31. Ai Yi Yi

Later that day after Thad had left to move another load to Bettina’s, Becky called. 

“I have good news,” she said in her most supercilious of tones.

“And that is?” I signed, knowing what was coming.

“We’re getting a new addition to the family! The paperwork came through. I’m going to get to foster parent Pablo! He’s coming on Monday! Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah, that’s great!” I wanted to say muy bueno, but refrained. “Mom told me she had met him the other day and that he seemed very sweet, and that it looked like you might be getting him. Well, good.”

In fact, Mom had called after the disastrous birth certificate fiasco afternoon and filled me in. Apparently the kid is cute as a button and doesn’t speak a word of English and hates carrot cake. Mother also said Becky had already covered a majority of her pale linen-colored house in plastic in preparation for motherhood.  

“The social worker woman was so nice,” Becky said. “We visited for almost two hours, and Pablo just wondered around the house and seemed like he was home. It was so special.”

“So it’s completely official Monday?” I asked.

“Yeah. They’ll bring him over and I’ll sign the final papers and they’ll leave him with me and this’ll be his new home, at least until he is adopted, I mean if he gets adopted. Oh, I’ve got so much to go buy, so much to plan…”

“Is it just you who signs the papers?” I asked none too subtly.

“What did Mother tell you?” Becky snapped.

“Well, not to make you mad, and I am happy for you, but she said the social worker woman asked about meeting Ray and you said he was at work.” Mother told  me she did not correct Becky at this point, and we agreed that was for the best as Becky is scary when cornered.   

“And? I’m sure he was at work. Up in the City.”

“Yes, but you understand that you are deceiving these people, right? That it will just be you raising him. I mean it’s been…

“…A year this last Valentine’s Day, yes, when Ray moved up to the City, thank you for reminding me…”

“Yes, sorry, but doesn’t Ray have to sign these papers too? I mean if you signed-up to do this as a couple, doesn’t he also have to sign-off? And I’m not trying to be mean, I just don’t want you to get in trouble or get in over you head.”

“It’s not a problem,” Becky said dismissively.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not a problem’?”

“I can just sign his name. I’ve done it before. It’s no big deal. The bigger picture is that Pablo is now going to have a good, loving home.”

“But that is perjury…or libel.”

“Forgery,” she corrected.

“Yes! It’s forgery!”

“Oh, it’s not. We’re married. It’s fine.”

 “I don’t think one of the perks of marriage-and maybe as someone barred from that fine institution, I don’t know all of the ins and outs of the glory of heterosexual union, but I’m pretty sure there’s not a free pass on forgery.”

“Michael, its fine; don’t worry about it. I’m not.” 

“And why not?” I said exasperated.

“We’re married. It’s fine. We used to sign each other’s names all the time. Okay? So drop it.” she cleared her throat to signal that she was done with that: she was right and I was wrong, and there was nothing that would change Rebecca Stiles’ mind once it was made up.

“I guess…”

“So I called to tell you that Pablo would be here Monday and that you and Thad should come meet him this week, I mean, if you want.”

“Yeah, we’ll…I’ll do that.”  It was the first time in a while I had to stumble over the we-to-I transition, the couple-to-as-single conjugation.

“Oh," she paused. "How is Thad’s move going?”   

“All he took today were decorative porcelain figurines and tablecloths.”

“Tablecloths?”

“Yes, tablecloths. He has a lot of tablecloths. I would say it was a gay thing, but think it’s more of a Thad thing. He has many, many tablecloths, all to go with his different china settings.”  

          “So does this mean you two are breaking up?” she said as a distinct jab, per my previous jabs at her.

          “No, and I wish people would quit asking that!” I snapped. “He’s just bored. He needs space. We’re still going to see each other all the time; he’ll just live somewhere else. Plus he’s doing it to help his friend.” I had said it so many times I had almost started to believe it myself. But the truth was I was petrified that that exact thing would happen: this would prove to be the beginning of our end.

          “And you’re okay with it?”

          “No, no I’m not, but what am I suppose to do?”

          “At least he’s not moving to the City.” She sighed.

          “Yeah,” and in that moment I felt a true simpatico with my sister: we both had been left by our menfolk. And then, “Don’t ask me how but I got Dad’s address.”

          “How did you get it?”

          “I asked you not to ask me how.”

          “Whatever. Is it the same one Mom gave me back in 2004 when I wrote him?”

“I think so. East Tropicana, Las Vegas?”  

          “That’s it. You never wrote it down back then?
          “No, never wanted it.”

‘So, where’d you get it?”

          I sighed, “Witches’ honor?”

          “Witches’ honor,” She said. 

          I told her the story of my license and stealing from the safety deposit box.

          “That’s crazy!” she said. “So now you’re stealing? From the bank? And you’re getting on to me about breaking the law?”

          “It’s not the same thing.” But to my OCD it was exactly the same thing.

          “Sure,” She said. “I still have it written down. If you’d asked me, I would have just given it to you.”

“I know. This just seemed like fate, you know, me finding it like I did. Like maybe now I’m supposed to contact him.”

“Good luck. The old bastard never wrote me back. I just wanted him to come to my wedding.” She paused. “I wonder what he looks like now?”

“I dunno.” All I could think were all of the faded, dog-eared 1960’s & 70’s photos I had seen of him. They had divorced in 1976. The final photo I had of him was a weird bicentennial one, with him at a park with hippies in the background. “Maybe he still has a beard.”

“I bet he is clean shaven. He’d be 65 or so now.”

“Good lord we are old.”

“You’re telling me.” She sighed. “You know I’m turning 40 next week.”

“I know. What do you want?”

“My youth back. You know when Marilyn Monroe was my age she had already been dead for three years.”

I laughed, “Oh, you’re fine. And think what life a child will bring to the house.”

“I know. I hope my back can take it.” She sighed again. “So why are you thinking about contacting Dad now?”

“I dunno.” I lied. It was the same reason she was getting the kid: not to be alone at 40. I felt bad for hassling her about her situation.

“Okay,” she said after a pause. “Just be careful. I mean, you never wanted to speak to him before. Back when I was writing him, you told me your therapist thought it was a good idea you not talk to him-that you were good just to leave him in the past where he belonged.”

“I did. That was the past.” I rubbed my face. “I don’t know. I might not even write him. It would be so weird to hear from him after so long. So weird. And he probably wouldn’t even write back…but don’t tell Mom I got the letter or I’m even thinking about writing him. She’ll freak out or something. I just don’t want to upset her.” 

“What does Thad think about his?
          “He doesn’t know.” I mumbled, wishing I still smoked.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t told him. I’m mad he’s moving out. This is my thing. I need to think about it. I shouldn’t have even told you.”

“I won’t say anything,” she said quietly. “But you should talk to Thad about it. This is a big deal.”

We were silent for a moment and then she continued, “You know Mom is going to help me with Pablo. I’m off all next week, but after that she’s going to babysit while I’m at work during the day.”

“But she doesn’t even speak Spanish,” I said with a smile, to try and lighten the mood.

“Stop it!” Becky said rather seriously, then snickered. “I actually haven’t even heard him speak English yet. The social worker lady said he was bilingual, but I’ve hardly heard him speak at all. We’ll have to teach him English. And lucky for us, we have an English Professor right here in the family.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe he’ll like to peruse my new paper on the Existentialism of  Troilus and Cressida.”

“I don’t think anyone would want to peruse that,” she laughed.

“Exactly. Okay, look: good luck with Pablo. I look forward to meeting him. I’ll come over next week and try to get Thad to come, if he hasn’t strained his back from lifting too many boxes of decorative soaps.”

She laughed. “Do that. Pablo's a precious little kid. I’m already getting the cat’s room changed over to his room.”

“How are Fred and Ginger handling that?”

“They’re fine. I had a stern talk with them. They’ll have to share with little brother now.”

“Yeah.” I knew she was only sort of kidding. She took those cats way too seriously. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will. And have heart about Thad. I’m sure he’ll come back soon.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” I wish I could have said the same to her about Ray.