My mother’s cousin, Steve was up for a few weeks, and staying at my grandmother’s house. I was excited; it was summer and I could stay at Grandma’s the whole time that Cousin Steve was there, he had plenty of fun things planned for us to do, and, well… it was Cousin Steve.
He was out on the front step of my grandmother’s house when our car pulled up. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He put both things down and stood as my mom got out of the car.
“Vi! Come here, you!” He hugged my mom.
I (finally) got my seatbelt undone and charged him.
“Sweetheart!” He knelt down for me. I nearly knocked him over.
My mom got my suitcases out of the car. Steve hugged me and said, “You’re staying for the month, right?”
I nodded quickly and smiled.
“Good! We are going to have a good summer!”
I kissed his cheek. Of course we are.
My mother stayed for dinner. I loved my mother, but I loved her best when she was with Cousin Steve.
He could charm any woman. I’d seen him work his spells on several: the Baby Blues became guileless (if you didn’t know him), the tilt of the head, the wink, his smile, and the way he touched a shoulder or an arm… but my mother? She was not a woman so easily charmed. AND she knew him; they grew up together. He would never fool her.
Yet, when she was with Cousin Steve, she was not practical or serious, not the same mom as at home. She laughed a lot, and her laugh was different than usual somehow. She looked different, too: her eyes were brighter and her smile was wider, but more relaxed. She looked young to me.
They talked about times when they were kids, and my mother became childlike. So did Steve. Even my grandmother seemed a bit younger, playfully admonishing them for childhood antics brought to light. I loved that dinner.
Before my mother left that evening, Steve made her promise to come to the dinner party my grandmother was having for him the next Saturday. My mom wasn’t much on dinner parties, and lately, she had been sad (the more time my father spent as Mr. Hyde, the more time my mother spent being sad), so I was happily surprised when she agreed.
Cousin Steve and I spent most of the week at the beach, painting (well, he painted… I just sort of splashed paint onto a canvas and imagined that magically, a beautiful picture would appear). We’d spend the day at the beach, and in the evenings, after dinner, we walked, I showed him the books I was into, and he’d call his friends to remind them about Saturday.
On Saturday morning, Steve called my mother. Apparently, she was trying to back out of the dinner party. Steve wasn’t having any of it.
“A promise is a promise, and you promised.” He sounded like a little kid… almost whiny. I covered my smile (I always found it amusing when grown-ups acted like they were younger than me.).
I sat outside of the dining room (I usually didn’t sit with “the guest people,” as my grandmother called them.) and listened. I heard Cousin Steve telling stories (he had a million of ‘em). Everyone laughed, but I only heard my mom’s giggling. I didn’t understand any of the stories, but I laughed, too. I couldn’t help it. My mother’s giggle was contagious!
I drew a picture of the dinner party (all of the guests were stick figures, my mother with her head tilted back, hands over her stomach, laughing it up) and gave it to Cousin Steve the next day. He looked it over and said, “Now this is a happy picture, Sweetheart.”
He said that it was his favourite picture of his favourite cousin; he loved to see her laughing.
Cousin Steve had that picture hanging on his refrigerator when he passed away, years later. His sister, Irene, mailed it to my mother. My mom held it out toward me and asked, “Did you draw this?” (Who did she think drew it?)
I took it from her, and laughed and cried a little at the same time. I couldn’t believe he had kept it all of that time. “Yeah. Aren’t I talented? Look, mom, that’s you… laughing.”
