Chapter 9 - ETHAN’S FIRST BIRTHDAY AFTER I CAME HOME
Ethan turned ten six months after I returned.
I asked what kind of party he wanted.
He shrugged.
“No party.”
“Okay.”
“Can we just have burgers?”
“Absolutely.”
“And chocolate cake?”
“Done.”
Then he added:
“Can Clara come?”
I looked at Eleanor.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Grandma?”
The room became quiet.
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
Children should not have to manage adult tension.
I crouched beside him.
“You can want to see Grandma.”
He nodded.
“You can also not want to.”
Another nod.
“What do you want?”
He thought for a long time.
“Not this birthday.”
“Okay.”
That was it.
No guilt.
No forcing reconciliation because Margaret was seventy.
No using age as a coupon for consequences.
We grilled burgers in the tiny townhouse backyard.
Clara brought the cake.
Eleanor made potato salad.
I burned half the buns.
At some point, Ethan laughed so hard at something Clara said that milk came out of his nose.
It was the best family party I had attended in years.
After dinner, he opened presents.
Clara gave him a model airplane.
Eleanor gave him art supplies.
I gave him a new bike.
Then he handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“For you.”
Inside was a drawing.
Four people standing in front of a small house.
Me.
Eleanor.
Ethan.
Clara.
No shed.
I had to look away.
Ethan frowned.
“You don’t like it?”
I pulled him against me.
“I love it.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Old-person problem.”
“I’m ten now.”
“Exactly. Ancient.”
He laughed.
Later, I noticed something else.
In the corner of the drawing was a plane.
Small.
Far away.
I asked him about it.
“That’s where you were.”
“And now?”
He pointed at the figure beside the house.
“That’s where you are.”
Children can make entire moral judgments with crayons.
May you like
I kept that picture.
I still have it.
