“Phew!” Jason gagged and waved off smelly smoke before chomping into a piece of broccoli.
“That’s right, Jason.” Grandma stirred vegetables into her rice, glancing back and forth at Jason. “Eat your broccoli. At least that’s good for you.” She looked down her long nose at Jason, probably thinking her all-knowing eyes were teaching him something words couldn’t teach. She was so sure of herself. “Dark green vegetables are the ones that do your brain the most good.” He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard that.
She had a way of ruining everything but she was his grandma. He was supposed to love her.
“Sweet and sour pork is my favorite.” Saying it surprised both Jason and his mom. He didn’t know why he should be surprised. After all, it was a simple fact. He held up his empty plate so Mom could dish some up.
She spooned more fried rice onto his plate and opened the carton of sweet and sour pork. It smelled delicious.
“Carolyn, my god!”
“Mom, please.” She dipped her head away, not wanting to argue with Grandma, spooning a healthy portion of sweet and sour pork onto Jason’s plate. After making sure he had enough, Jason set his plate back down and picked up his fork.
“Umm.” Jason chewed on a tender chunk of pork, grinning maliciously at Grandma.
She looked sideways at him, puffing nervously on her nearly exhausted cigarette, thinking what to say. With confidence growing in those mean, all-knowing eyes, she stumped out the cigarette and lit another. She took a long puff, placed the cigarette in the ashtray and let smoke flow out with her words. “Pork. My god.”
Mom smiled at Jason, knowing Grandma would pounce when she said, “Mom, even the Bible says we can eat meat.”
Grandma slammed her fork down so hard Jason looked to see if she'd broken her plate. “There you go again with that other poison. If it isn’t the meat, it’s that superstitious mumbo jumbo. I don’t know why you married that man, anyway. What happened to his big endowment? Tell me that. What happened with that big investment he said he made? Tell me that.”
“Mom, we’ve been all through this.”
“Oh, right.” Grandma’s eyes rolled back into her head before she slammed her stare back into Mom. “He left all that stuff in his office, only Tom Kirby didn’t find anything. That’s who you should have married. He’s a fine young man with a wonderful future. He comes from a good family. I wouldn’t need to worry about my own future if you’d married him.”
Mom’s face flashed red and her eyes went wide with amazement. For once, she turned to face Grandma. “Is that what this is about, Mom, your future?”
Jason wanted to jump up and hug her.
“No!” Grandma stared right back. “We were talking about the poison you’re pouring into my grandson. Your husband taught you that religious bunk and look what it got him.”
Jason’s anger jumped up from the pit of his stomach. He wanted to punch his grandmother in her smoke spewing mouth. “You think my father got killed because he believed in Jesus?”
Grandma grabbed her cigarette, threw him an intimidating look and took a long puff, then another, thinking what to say. She relaxed a little and let smoke flood from her nostrils. “I think your father’s religion didn’t help him when those thieves shot him and took his company car.”
Confidence restored, she took another puff, blew smoke into Jason’s face and thrust her cigarette back into the ashtray. She took a bite of vegetables, raised an eyebrow at Jason and asked, “So, what new and exciting things did you learn in school today?” She took another bite of vegetables and waited.
A rush of fear pulled at the hairs on Jason’s head. He stared down at his food, squirmed in his chair and felt her head drop toward him; a snake ready to strike. She said, “They didn’t catch you drawing again, did they?”
Jason’s mom jumped in, protecting him. “Mom, please, let him eat his dinner.”
Grandma took an angry puff and blew smoke at Mom’s face. “You need to put a stop to his artistic notions once and for all. The life of an artist is no life for a young man in this day and age.”
“Why, because my father was an artist?” Mom seemed angry enough for a real fight.
Feeling ashamed and kind of responsible, wanting to do what he could to keep the peace, Jason said, “They showed us how to put a con . . . conde . . .”
Grandma’s serpent stare snapped back to Jason. “Condom?”
“Huh.” A flood of relief allowed Jason to fork a slice of pineapple into his mouth, delicious.
“Well?” The serpent’s head slid closer and waited.
He swallowed the piece of pineapple whole and coughed a little, clearing his throat. “Oh, yeah. They showed us how to put it on a cucumber.”
Grandma grinned with some kind of weird, personal satisfaction and blew smoke toward the ceiling light. “Good for you. Now you won’t be getting any girls into trouble.”
“Huh?” What could a cucumber do to a girl? How could a condom keep her out of trouble?
What trouble?
“Mom, he’s only eight years old.” Mom sounded worn out.
Jason said, “Eight and three quarters, going on nine.” After all, being nine was important. It meant he’d be half a grown-up, half ready to vote for the president and half ready to join the Marine Corps like his father.
Grandma looked satisfied with herself, blowing smoke into Mom’s face. “You’re never too young to learn about nature.”
