(Familiar)ity

 It’s too hot for it to be Christmas. The temperature has been in the steady sixties for the past two weeks, and the recent misty rain has set quite an oppressive mood. My son has done a rather good job of hanging up some multicolored string lights along the corners of the room. It is wonderful to see the joy and color return to his face after seeing his once brown, unkempt hair start losing its color. Between him consistently asking me everyday if I’ve taken my blood pressure pills and my Namza-whatsit, and his expecting wife, I'm surprised he hasn’t started to look as old as me. He has been running himself nonstop between work, painting the nursery, setting up a baby shower registry, and cooking for Jenn on her worse days. He looks lankier than he did when they first got together. 

     I creak out of my worn leather lounge chair and make my way to the kitchen, where a rhythmic chopping originates. 

     “What’re you doing up, Mom? I know you think you need to help, but I promise I got this. I’ve been picking up some skills from Jenn’s never-ending Gordon Ramsey binge.” Mark states, mockingly flexing his empty arm. “I’ll bring you something to drink in a second, let me finish these.”

     I decline his offer. “I just want to take a look in the pantry, see what I can rummage up to eat on.” Mark shouldn’t be the one in the kitchen, but since John (God rest his soul) departed, I haven’t been able to get around our home as gracefully as I once could. 

     I grab a box of club crackers and some canned cheese, and shuffle my way back to my spot in the worn Lazy Boy. On my way back, I pause passing a large silver box. I grip one of the handles and pull hard, almost too hard, as the heavy metallic door smacks into my forehead, and I’m met with a cool gust from the interior. 

     Jenn shoots up and jogs into the kitchen, curious from the commotion. As she comes closer, her eyes widen right as a large drop of scarlet clouds my right eye. 

     “Miss Mitzi, what happened?” she says through a worried expression. 

     But before I try to explain, she grabs a fistfull of paper towels and dabs at my forehead, the pressure causing an uncomfortable sting through the area. I reach up with a trembling hand and swipe at my brow, seeing the smear of blood on my finger. 

     “It’s nothing dear, I guess I don't know my own strength sometimes.” I reply, batting her hand away from my head. I take the bunch of towels from her hand and make my way toward the master bedroom, while in the background I hear Mark and Jenn muttering amongst themselves. I make my way to my vanity, looking in my mirror to see the blooming bruise around the injury. 

     Damn blood thinning pills. 

     I rummage through my drawer and grab a bandage, and clean up the smears of blood on my forehead with a washcloth in the bathroom. When I come out, I see John fast asleep under the covers in our bed. 

     He always gets sleepy around the holidays. 

     I tiptoe over gently and leave a kiss on his forehead before tucking him back in and shutting off the light. 

     As I walk back into the kitchen, Jenn raises her head from beside Mark, side eyeing me before waddling back into the living room. Sometimes I just don’t trust her. Seems like all she ever does is whisper about me behind my back. Seems like that’s all anyone does anymore. 

     I give Mark a loving tap on the shoulder, letting him know that I’m okay. He straightens up from whatever he’s mixing and eyes the bruise on my forehead. He runs his finger across the bandage. 

     “Are we out of bandages? I can run and grab some if you need. The sour cream for the cake is expired, so I can make a trip to the store if you need.” he states, while pulling the waterproof band aid from my forehead.

     “No, I thought I saw a whole roll in my vanity drawer, sweetheart.”

     “Mom,” he starts, matter-of-factly. “I’ll grab you another box”

     He tosses a piece of gift-wrapping tape in the trash bin. 

     Mark washes his hands and puts the mixing bowl in the fridge. I grab my box of crackers and cheese and start back toward my chair when I walk past the box again. I open it again, more gingerly this time, and I’m met with that same rush of cool air. I grab my sweet tea pitcher and pour a glass before replacing it in the… fridge. 

     That’s what it’s called. 

     I take my seat back just in time to see Matt pulling his rain jacket on. The forecast today predicted a bit of rain soon, and I’m glad he remembered. It’d be awful for him to catch a cold right in time for Christmas. 

     He says his goodbyes and kisses Jenn on the forehead before declaring that he’ll be back shortly. The door closes, and I’m left in the living room with her. We sit in silence for a long time, the only audible sound is the television, the volume turned almost all the way down. 

     I bet she was eavesdropping. 

     Jenn is the first to speak. “Miss Mitzi, I’m sorry about your forehead. I would’ve grabbed you some tea if I knew that’s what you were after. And the crackers.”

     I don’t respond. Crunching into a cracker, I grab the television remote and turn up the volume before switching from World News Tonight to Jeopardy. 

     “Miss Mi—“

     “It’s Mrs. Scott to you. I’m over the ‘Miss’ bit.” I hiss at her. She sits on the loveseat, stunned. “My husband isn’t dead yet.”

     The stun turns to confusion, then neutral. We sit in silence for a bit, before I start getting too into the game show. I start answering the questions with a string of ‘What is’ before my answer. A quarter hour passes before Jenn starts doing it, too. We answer the questions in turns, before we start getting too competitive. A flurry of ‘What is’ and ‘No, it’s’ erupts for the final ten minutes of the broadcast before a commercial break interrupts us. 

     Jenn turns down the television, taking a long, thoughtful breath in, then out. “Mrs. Scott, I’m due in a few weeks. I’m excited for you to meet your grandson. Do you want to know what name me and Mark had picked out?”

     I nod without hesitation. 

     “Johnnie Scott. The middle name is to be determined”

     My eyes well up with tears, although I do not understand why. “My brothers’ middle names were Theo and Luke. I don’t remember my father’s middle name.”

     “Oh, that’s where Mark got his middle name!”

     What was his middle name?

     I nod, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, a family name would be a good idea. Something little Johnnie could pass to his children one day.”

     “Speaking of traditions and heirlooms,” she starts, “I’ve been trying to think of something I can pass down to him, once he gets old enough to be responsible, of course. I received a pair of diamond earrings as a college graduation gift, and if I ever had a girl, I knew they would be hers one day. Or they could be made into a necklace or ring if she prefers. But for a boy? I have no clue.”

     I pause, giving thought to her idea. “You could save the earrings and hope for a girl as your second child. I think turning them into a set of cufflinks is a wonderful and meaningful idea.”

     Her eyes gleam with possibility. “You have wonderful ideas, Miss Mitzi, thank you!”

     Miss Mitzi, again. The mood sours. 

     “Stop calling me that, you stupid twit!” I’m so impossibly sick of hearing that from her. My husband is right next door, under the blankets of our bed, in our bedroom! “My husband is still with us, you have no right calling me that disrespectful title!”

     Jenn tears up and apologizes profusely. I’m utterly over the repeated disrespect from this woman who calls herself a wife and mother. 

     I stand up and pace in front of the heavily decorated Christmas tree, this wench of a woman who dares name her son after my husband, implying my husband is dead! Who does she think she is?

     As I’m laying into this woman, she interrupts me. “Mitzi, stop it! John passed three years ago, he’s not with us anymore! He’s not here!”

     Liar, liar. I just saw him, nestled in our bed. I just kissed him, touched him. “He’s alive! He’s asleep in our bed right now!”

     Jenn grabs my arm and leads me to the bedroom. She leaves me in the doorway, making her way toward his side of the bed. Jenn rips the sheets from the bed, displaying a mound of pillows. 

     “Mitzi, he’s gone. He’s been gone. Your memory is deteriorating faster than we thought.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in between her fingers, while I stare helplessly at the pillows. 

     The room loses all familiarity in an instant. I rush back to the Christmas tree, right as the front door swings open. 

     A thin brown and grey haired man in a black coat appears in my living room holding two grocery bags. No knock, and no introduction.

     I scream for Jenn, and she comes rushing out of the bedroom at an alarming speed. “Mitzi, what’s wrong?”

     I point to the man in the living room. “Call the police, Jenn.” I croak, my knees feeling like they are going to buckle at any second. 

     The man drops the bags to the ground and rushes me, wrapping his arms around my chest. “Mom, calm down, it's just me. It’s Mark!”

     For the first time since he appeared here, I look him in the face. “Get the hell out of my house. I have no son.”