow, I’m not sure the adult version understood my place. No wonder I was so pissed for so long.

“And you’re still my mom,” I say, embracing my inner sap.

Hugging her, I still struggle to blend her view of the past with my own. I need time to accept that the chip on my shoulder kept me from seeing the truth.

Yarrow’s rolling laughter draws our attention away from the photos. Mom and I walk into the living room.

Standing next to my father, she sees me and points at the TV. “They’re eating people.”

As Zombies eat Tom and Judy in the old black-and-white Night of the Living Dead, Yarrow’s giggles confuse my parents who look to me to explain.

“Have you seen this movie before?” I ask Yarrow.

“No,” she says, still laughing. “Ginger said people aren’t food, but they are.”

I wrap an arm around her. “They usually aren’t. That’s why eating people is in a horror movie.”

Yarrow rests her head on my chest. “It’s still funny.”

“Why don’t you change the channel, Will?” Mom suggests.

My father agrees, though he clearly wasn’t done watching the movie. He begins flipping through the channels while I ask Yarrow about the cookies.

“They have marshmallows,” she says, offering me one.

“You always loved baking,” I tell Mom.

“Made those from scratch.”

“What does that mean?” Yarrow asks.

“They aren’t pre-made.”

“Oh, that sounds hard.”

I open my mouth to explain recipes when Yarrow jerks away from me and falls to her knees in front of the TV.

“Those are the people!” she cries. “Go back!”

My startled parents look to me for an explanation, but I only gesture for him to flip back to the last channel.

“CSPAN,” I say while kneeling down next to Yarrow.

“These were the people on the TV in my room.”

These suits babbling about laws, regulations, and politics were what Yarrow grew up listening to rather than Big Bird and Elmo. She sits in front of the TV, wide-eyed that she finally found the channel from her youth.

“I never understood what they were saying,” she tells me.

“No one does. They speak bullshit.”

Yarrow smiles relieved at the sight of the channel. “Do we have this at home?”

“Yes.”

Standing up, Yarrow smiles at my parents and me. “Then I don’t want to watch it. Can we see the people eating people again?”

Once Dad returns to his movie, Yarrow again sits on the floor. They eat cookies and talk about what zombies are. The only time she loses interest in the movie is when Mom brings out my baby pictures.

By the time we walk out the door an hour later, Yarrow is filled with sugar, obsessed about zombies, and holding one of my baby pictures. I know my parents aren’t sure what to make of her. Hell, they’re not certain about me either. Despite those misgivings, they can’t stop smiling while waving from the porch. Somehow, I ended up promising I’d bring Yarrow to their church’s trunk or treat event next week.

Something about this woman forces my world to expand with every passing day.