That Sounds Nice

“That sounds nice.” Jacey has made another decision. It is as ill-advised as any other but I can no longer muster the breath to say anything besides, “that sounds nice.”

“That sounds nice.” I find out that he has finally found a job on the same day he eventually quits. One day of training and he just knew it wasn’t for him. My fingers flex, eager to catch him as he slips, again. I force myself to unfurl sweated fist from their grip on the nothing that is my hold on Jacey’s life. He has a plan, he says. So, I sigh. “That sounds nice.”

“That sounds nice,” I push through gritted teeth. My stomach is ready to fall under my feet. “Fuck sleep,” Jacey yells at the top of his lungs. It’s 4 A.M. and I can’t help but wonder, “do you know where your children are, mom?” Of course not. We’re grown now. I haven’t a doubt that you, mommy dearest, believe my brothers proposal falls in line with what you had envisioned. Your son, your pride and joy, betrothed to the kind of girl you always dreamed I would be. You’re so happy, you could sing, right? Deny, deny, deny. This manic moment, is just that. Tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or a year from now, he will regret that big mouth of his because he is no less in love with Timothy Mac back home than he is strictly heterosexual. But what a relief - you and your darling boy love make belief. Jacey, is hand-in-hand on a pre-sun beach with Leslie, if you were wondering. In sound only, I feel compelled to agree, “that sounds nice.”

“That sounds nice,” is a clause I wield like a device of mass destruction. He has caught on. Sober for a change, Jacey is not too far gone to notice my catch phrase and it’s catching on his ego. “What do you really mean though?” he asks, eyes wide and brows furrowed. I spill hot soup unto my warm tongue and proceed to feign being startled by a burn – I just so happen to get some of the soup on my top and can’t stop to think as I am running for the bathroom sink which I reach and lean into. This porcelain bowl is deep enough to drown face down in, I’m sure. Right now, I want nothing more. I rejoin Jacey and Leslie fifteen minutes later. “I think I can find another ride home,” I say. Jacey stands, pulls Leslie up behind him and doesn’t spare a glace my way but does toss behind him with veritable disdain, “That sounds nice.”

“That sounds nice,” I say into a large pot of rice. I scoop out the dregs left behind from their bath. “Better to bathe rice before cooking,” mom and Jacey always said. Words that echo into my present from a growingly distance past. My aunt Gisella pontificates into the speaker on my shoulder why I should no longer be pissed at the dynamic pair. How could she know how I hurt? She, Gisella, wasn’t there. Not when they cut me out of their conversations, or laughed for hours at inside jokes I was always dismissed from like smokers in guest homes. This apathy has festered in my bones and I am too old to care, anymore. “Your mother adores –,” she starts. I won’t fall apart so instead I interrupt before I hang up, “that sounds nice.”  

“That sounds nice,” is the last advice my grandmother gave me. “If you don’t agree, just let ‘em be. You can always say, ‘that sounds nice.’ Ain’t even gotta be a lie. If you really think about it, lots of things do sound nice. Ya know what I mean?” I nod, pleased. Then, I repeat, “that sounds nice.”

“That sounds nice,” I expel like a refrigerator does ice. Slow and loud. If I had known this was mom’s time to go, would I have acted differently? I don’t know. Jacey and Leslie are deciding on funeral flowers: Lilies or Carnations. “I don’t care,” I want to say. I don’t dare, though. “I propose a compromise,” says Leslie. “How about we let little Baby Jay decide?” I choke. She smiles, thin and hesitant. “You didn’t know,” she gestures to Jacey, “and I are expecting?” How did I not see? We’ve been discussing arrangements for hours. “What do you think,” she asks, to my surprise, without a glower. I cough. My eyes water. “That sounds . . . nice.”

“That sounds nice,” is a banned phrase in my niece’s household. I have visited her every other month since she was one year old. It took time. Everything does. But there are few things worthier of a wait than love. A child’s love is like no other. She is exactly like her mom but looks only like my brother, which means she looks like me too. For the first time, I feel not deprived by my twin. Everything about out lives had been made a game to win. But Daisy only has one dad and one me. I must say, I am relieved. I won’t say that every parent that has child is immediately changed for the better, but then, I wouldn’t call those people unmoved and unimproved by having children parents, so, you know. But Jacey is no longer the brother that would owe more than he gave.

He is now a man not enslaved by want. Oh, but he still does want, so many things. But less of those wants are for himself because he has a cause that he believes in now, his daughter. Her mother. Perhaps there have always been other ways to look at his mistakes, but preparation for his family is perhaps the best lens for me. With these Daisy covered glasses, I can just about see some of the good things our mother left behind. But if you asked me if I will ever forgive how she pushed me aside, to that thought, I must say, “that sounds nice.”