Embrace

Looking through her wedding album, Joyce sat with her young son, telling the tale of that joyous day.

“You see,” she pointed to the man standing beside her in the photo, “that’s Papa.” The young boy lit up.

“Wow, he wasn’t all wrinkly then.” Joyce stifled a laugh.

“No, he wasn’t.” Her father, said man in the photo, rolled his eyes. He sat across the room in the armchair. The imposing man out of place in the floral-patterned furniture.

She flipped the page.

“Is that daddy?” the boy asked excitedly.

“Yes, it is.” She smiled as she stared at the photo. Memories of that day coming to mind.

“What about daddy?” Paul popped his head into the room, holding the door frame, not quite entering the room.

“Our wedding photos.” Joyce responded.

“Oh? What brought this on?”

“Morgan asked about why chocolate cake was my favorite.”

“Yeah, I want a rainbow cake with white frosting for my birthday! Mommy said she’d only made chocolate, but I don’t want chocolate, and then she told me about chocolate cake being her favorite, and then she got this book to show me something, but I’m bored now, but she won’t let me go outside, and now,”

“Well then,” Papa interrupted, “why don’t you let your mother tell you her story and you’ll be able to go outside. Quicker she gets to tell it, the sooner you’ll be able to go into the field with Yukon.”

The boy perked up and held onto his mother’s arm attentively. Paul went back to cooking in the kitchen. Joyce smiled and continued.

“Anyway, yes, that’s daddy. These were the photos we took just after the ceremony. I’ll skip ahead a few pages.” She turned a few before finding what she was looking for. “Ah, here, this is what I wanted to show you.” She tapped a picture and Morgan looked closely.

“Why is he shoving the cake in your face?” they heard a stifled snort of laughter from the other room. In the image, Paul wore a black dress shirt half tucked into his pants. Joyce had forgone her initial wedding dress from the other photos and wore a simpler yet equally elegant gown for the celebration. Paul’s left arm hooked around her waist, his right hand held a piece of chocolate cake against Joyce’s face. His grin revealing just how pleased he was. The next photo showed Joyce having wiped away the cake and staring at the photographer, her mouth open wide with unrestrained laughter. A couple photos after that was Paul’s best man holding back his arms as Joyce shoved a piece of the cake into his face.

Morgan shook his mother, eager for her to respond. She stirred, realizing she had lost herself in the memories of laughter and joy.

“Because he knew I was going to do it to him.”

“But, it’s chocolate cake. Why is it your favorite if that’s what happened?”

“It’s my favorite because it was the first cake I remember having as a kid. My mother made the cake for my wedding too. I didn’t want any cake but hers for that special day.”

“Mammie’s cake was that good?”

“Definitely.” Joyce said endearingly. Memories of her mother flitted through her mind. She looked up at her father and saw the same was happening for him.

“Well, maybe you can make a chocolate cake for you and daddy, and then I can have my own cake that I like, and then we can smash the cake in each other’s faces, I think that would be fun, and then,”

“Sounds like something we could do. We’ll think about it. Go ahead and take Yukon outside. Don’t go far.”

“Yes!” the boy jumped up and ran out of the room.

“Don’t run inside!” Joyce called out but the screen door was already slamming shut as Morgan flew out into the sunny day. Even as he was heading for the wheat field on their farm, Joyce was inside, fighting back tears.

“My girl, please don’t hold them in.” her father said.

“I try not to cry in front of him. At least, not about mom. He never even knew her.”

“That’s fine and good, but you can’t hide from him.”

“He’s only six years old. I want to protect him from the harshness of the world for as long as I can. That’s what mommies do.”

“Until they can’t.”

“Until they can’t.” Joyce repeated somberly.

“Listen, I know it’s hard, but telling him all you can about her is important. I had forgotten that was your favorite cake. Heck, I’d forgotten she’s the one who made your wedding cake.” He gave a little chuckle. “I’d forget,”

“Your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” Joyce finished the saying with a smirk. Her father smiled.

“But of course there’re a few loose screws, so you never know.” They sat in silence for a moment.

“I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

“I know, I just,” she couldn’t find the words, “I just, there are things I never got to ask her about. A year ago, we had no idea she’d be gone by now.”

“All the more reason to share what you can with your boy now. Don’t hide anything, the good or bad. It may seem like such a small thing now, talking about cake, your wedding day, your mother, but someday, these could be the memories he looks back on.”

Joyce let a few tears roll out of her eyes. Wiping them away, she stood.

“I’ll go check on Paul; make sure he’s not gonna burn down the house.” As she walked by her father, he gently took her arm and patted it. She bent to kiss him on the head, holding back her dark hair.

Her father then sat in the chair a moment longer and then made his way to the battered old couch, a faded emerald color, just as unmatched as the rest of the simple farmhouse furniture. He picked up the photo album and sat down. He flipped through the pages, towards the front of the book. He found the pictures of him and his wife, happy, joyous, besides themselves with glee as they celebrated their daughter’s next step in life.

He caressed the photo; tears formed in his eyes.

“My dear, our daughter is doing so well as a mother. She’s just as careful as you and protective. Though, I’m sure quite as fierce when faced with a threat to her child.” He flipped a page. The four of them, Joyce, her parent’s, and her husband, all smiled at the man. Another photo, of Joyce with Paul and his mother, was next to it.

He continued to flip through the book. He eventually closed it and replaced it to the void it had left on the small bookshelf in front of the bay window. He leaned against the wood, heaved a sigh, and let out a few sobs. He jerked upright when he heard Morgan shouting outside.

The boy was playing fetch with the German Shepherd. The dog, only a couple years old, was able to match the energy of the boy.

“Oh, to be that young again.” He muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Joyce asked. She had reentered the room.

“Oh, nothing, just watching my grandson play with Yukie out there.”

“A ‘youth is wasted on the young’ feeling perhaps?” Joyce prompted.

“No, he seems to be spending his youth well.” The man smiled fondly. Joyce stepped up next to her father. The two stared lovingly out at the pair playing happily. Just beyond them was the old barn that had been built by Paul’s grandfather. Morgan and Yukon ran inside it.

“He loves playing in there. I get so nervous he’ll get hurt.”

“Of course you do. You’re such a worrier, like your mother.” He turned toward her and held her gently by the shoulders, he kissed her forehead and said, “But there’s nothing wrong with caring so deeply for your child.” They embraced. They each had tears fall; but they were silent.

They released each other at the sound of a pot clattering to the floor in the kitchen.

“Sorry! All is fine!” Paul called out. Joyce inhaled slowly and smirked, giving her head a slight shake.

“I swear, he may be a good cook, but with how clumsy he is, I’m sure he just knocks different herbs and spices into the food by accident.” Her father chuckled.

“You would marry a man as good a cook as your father.” Joyce smiled.

“Mom was by far a better baker though.”

“Well of course! Baking is precise, cooking allows for some art and experimentation. Mistakes can lead to new flavors and intriguing dishes.” Joyce sighed and shook her head again.

“You’re just as accident prone as he is. I’m surprised either of you are allowed near hot surfaces.”

“Let’s go see if there’s anything we can do to set up for dinner.”

The two walked into the next room. The latch for a storm cellar could be seen flush with the ground in front of the pantry, the sink beside it, part of the barn visible through the window. Paul stood in front of the old gas stove, stirring a sauce. The smell of chicken baking in the oven and the vegetables he was sautéing paired with the rich aroma of the tomato sauce had somehow reached Morgan outside.

The boy came flying into the kitchen through the screen door and at the sight of everyone else in there already, he halted and grabbed it before it slammed shut. Joyce gave him a knowing look.

“Sorry for running in.” he said.

“Thank you for catching the door. But please, be more careful. One day you may rip it right off its hinges.”

“That reminds me,” Paul chimed in, “tomorrow I could use your help replacing the hinges on the cellar in the barn.” The boy lit up with the prospect of being able to help his father. Then his face skewed in thought.

“That’s not my birthday present though, right?” he said, concerned.

The adults all laughed.

“No, son, it’s not.” Paul said.

“But speaking of that, what would you like for dinner for your birthday?” Joyce added.

“Hmmm, I don’t know yet.”

“Ok, well, let me know when you do.”

“Let you know?” Paul said, mocking a shocked expression. “Like you’re the one who’s going to cook it?” He scoffed playfully. Joyce rolled her eyes and smirked.

“When you know what you want, let daddy know. Ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Now go wash up for dinner.” The boy sped off for the bathroom. “No running inside!” she shouted after him. They heard the sound of him pounding up the stairs and then stop as he walked into the bathroom.

“He sure does move quick.”

“We can’t keep up with the kid most of the time.” Paul said.

“Anyway, I think it’s nice that you are keeping up the birthday dinner tradition.”

“Of course. It was my favorite part of my birthday growing up.”

“Even besides the presents?” her father asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, it’s not like we were getting all the best toys.” Joyce saw how the statement affected her father. “But it wasn’t the things that mattered. I know and always knew how hard you worked for our family, mom too. I just mean that it was those times we got to have together that meant so much to me.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” They looked at each other fondly.

“Would you mind setting the table dear? It’s about ready.”

As they put the table together Morgan came back into the room.

“Mommy?”

“Yes baby?” She asked as she placed silverware by the plates.

“I think I want Mammie’s chocolate cake for my birthday, so it will be like she is here with us again.” Joyce bent down to her son and held him close as she cried.