Sprouting Wings

“So…” I started cautiously and immediately regretted it. 

“No.” The movement of Dad’s fork from the plate to his mouth didn’t even pause, hesitate or stutter as he said it.

I stared down at my spaghetti to avoid further humiliation. To avoid any eye contact.

My family never talked at dinner. Silence was the standard. Plenty of silverware clinking against plates. An occasional request to pass the rolls. But never any conversation.

Most days, I just accepted it. This is how my family was. But other days, I craved the chaos I’d seen at the dinner table at friends’ houses. Siblings elbowing and arguing. Parents holding their own separate conversation as kids cracked jokes and told stories. All while eating, too, of course.

Today, it wasn’t this feeling that prompted me to talk though. I had something to share and I couldn’t hold it in. Well, really, Maya had something to share but I knew she wouldn’t do it, so I was trying to spill her beans.

I cautiously looked up from my plate. Dad was going about his business, shoveling food quickly and methodically into his mouth. Mom was taking her sweet time, chewing each bite at least ten times, as was her preference.

Maya though. I watched Maya push a lone meatball around the perimeter of her plate and back before she caught me staring. She narrowed her eyes at me in warning.

My eyes darted back down to my own plate. I crammed a big forkful of food into my mouth in an attempt to keep myself from trying to talk again.

We don’t talk at dinner because of superstition. No other reason. One bad thing happened one time when my dad was a teenager, and now we’re forbidden from ever talking while eating together.

Dad learned that his mom had died over dinner. 

Ok, so it’s a really bad thing. Still, I don’t know why we’re forever punished because of that.

Grandpa was totally repressed. Hardly ever shared information with his kids, my dad and his two sisters. 

As Dad tells it, he and his sisters had been peppering Grandpa with questions throughout the meal about their mom. Where was she? When was she coming home? Why wasn’t she there? She never missed dinner.

Grandpa finally exploded. “She’s dead.” He said it matter of factly. Forcefully. In a way that doesn’t evoke questions or argument of any kind.

My aunts immediately burst into tears. Dad was left to try to manage his own grief and comfort his sisters as Grandpa clearly wasn’t making a move to help any of them through this tough moment.

So, yeah. That must have been bad. 

Still, I feel like we could have had a rule about no bad news or no bombshells at the dinner table. Then we could still hold some nice conversation, a little small talk while we ate.

I looked over at Maya again. The lone meatball sat at the 3 o’clock position on her plate and she swirled noodles around in the sauce.

She caught me staring at her again. This time, she shook her head at me.

But I couldn’t contain myself anymore.

“So…” Again, I’d used a cautious approach and was quickly struck down.

“Don’t you dare!” Maya spat at me.

All fork clanking, slurping and sipping came to an abrupt stop. Mom and Dad looked from Maya to me and back to Maya who was glaring at me, trying to burn a hole through my forehead with her eyes.

“Maya sprouted wings today.” I spit the words out as quickly as I could, before anyone could stop me again. Before I could stop myself.

“Shut up Effy!” Maya spat back at me.

“Wings?” Mom’s expression went from stunned to tender so quickly as she gave a gentle smile to Maya.

“Not now,” Dad grumbled, stabbing a meatball with his fork and cramming it into his mouth.

Mom ignored him. “Wings sweetie? That’s wonderful. Do you feel ok?”

“Moooommm,” Maya groaned. She wasn’t ready to tell Mom and Dad. She’d thrown on a baggy hoodie as soon as we got home from school to hide her new wings as best she could. Mom and Dad were generally clueless about our lives and didn’t think anything of it, but I could see them flutter beneath the sweatshirt every now and then. Maya’s face instantly turning red each time it happened, embarrassed at this new development and her inability to control anything related to it.

Mom stood from the table and ushered Maya to her room to talk her through this next phase in her life. Leaving just me and Dad at the table.

Lucky for me, my appetite was not at all affected by this incident I had caused. I happily returned to my spaghett and slurped up noodles and chugged water.

“Proud of yourself?” Dad eyed me in a way I couldn’t interpret. A way hadn’t seen from him before, at least not directed at me. It almost looked like, maybe he was proud of me.

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if I should say anything. Could we now talk at the dinner table?

Dad shook his head and gave me a little smile. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Sure thing,” I said, once again cautious. I picked up my water glass and took small sips to fill the awkward space between us. When Dad didn’t say anything else, I took it as my cue to continue. “I mean, someone had to tell you guys, right? Wings are a serious deal.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully as he finished chewing. “Sure are. I know that wasn’t easy. I’m sure Maya will be pissed at you for a while. You did the right thing though.”

I smiled one of the biggest, most authentic smiles of my life. I’d gone against the family superstition, but it seemed to have cracked something open in my dad. Like he realized that dinner time conversations weren’t all bad, weren’t all barers the worst news in the world.

“Thanks, Dad.” I said, and I meant it. I was so thankful that Dad actually said how he felt in that moment. And validated me and my decision and action.

Dad nodded one last time, a little smile still playing on his face. Then he pushed his chair away from the table, stood, took his plate to the sink, and walked out of the room.