Page 10 of Retrofit Analysis

Elizabeth

I don’t normally have an audience when Jake abruptly transitions between meltdown mode and “quirky kid who uses big words that make adults laugh.” But somehow the Brady family seems to take it all in stride. They didn’t even stare at me when I burst into the house soaking wet, arguing with Jake to put on a dry shirt.

Now, watching Kellen’s family fight over the guacamole, I can see how a teenager freaking out about canceled plans would roll right off their backs. They seem so easygoing, even as they tease each other. I lean against the wall taking a few deep breaths to regain my composure. Jake is fine. He’s out on the deck with Kellen, studying the dials on the massive grill Kellen is firing up.

He’s more than fine. I study him. Jake is at ease out there, comfortable. This family is making my kid comfortable. I feel the hot pull of tears wanting to roll from my eyes, reminding me how rare it is to find spaces where Jake feels like he can be himself. Then I feel the bile rise in my throat when I start to wonder whether all the fancy country club people who felt so important to Todd were just the wrong sort of crowd when it came to welcoming someone who experiences the world differently.

Mick Brady bursts in the front door, shaking the rain from his long black slicker. “Rainbow’s forming outside,” he yells, by way of greeting, and everyone floods from the kitchen into Kellen’s living room to stare out the picture window. There, above my house, is a beautiful double rainbow. The sidewalks steam in the newly blazing sun. I pull up my phone to take a picture, deciding this is the moment the neighborhood became home again.

“Betty Burns, is that really you?” Mick shakes his head, grinning. “My son told me you moved in. You haven’t changed a bit!”

I laugh. “Well I hope I’ve grown up some.” I tuck my short hair behind my ears, which I know makes the gray streak more visible. He waves a hand.

“I’d still fight my brother for your number.”

I swat at his arm, and immediately wonder why I’m flirting with Mick Brady after 30 years of not seeing him. “Which of these are yours,” I ask him, gesturing around the room. Between the curly haired woman, the pregnant woman, and all the tall men, I still haven’t figured out just which of these people are Kellen’s children.

Mick grabs a beer from the fridge and gestures toward me. I don’t typically drink beer, but I say yes and twist the top off the Killian’s Irish Red. The Bradys have always been into their Irish heritage. Mick takes a swig from his and points to the long-limbed young men. “Those three goons are my sons,” he says. “Two of them managed to find women who aren’t sick of them yet. That one there is carrying my first grandson. Can you believe I’m gonna be a Pop-pop?”

“You settled on Pop-pop? Not Pee-paw or Pappy?” It feels good to joke around with him. He was always easygoing and fun when he was around. He was already in college when I got together with Kellen, but he came home that summer and always tried to mooch free admission into the amusement park when I was at the ticket counter.

Mick drops his head back in laughter. “I ain’t no Pee-paw, sweetie.”

“She’s not your sweetie, Mick.” The curly haired woman leans past him for a beer and offers me her hand. “I’m Nicole. I live with Isaac.” She gestures toward Mick’s dark-haired son, currently smacking his curly-haired brother away from yet another snack. Looks like a cheese dip this time. “Is it true you used to date Uncle Kellen?”

She stares at me without blinking. Her forthright question stuns me for a minute, but I realize this must just be how she is, because the room suddenly stills and everyone stares at me. “Um, yes. A very long time ago. Yes, Kellen and I dated. As teenagers. A lifetime ago.” I realize I’m rambling and take a pull of my beer.

The pregnant woman my son accosted smiles. “And you and Jake just moved in? How fun. Across the street from your old flame!”

“Maddie, you can’t just say old flame about Uncle Kellen.” Her partner—that must be Mick’s son Liam—frowns and massages her shoulders. Maddie shrugs.

“Has he always smelled like Old Spice?”

“Oh, good question,” Nicole chimes in. “He’s rocking that old man smell right now.”

Mick pouts. “You guys talk about how Kellen smells? What about me? I’ve got this new cologne from Iceland…”

“Mick,” Nicole puts her hand on his shoulder. “You smell great. This is about Kellen right now.”

I’m saved from embarrassment when the man in question slides open the back door. “Chicken’s ready,” he says, gesturing for us to follow him outside. Everyone does. My son is holding a pair of tongs, serving the Bradys as if he doesn’t typically pretend to gag when I cook anything that has an aroma. I don’t know what witchcraft is happening over here, but I’ll take it.

Once everyone is sitting down and has all the proper utensils, Nicole shouts over the din again. “So, Elizabeth, what’s your passion?”

Jake looks at me, fork midway to his mouth. I gasp. My son hasn’t tasted a food with a spice on it in…I don’t believe he has ever tasted a food with a spice on it. “Jake,” I say. He looks at me, bites the chicken, and grins. His eyebrows move enthusiastically as he crams another bite into his mouth. “Jake is my passion.” They all look at me, and I explain, “It took me years to conceive Jake and, well I’m sure you heard me say by now that he is on the autism spectrum.”

“I have Asperger’s syndrome,” he interrupts.

I nod. “Yes. And I’ve really dedicated a lot of effort to his therapies and working with his teachers to make sure everything goes smoothly at school.” I shrug. “It’s been my focus for a long time.”

“What about Jake’s dad?” Callum asks the question and his brothers groan. Zack smacks the back of Cal’s head. “Hey! What? It’s a fair question. Shouldn’t dads help with therapies and school shit?”

Kellen clenches his teeth and I take a deep breath, ready to respond. But Jake butts in. “My dad thinks therapists are full of shit,” he says. “That’s a euphemism, although the human colon can hold up to 40 pounds of feces.” I take a deep breath and count to ten inside my head. I’m used to my son being blunt. I’m not used to him repeating his father’s shortcoming aloud. It stings for me to hear what Jake has been hearing his whole life, spoken with as much emotion as the weather report. Jake continues eating his chicken.

Nicole makes a disgusted face. “Therapists full of shit? Seriously?” She throws her napkin on the table. “I’m glad you two are living here now away from that energy,” she says. “Elizabeth, it sounds like you made sure Jake had everything he needed.”

Maddie’s eyes light up. “My mom was like that,” she says. She gestures toward her stomach. “I have Type 1 Diabetes. Every year my mom had to basically give a health seminar to my teachers.”

I nod. “Yes, the training and awareness around here, especially in the suburbs…it’s…lacking.”