Are You Sitting Down? Read Free Page B

read often the glasses were usually on her face even when there wasn’t a book in front of her.
    She almost always wore black. Her closet consisted of nothing but black pants, black jeans, and long black skirts. Her tops were always white blouses, white turtle necks, or maybe a white sweater with hints of silver. She’d accent it with a red scarf or a vest, and some shiny jewelry. Today, she had on black fitted pants and a white turtle neck covered in small bunches of holly.
    “Hello darling,” she called from the front door. I had just driven up and parked my car behind hers and was opening the back door to unload the food.
    “Merry Christmas!” I called out, busy with the ham.
    “Merry Christmas to you doll. Do you need some help? Let me get my shoes.”
    She disappeared inside and came back out in a hurry, bustling down the steps. Mom had a way of just hurriedly r e acting to situations, not giving you a chance to answer. At thirty - five years of age, I was quite accustomed to just saving my breath. She opened the passenger door and began filling her arms with the wrapped boxes.
    “Are these all for me? You shouldn’t have. What’d you get your brother s and sisters?”
    I ha ve four siblings : an older brother and sister, and a younger brother and sister . I was right in the middle, the divi d ing point between traditional conforming generations and the not so compliant ones. My older brother and sister were each married with children. I was gay. My younger brother was a recovering addict who’d lost a girlfriend to drugs. My younger sister also “ran around with the wrong crowd,” to quote my mother.
    “Are they here yet?” I asked.
    I knew they weren’t because there were only two cars in the driveway, mine and Mom’s. But by asking she’d give me the updates on all of them and when they were expected to get here .
    “ Y ou are the first to arrive, my dear. Ellen and the two kids will be here sho rtly.”
    “What about Mark?” I asked.
    Ellen was the oldest sister. Mark was Ellen’s husband. They had a young daughter and a son. Mom seemed startled when I said his name.
    “He won’t be here this year ,” she said in a heavy whi s per as if someone might hear us.
    “Is something wrong?” I asked.
    “Ask your sister.”
    I left it at that. I knew their marriage had been on the rocks, but had not heard the latest. Since I was the only one who lived out of town, I was usually the last to know about anything.
    “Martin and Marline and the kids will be along later ,” Mom said.
    Martin was my older brother. Marline was his wife. They had a boy and a girl also.
    “What about Sebastian?” I asked.
    Sebastian was my younger brother.
    “ He should be here by mid-afternoon.”
    “Is he seeing anyone ?”
    “Oh no, not since what happened with Lind . Clare should be here any minute with Jake though .”
    Jake was my younger sister’s son. He was two. My si s ter just turned twenty-two, still quite the baby herself, and unwed. Jake’s father was a black man named Andr é . No one in the family had ever met him. Clare had told me Andr é didn’t even know about Jake , and she preferred it that way.
    Although Jake definitely brought attention to our fa m ily, it wasn’t the first time the White family had been the center of church pew gossip. My mother took it very well, and tried very hard not to make Jake seem like, quite literally, the black sheep of the family.
    “I’m sure Andr é is a very pleasant person, and I see nothing wrong with interracial relationships. It’s not my choice, but I do know one thing. A black man and a white lady sure do make a pretty baby,” Mom told me once.
    My mom is not a racist. I think she was more accepting of Jake than when she found out I was gay, but then again, Jake is her grandchild. There’s a reason to be proud. There’s a baby shower to throw and cute little outfits to buy . There’s a nursery to paint and a name to pick out.
    Although Clare would