Page 118 of The Leaves In Autumn
“I’m not eating until you tell us.”
“Prepare to starve.”
Dad waves us both off with his free hand.
“You might as well spill it, son. She will only make you miserable with her nagging.”
He gets a napkin across his head for that one. My smile lands on my mother. That is all she needs.
“I knew it! Come on, Aargon. Please?”
“I think I’m going to France.”
They react like I have just won the Nobel Prize.
“Oh my God!”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
“What did she say? How did she take it?”
“She doesn’t know yet.”
The prize was just ripped from my hands and the air leaves them.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be on board. I’m sure of it.”
“When are you planning on telling her?”
“Midnight. Here. They are eight hours ahead.”
“Well, good then. A man knows,” Dad says.
In a twist on a theme, Mom does not contradict my take.
“A woman knows it too.”
“How do you know it, Mom?”
“Observation and empirical evidence.”
“Once a chemist,” Dad adds. “She always sees through a microscope. You know that, son.”
“What about the house? Does Teddy know? What are you going to do with your car?”
“It’s all taken care of. Teddy knows.”
“Okay, good.”
“What about your siblings?”
“No. Not yet. I didn’t want everybody to get all excited. I will tell them tomorrow, and I have a list for each one, with my important information they might need. I’m just going to France, not the moon.”
Uh oh. Dad’s about to cry.
