Scent (Scomiche)

A Talk with my Mom, a Drink with my Dad

It’s sweet to see that my mom’s grave has been kept clean for all these years. There is only one explanation for that: my dad. He probably visits her a lot. That makes me smile.

It’s sweeter to see Scott place one of the flowers from the bouquet on her grave because he wants to be a part of it. Then, I lay down the rest of the roses.

Scott sits right in front of her headstone. He only has a thin sweater on, and the chilliness in the air is making him pale. How is that fair? When I get cold, my face turns an awful shade of red.

“What are you doing? It’s cold out, let’s go home.”

He scoffs. “Um, I’m talking to your mom right now, don’t be so rude.” He turns his head back to the marble headstone with my mom’s picture printed in a small oval on it. “Hi Mrs. Grassi. I’m Scott Hoying, although you probably already know that because Mitch probably tells you about me all the time.”

It almost makes me giggle, how casual this all is for him.

“But I’ll still tell you about me. I’m handsome.” He laughs. God, so cutely, too. “I’m a baker. That’s how I met your son. He loves pastries, that kid. Maybe he gets that from you, Mrs. Grassi, I’m not sure. Mr. Grassi doesn’t seem like too much of a sweet tooth, but I’m kinda horrible at reading people so I guess you know better than me. Anyway, Mitch came in one day and wanted a mixed berry scone and some coffee. Let me tell you something that I’ve never even told Mitch.” He looks around as if he’s making sure no one is around, even though I’m standing about a foot away from him with my arms crossed trying to keep warm. He whispers, “The only reason I’ve kept making that specific scone all these years is because of him. And guess what? He hasn’t ordered one in at least a year. Sure, they sell fine and whatever, but I’d probably rather branch out my talent a little bit. But since Mitch used to like them, what if he gets a sudden craving and I don’t have one?”

At the same time I’m drowning in feelings, he sighs. Maybe in his head he’s pretending to get a response. But then again, maybe not.

“I’m also a father of a beautiful little girl named Lindsey, which is also my sister’s name, but it’s spelled differently. It’s kinda weird to have two people with the same name, but one is the girl I grew up with and the other is the one I’m raising. Oh by the way, Lindsey isn’t mine biologically.” He pauses as if to give time for the explanation that usually ensues when he says that. “Whether Mitch admits it or not, he loves her. I know he does.”

I blush, which is on top of the red in my cheeks already. I stare down at the ground.

“Let’s see, what else would a mom like to know about me? Oh, I’ll just be upfront about this now, Mrs. Grassi. I’m not super religious. I used to be a little but Christian wasn’t, I know, it’s ironic with the name Christian, but he really didn’t go for things like that, so I just shrugged it off. Maybe one day I’ll become religious again, Mrs. G. I mean, I’m religious enough to believe you’re in heaven. I don’t see how you couldn’t be. I mean, I,” he gets flustered even though it’s literally only him talking. “I, well, I just know it.”

He pauses, but I know he’s going to talk more so I stay silent. “You know, you’re probably wondering where Mitch’s and I’s relationship is. I know you are totally asking that in your head, because you’re like, ‘this guy is trying to prove himself to me, he’s talking like they’re dating’ but Mitch probably totally told you we’re not a thing.”

My heart beats faster.

“And we’re not a thing, but I don’t know, he’s my best friend and we hang out a lot, and I’m not sealing off the idea of dating him. It’s just that my husband just died- maybe you’ve met him up there- and I like having Mitch as my friend to help me through that. The first Christmas without him was hard for Lindsey and me. Mitch has done so much without even realizing it to take my mind off of it. I love him, Mrs. G. I just don’t know in what way yet. I think that’s okay, because I think Mitch understands that. I think a lot of people do. I just wish I did.” He sighs once more and stands. “You’ve raised a good man, Mrs. Grassi. I know you must be proud.”