Anything You Want by Geoff Herbach Page A

Darius an opening to start a conversation. He’d been staring at Miz like a confused caveman since they had arrived.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” Darius asked her.
    Miz smiled at him. Then she said, “Taco, help me bring in the food from the car.”
    â€œYou got it!” I said.
    We carried in a whole Thanksgiving dinner, pal. Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce in cans, soft white bread, and two pies: one apple, one pumpkin. We had a feast on our hands, which made me like Miz even more.
    The Detroit Lions started playing some football on TV, so Darius and Dad sunk into the couch and did what they do best, which is veg out (even though they both hate the Lions). I’m not about vegging, so I worked with the fragrant Miz to heat the beans, potatoes, and turkey.
    â€œYou’re a little chef, aren’t you?” Miz said.
    â€œWell, I don’t have formal training, ma’am, but I like to think I’m handy with a frying pan,” I told her.
    Darius seemed to think there was a wall between the kitchen and the living room, but there wasn’t. Never was. He seemed to think me and the Miz wouldn’t hear him behave like an animal.
    â€œSo is that our new mom?” Darius asked during a commercial break.
    â€œNo,” Dad said. “You’ll only ever have one mother.”
    â€œAre you doing her?” Darius asked.
    â€œDarius,” Dad said. “Careful.”
    â€œShe looks like a portly pig in that coat.”
    â€œGod damn it,” Dad said. “You’d better put a cork in it.”
    â€œOr what? You’ll have her sit on me?”
    In the kitchen, like fifteen feet away from that hubbub, Miz smiled. “I think we can set the table. Is it easy enough to move your computer off there?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. It’s no trouble at all,” I said. I’m sure my face was red because I was so embarrassed about stupid Darius, but Miz seemed totally fine.
    â€œIs porky serving us ham for dinner?” Darius asked.
    â€œI’m sorry about him,” I said to Miz. “Darius had a bad past life, so he’s very ornery, generally speaking.”
    Miz winked at me. “I expected a little pushback. I suggested your daddy should let you both know I was coming, but he thought it would be a nice surprise.”
    â€œIt sure is a nice surprise,” I said.
    â€œAren’t you sweet?” she replied.
    Then she leaned over and gave me a grandma-style peck on the cheek. I could smell that perfume—or maybe it was lotion?—on my face the rest of the day. Whatever, dingus. I liked it a lot because mom types are good.
    During the Thanksgiving meal, Darius stewed in his own sack of mad. He ate fast and hard and sort of growled while he chewed. I, on the other hand, made a lot of fine jokes, and Miz laughed and laughed and slapped my shoulder a bunch. Dad’s eyes sparkled as he watched us make jokes. He clearly thought Miz and me were all that. I liked seeing Dad happy because he’s not a very happy guy. Not normally.
    Unfortunately, the good times couldn’t last. The situation between Dad and me got tricky like two minutes after everybody ate their pie. Dad dropped his paper napkin on his plate and said, “Miz, Darius, how about you two go and finish watching the game? I need to have a conversation with Taco.”
    â€œAbout how he’s gonna be a dad?” Darius hissed.
    Dad’s face turned red, and he shook his head.
    â€œYou going to talk dad to dad?” Darius taunted.
    â€œShut up,” I told him. “You said you weren’t going to tell him.”
    â€œHow about you and me get to know each other over some football?” Miz said to Darius.
    Darius kicked back his chair. “I’m going downstairs.”
    â€œYou’re welcome to stay for this discussion, ma’am,” I said. Given what was about to go down, I really wanted her