Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

‘I’m okay,’ he says brightly. ‘I’m not scared. I told Mommy I wouldn’t be. I promised,’ Luke says.

‘That’s very good of you, and an excellent promise to make,’ I say.

I put Toy Story 4 on and we sit and quietly watch, and Luke points and names the characters as Woody says a heartfelt goodbye to his love Bo Peep. It is a tearful moment, or maybe it is just me continuing on today’s emotional rollercoaster.

While Luke is watching, I quietly make the two telephone calls I need to make. I call TSP first. I ask if I can drop by tomorrow afternoon and that she should prepare herself for a surprise. I don’t give her any further warning than that. My plan is to turn up on her doorstep with Luke. I didn’t want to go into details with TSP beforehand. I was already worried that it would be hard on her seeing Luke for the first time. It has been almost six years since we lost Will, and I know it has never stopped hurting.

After I didn’t get on the plane to Los Angeles, I continued for a while to visit Will on an almost weekly basis with TSP. Then I didn’t go with her a few times, and my visits became more like once a month or every few months. Then the years started to pass, and Andrew came and went. Now, I make sure that I go at least twice a year.

I don’t go with TSP anymore. We both found it hard and being there together didn’t make it any easier. Besides, I think TSP enjoyed being there alone, and having private time to talk to Will. I don’t know how often she goes to see him now. All I do know is whenever I went, when I got to the village in my Zipcar I would always find fresh flowers on Will’s grave.

With my mother, I take a deep breath and dial her number. I know I can take a more direct approach. I tell her that I’ve some surprising news to share. And then I dive straight in. I say that I’ve found out that I’m the father of a five-year-old child, who this morning has turned up on my doorstep. I give her the headlines, and breakdown of what happened. She doesn’t butt in, and lets the words spill from me. When I finish speaking, the line is silent. I have to ask if she’s still there.

‘Yes, I’m still here, Jon,’ my mother says.

‘I know this is a bit of a bombshell,’ I say.

And then something almost wonderful happens. Of all the motherly reactions I had envisaged in my head, I never imagined this one.

My mother laughs, a joyful and unexpected laugh.

‘Well that is absolutely delightful, and I’m happy for you. Let’s not worry too much about how it happened, the most important thing is that he is with you, and I really can’t wait to meet him. Now tell me, what kind of a boy is he?’ she asks.

‘He seems like the sweetest kind, a really great kid,’ I say.

‘That’s the important thing. How does tomorrow morning sound?’

‘Tomorrow morning sounds great,’ I say, pausing to add, ‘thanks, Mum.’

‘Of course, it’s what I’m here for. I’ve waited a long time for a grandchild, and I’m so glad that one has arrived.’

This makes me smile. ‘I know it’s a bit sudden and unexpected,’ I say.

‘The best news always is,’ my mother says.

For a while after I put the phone down, I can’t quite believe how well that went. I’d been expecting some kind of inquisition. Instead, my mother was amazingly sanguine, and I’m relieved at how positively she embraced the news.

In the kitchen, a place where I do not spend a great deal of time, I start to make something to eat. There is a pile of food on the kitchen counter, hauled back from the supermarket. Some of which Lauren has listed. She’s even done some Google translations to account for those odd little transatlantic differences.

I tried everything on the vegetable front. Luke absolutely will not eat carrots (unless it is with peanut butter in a sandwich, which he loves), peas, cauliflower or anything other than broccoli. He will eat it with anything. I’m not even sure why. He loves it with fish sticks and on pizza. He asks for broccoli pizza, so it is a great way of getting him some healthy vegetables without having to try too hard. He always asks why do we have to always put the broccoli on ourselves and why don’t the people in the factory make it? I tell him that it’s because he’s smarter than they are and has better taste in pizza.

‘So, am I going to imagine I’m seeing you standing there like this in my kitchen, in the bedroom, dressed like this all the time?’

I don’t know, are you? she says.

I shrug, maybe I am, I’m thinking. Perhaps I’m dealing with this by having her stand there and tell me everything I need to know, everything she’s written down, as I commit her words to memory. This is Lauren’s guide for me, all of the lessons she’s learnt bringing up Luke on her own as a single mother.

Whatever Luke and I have in common, the total disdain I had for most vegetables all the way through childhood is something that we share. Along with the fact that the one he will eat is the one that I also love in any shape or form. I love broccoli, and I like it on pizza too. I think that has to be weird. Like vegetable genetics? Did I ever tell Lauren about broccoli? I don’t think I did. We didn’t have time for any of that. We only covered the broad strokes. We didn’t have time for the detail, for the small stories that make up our lives. It makes me think of all the details we share with those we love and how they