Helen Murray | 2018

I heard them before I saw them. The sound of chatter and an upbeat and familiar tune reached my ears as we walked through the park on that sunny August day. I was with my family on the way to the Daniels’ family reunion. As we got closer the stink of gingko trees was overpowered by the aroma of burgers and hot dogs on the grill. The sun was hot and bright, somehow finding its way through the trees to beat down on my back. I almost regretted choosing a black shirt this morning.

I knew they were family, but for some reason I still felt nervous. I tugged at my shirt and shook my hair into my eyes, trying to hide. I didn’t like meeting new people. Luckily, I didn’t have to do it often. My parents were usually content to let me stay holed up in my room, but today they led the way, beckoning towards me to follow. Every time I tried to lag behind just a little bit they whipped around, exasperated, and flapped their hands at me. I had the suspicion that my nervous stomach might feel better once I ate a burger, and so I tried to escape to the food, but was unsuccessful. My father caught my wrist and raised his eyebrows at me. I tried to yank my wrist away from his large pink hands, but it was almost as if his many callouses gave him a better grip on me.

He pulled me closer to him and whispered, “You know how important this is for your mother, please at least try to have a good time.” I glared at him for a moment, wrinkling my nose momentarily before following my parents to participate in the mingling. The sheer number of unfamiliar faces around me was daunting, and I wondered how long it would take to say hello to everyone. The smell of burgers and hotdogs only grew stronger the longer I scanned the crowd. I glanced longingly at the grill until I was interrupted.

A woman I was sure I had never met before appeared out of nowhere and cooed, “Josephine! The last time I saw you, you were just a baby! My goodness how you’ve grown!”

“Hasn’t she?” my mother said, giving the woman a big hug.

“She is more and more beautiful every day,” my father echoed, also hugging the stranger. He looked down at me lovingly from his lofty view six feet and five inches above the ground. Dad always talked about how beautiful I was, which I always thought was interesting considering the fact that I looked nothing like him. While he had pale skin that was translucent to the point of almost being pink and only got worse with sun, I had deep brown skin that tanned easily, just like my mother. While he had thin, almost stringy light brown hair I had long brown hair that cascaded down my back in mid-size curls, like my mother had before she decided to cut her hair.

“Oh, forgive me. I’m Patricia, one of your aunts! Don’t tell me your mother hasn’t talked about me before,” and before I knew it, she had descended upon me, enveloping me in a hug. Her perfume was aggressive on my nostrils, and when I tried breathing through my mouth to protect myself, I could still taste it. The artificial scent and taste of roses made me long for the real thing. I barely managed a smile. 

“Great to meet you Patricia,” I said, backing away slightly, but her perfume clung to me and I could still smell it. Her clothes resembled her perfume, floral and overpowering. She wore a silk kimono style garment with loud pink roses printed on it. Her hair was piled on top of her head haphazardly, or at least that’s what she wanted you to think. I had a feeling the intricate hairdo had taken a lot of time and a careful hand. 

“Oh, call me Auntie! Or Pat. Or Auntie Pat! Whatever you want, honey,” she said, looking me up and down, “You’re going to be a beautiful young woman, now, aren’t you? Your mother, why, she was the talk of the town. All the boys loved her, or at least loved the idea of her…” My father squeezed my mother close to him and I could have sworn that Pat gave him a look, but I couldn’t be sure what kind.

“Oh, Pat! She’s still just a girl,” my mother said, feigning embarrassment, her face turning red.

 “You do take after your mother, Angela, though, child. She was a beauty too. Has your 

mother ever shown you pictures of your grandmother?” I noticed my mother begin to look down at her toes, taking a sudden interest in her chipping pedicure.

“Uh, not really,” I said, trying to find my mother’s eyes. She wouldn’t look at me. Patricia didn’t seem to notice, and sauntered away, her many bangles glinting in the summer sun, 

“Are you okay, mama?” I asked, reaching for her hand. She took a deep breath and then looked back up at me.

“Yes, honey, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. My father kept his arm snaked around my mother, trying to comfort her.

“Can I eat now please?” I pleaded, matching her forced smile. My father glared at me, yet again. Somehow, my mother didn’t notice the exchange.

“Oh, we have to say hello to your uncle first!” Somehow, she reached into the mass of people and pulled from it the stranger who was supposedly my uncle. “Rob! Look at your niece!”

“Josephine! Jesus christ, you’re massive!” he said, hugging me gently. I was grateful and still reeling from Pat’s hug, if you could even call it that, “How’s school and all that?”

I replied with a shrug. “It’s good. I start high school this fall.”

“Wow! Pretty soon it’ll be off to college!”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“Do you know what you’re going to study? Or where you’re going to go? I never went to college, but your mother told me all about it. She was the first one of us to go! I wish I had.” He said, reminiscing.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” I said.

“You know, your mother and I met in college!” My father offered.

“Yeah, I know, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes, “You’ve told the story a million times.” I noticed Rob’s discomfort when my father spoke up and wondered what that was about, but not for long. I eyed the food. 

Rob’s eyes frantically followed mine, looking for something else to look at. When he noticed I was looking at the growing pile of burgers and hot dogs and he turned to my mother and said, “Let the poor girl eat something! We have so much good food.” 

I didn’t need to be told twice. I walked quickly over to the pile he gestured at and chose a burger from the selection of freshly grilled meat. The man who was standing and flipping smiled at me. I smiled back, sheepishly, as I dressed my burger and slowly walked away. 

“Is that… Josephine?” He asked, flipping a burger and pressing it into the grill with his spatula.

“Yeah, hi, how are we related?” I asked. I decided it was probably best to be up front about the fact that I didn’t know anyone here. 

“Oh! I’m your cousin, Brandon. Right now I’m helping Max on the grill. We spent some time together as kids, but you probably don’t remember. I barely do,” he explained, peering at the coals in the grill, “Say hello, Max!” A man who I assumed was Max waved.

“Cool,” I said.

“Have you met any of the other cousins yet?” He asked, trying to force a conversation.

“Nope, not yet,” I said, messing with my hair. 

“You’ll love ‘em, we’ve heard so much about you,” he said, flipping a few burgers. He grinned up at me.

“Yeah I bet,” I said and smiled at him for the amount of time that seemed respectful. How did everyone know me? It was a little unnerving. No sooner had I escaped that awkward interaction, then I walked into another. 

An old man saw me from across the crowd and made his way over, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked. His eyes lit up. “Angela?” He asked as he approached. Oh no.

“Uh… no! That would be my mother…” I said, backing away.

“You look just like her…” He said, gazing into my eyes, “So beautiful, just like your mother. What is your name, child?”

“Thanks. I’m Josephine,” I said, inching away from him.

“A pleasure to meet you, Josephine. Are you having a nice time?”

“Yeah…” I walked quickly away. 

As I sat alone in the grass under a tree and ate my burger, I realized that it was strange to me that I looked so much like my mother but didn’t know that much about her or her family. Her parents had passed when she was my age. From what, I didn’t know. She didn’t talk about it much. I just know that mother’s day and father’s day were always hard for her. This past May, on mother’s day specifically, I could feel a heaviness in her voice for the first time. I don’t think that meant it hadn’t been there before, just that I hadn’t been old enough to feel it. She spent all day on the phone, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, but sometimes I couldn’t quite tell how she was feeling. I asked her about it. I asked her what was wrong. 

“I was your age when they passed, you know,” she said, as we sat on the couch and watched TV. I think the news was on, but I wasn’t really paying attention.

“Oh.”

“I wish you had gotten to know your grandmother,” she said, sighing, and closing her eyes for a moment.

“I know,” I said, because I did know. I knew that she wanted me to know her family, and here I was, with a great opportunity to know them and I was throwing it in her face. The few times she did talk about my grandmother and my grandfather, she made them sound so kind and exciting. They met when my grandmother was waitressing. My grandfather thought she was so beautiful, that he went to the restaurant she worked at every day for a week until he saw her again and asked her on a date. My mother always told me she wished I had a story as sweet as that when I finally met someone. Most of the time, she didn’t talk much about them. But I also didn’t really ask. I wondered how many of these people I would have known if my mother had tried. If I had tried. But I could try now, and I decided that I would.

I looked over at her, guiltily, from under my tree. She was chatting animatedly with people I didn’t know. I wanted to want to know them, so I stood up and walked over to her. I plastered on my best, most convincing smile and touched her elbow to get her attention. She smiled at me. A knowing smile. She knew of my guilt. She knew me too well. I couldn’t ever lie to her.

“Sandra, this is my daughter, Josephine,” she said. I shook Sandra’s hand and she smiled and pulled me in for a hug. She smelled faintly of some sort of lotion. A scent far less aggressive than Pat’s perfume.

“Ah forgive me! I feel like I’ve known you forever. Do you remember me? I was at your first birthday party. All the pink! What a lovely little party that was,” she gushed, as soon as she let me go. 

I smiled back. “Sorry no! It’s great to properly meet you though.”

“And how old are you now?” She asked, pushing one of her shiny braids back from her face. 

“I’m thirteen,” I replied, also pushing my hair back from my face.

“Still a pink enthusiast?” She smiled at me, taking in my grayscale outfit.

“Nope,” I said, laughing, “That was my mom’s doing, to be honest.”

My mother quickly cut in, “No! You loved pink! I’m sure of it!”

“Or was it you who loved pink?” Sandra asked my mother, as if she could read my mind.

My mom rolled her eyes, “Guilty!” 

“Well, we gotta take a group picture to commemorate this. It’s the first time we’ve all been together in so long! All the Daniels, here, in this park! It’s really such a great day. Your mama would be proud, Angela,” Sandra said, placing a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I saw a tear trying to escape my mother’s eye, and I also saw her try to blink it back. 

“She was always the one who made sure we weren’t strangers,” she admitted, “I remember seeing my relatives for every single holiday when I was Josephine’s age. Do you think we’ve let her down, Sandra?”

I hadn’t known about that. I suddenly realized what I had been missing, and a pang of sadness caught my throat.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Angela. I know how hard it was for you to lose them. It was hard for all of us, but I know it was especially hard for you. We’re all here now, though, and we should try to focus on that. Come on.”

She beckoned to us to follow her and she began rounding up all the Daniels and the various other people who have become a part of this family over the years. There were easily fifty people trying to cram into this photo. Just as we were finally gathering and about to take the picture I felt my stomach drop and then leap up into my throat and suddenly my burger was on the ground in front of me and on my shoes. Everyone turned to look at me, probably because of the awful noise I made, and then they saw the vomit on the grass in front of me and everyone sprang into action. Pat dabbed my mouth with a handkerchief. Rob asked me if I was alright. Sandra gave me some water and offered me ginger ale. 

“Sit down, child!” They all chorused, gathering around me. 

“Max, your burgers are gonna kill somebody!” Someone yelled from the back.

My mother kneeled down and put her arm around me. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, really.” They continued to stare, clearly unconvinced, studying me for signs of another vomiting episode. As they stared, they inched closer and closer. “Seriously! Don’t worry about me. Let’s take this picture!” I said half-heartedly, trying to stand up. My mother didn’t let me.

“You don’t have to be in it, honey,” she said, rubbing my back.

“No, I wanna.” She shrugged and helped me up. Everyone backed away from me, realizing how close they had gotten. They continued to glance back at me as we reorganized into our three lines, shortest in the front, tallest in the back. I was in the middle, next to two people I could only assume were my cousins because of how close we seemed to be in age. They put their arms around me and grinned. I couldn’t help but smile back, and it wasn’t forced.

“Alright everyone say, ‘Daniel!’”

“Daniel!”

After the photo, I found myself relaxing. I chatted with cousins, joked with uncles, hugged aunts, and ended up having a great time. As the summer day turned into a breezy summer night the good byes started. The promises that it wouldn’t be another ten years until we saw each other, even though we all knew it probably would be. The cousins discussed who would be the first to get married to give us an excuse to get together again. The aunts told us to hurry up. The uncles shook their heads. When my parents told us it was time to go, I was honestly kind of sad. I didn’t think I would, but I had a really good time. When I told my mom, she smiled her heavy smile. I thought about how hard it must have been for her to lift the corners of her mouth.

“I just–I feel so bad,” She confessed, as we crawled along the busy streets.

“Why?” I asked, leaning forward to look at her. She had a tear in her eye. I pretended to ignore it. She pretended not to know I had seen it. 

“They should have been there for you. I should have let them be there for you,” she said, staring out the window. The streetlights were reflected in her glassy eyes. She was trying so hard to hold back the tears.

“Mom, it’s okay! I’m glad I met them today,” I thought for a moment, “Why do you say that?”

“What?”

“You said you should have let them be there for me.”

“It’s just that it was so hard for me to bring them into your life. It seemed like it would be,” She said, but I was confused. She noticed my confusion and continued, “I didn’t think I could let you feel the pain I felt when I lost my mother. When we all lost her. I was trying to protect you from that loss. The reason we don’t have many reunions is because my mom always organized them. No one could do it after she passed. Everyone thought it would be me, but I guess I just don’t have that spark she had. She was a fiery lady. An incredible lady. A truly incredible lady.”

“That was a pretty fun time, mom,” I admitted.

“Oh you should have seen what she could come up with. She got a cotton candy machine for a party once because I said I thought it would be fun. She knew us all so well.”

“You should plan our next party! You remember all her tips.”

“Yeah?” My mother turned to look at me, “Who do you think is gonna get married first? We do need another reunion.”

“Well, it’s not gonna be me!” We both laughed. My dad kept his eyes glued to the road, but smiled with us. 

“You never know,” my dad said, shrugging. 

“Dad!”

My mother wiped her eyes and continued to stare out the window. I looked at her hands folded in her lap. Her most recent manicure had given her warm brown nails, filed into a soft almond shape. She fidgeted slightly.

I grabbed one of her hands from the back seat. She looked surprised for a moment, because I was always telling her that I was too old for things like hand holding and cheek kissing and hugs longer than two seconds.

When she finally stopped being so surprised she squeezed my hand gently, and that told me everything I needed to hear without a single word passing between us. My father drove on, the sunset giving everything a warm orange glow.