“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
I jabbed at the phone in my hand, trying to will myself (and my family) into the apex of modern technology.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Maaaaaaaaaaaam!”
“Hold on …. I feel like I’ve drifted back into the 1980s …”
I had tried the impossible … adding a new contact to a call that was already in progress.
For a moment, I was surprised by how easy it was.
Then the moment was gone.
“Gah! MAAAAAAAM!”
That’s when I realized all I was doing was toggling between the noisy car where my daughter was safely ensconced in the passenger seat, holding the phone up on speaker mode as her father was chauffeuring her westward for the start of the holiday season, and the quiet dorm room of her brother, who would be venturing north by train the next day.
I tried to bring back the Party Line, but I’ve only managed to revive Call Waiting.
For the next several minutes, I attempted to conduct two conversations simultaneously. At times, placing and releasing the hold button so fast that I thought it a small miracle I hadn’t disconnected the connections by accident, despite having mixed the trains of thought fairly consistently.
This was the fastest I had ever traveled between New York City and Boston, albeit by phone.
“MOM! Stop. Look down at your phone. On the left? See it? Now press MERGE.”
How had I missed that? The word appeared in the same location ADD had been moments earlier. It hadn’t occurred to me that there would be more than one step.
When I pressed it again, my son’s voice chimed in: “Finally!! We have a conference call. I knew you could do it.”
The banter continued with cartoon voices delivering tiny slights and booming guffaws. The mood was light as it pinged around, occasionally interrupting transmissions with moments of radio silence.
I couldn’t wait for them to be home. All of us under one roof for the first time in months.
There’s a delicate balance to this back and forth that, I know from experience, could be quick to go off kilter. Even through the laughter, a word can slice any intention too sharply and tear all the ties that bind us to shreds.
We tend to take turns trying to prop up jokes that fall flat. Saved only by backtracking and a heartfelt apology.
This time, the conversation is elastic. The witty repartee stretches further and wanders into strange territory. There is a cohesiveness despite our being so far apart.
My children, shapeshifting into adults.
Each of them brings big ideas for change to our traditional holiday menu. The girl has plans for a savory baked mac and cheese, started with a classic roux and rich caramelized onions, and a zingy dessert. The boy wants a Wellington and is willing to take over as chef.
It is refreshing. Especially when my daughter hands me a sugar-encrusted globe and tells me to put it between my teeth and wait for the “pop.” The candied cranberry explodes with a gush of sweet and sour sparks.
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