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“This was silly.”
“It’s not silly, Sheldon,” Amy says with practiced patience. “They’re your family.”
“Oh, so now we’re just stating facts,” Sheldon says, petulantly. “Well, here’s one for you. As a Nobel Prize recipient —”
“Who’s speaking to his co-recipient; go on,” Amy deadpans.
Sheldon purses his lips, continuing, “Who is a highly respected, supreme leader in his field —”
“Even I know that’s pushing it,” their daughter Gigi — short for Georgia — snorts as she walks past them and opens the refrigerator.
“Hey,” Sheldon protests. His voice has risen several octaves. “If your grandmother were here, she would say it’s important to ‘honor thy father.’”
“And you would respond by saying the only thing worth honoring are the laws of physics,” their son Leonard quips from the living room couch.
Sheldon stares at the boy texting on his phone. He looks next at the girl, who has a smirk on her face. Finally, he looks at his wife.
“I don’t know whether to be proud or circle back to my theory that all kids deserve warranties.”
Amy’s lip twitches as their children squawk. She rests her hands on top of her husband’s on the kitchen counter.
“You did the right thing, Sheldon,” Amy reassures him. “Your family is entitled to know what you wrote about them before it’s published for anyone to read.”
“You mean everyone to read.”
“Of course I do, dear,” Amy agrees, easily.
“It’s been a week.” Sheldon shakes his head in exasperation. “I’d have read it cover-to-cover twice within the first night.”
“Isn’t it like, three thousand pages?” Leonard whispers to Gigi.
“Not after his editor got a hold of it.”
“While you may read quickly,” Amy cuts in before Sheldon speaks, “others read at a different —”
“Translation: slower.”
“Their own,” Amy says, raising an eyebrow. “Pace,” she finishes.
Sheldon scoffs.
“Missy’s idea of reading a “classic” is a two-month-old Vanity Fair magazine. For the record, I hate that I even know what Vanity Fair is,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at Gigi.
His daughter grins.
“As for Georgie,” he continues. “He hasn’t picked up a book since the Clinton Administration, and only did it to put Connie to sleep. And then there’s my mother.”
“Sheldon,” Amy says, exasperated.
“Uh-buh-buh,” Sheldon tuts. Amy rolls her eyes. “If you’d let me finish. My mother would say the only spine more flexible than Georgie’s ex …” The children howl with laughter as Amy facepalms herself. “… Is the one attached to her Bible. So to answer your original question …”
“One that I surely didn’t ask.”
“It was a bad idea to send them advanced copies,” Sheldon concludes. “I’ll never receive their responses in time to meet my deadline.”
“What’s done is done, Sheldon,” Amy says, walking out of the kitchen. “Just be patient.”
Just be patient, he thinks incredulously. I’m married to a stranger!
***
“Hello, Georgie. This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?” Georgie says, skeptically. “And it’s George, now.”
“Yes, of course,” Sheldon says. Then, “What brought about this video call, Georgie?”
Georgie sighs in exasperation, but doesn’t acknowledge the name thing again.
“You asked us to read your book, didn’t ya?”
“My memoir,” Sheldon corrects. “Any fool can write a book.”
“Clearly,” Georgie says under his breath.
Choosing to ignore the remark, Sheldon instead says, “Am I to infer that you were the first one to finish it? The man who aborted his high school education and managed to impregnate —”
“I’ll hang up on you, Sheldon.” Sheldon goes silent. “Yeah, I finished it.”
“Well,” Sheldon says, still taken aback. “Consider me speechless.”
“If only,” Georgie mutters. Sheldon gives his older brother an unimpressed look.
“And?” Sheldon presses. “Are you impressed?”
Georgie stares silently at him for several excruciating moments.
“I’m impressed you didn’t paint me in a worse light.”
Sheldon bows his head and says, “Thank you.”
“Not a compliment, Dad,” Leonard says, passing behind him. “Hi, Uncle George.”
“Leonard,” Georgie greets his nephew. “How’s my favorite goalie?”
“I saved every shot last game,” Leonard says, puffing out his chest.
“Awesome. Good job, kid.”
Sheldon cannot resist rolling his eyes at the exchange. But if you look closely, a small smile plays on his lips. He may never understand why his son chooses to play a sport where the loss of teeth is regarded with high esteem — just like he never understood why his father and brother followed a sport that glorified scrambling one’s brains — but even he can’t deny one thing to himself.
It’s nice feeling connected to his brother for once. Even if it is with Leonard as his liaison.
“Text your schedule for the rest of the season. I wanna see another game,” Georgie continues, breaking Sheldon from his line of thought.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to go to a bar in Texas to watch some oversized neanderthals knock each other’s teeth out?” Sheldon asks.
Leonard and Georgie exchange long-suffering, knowing looks through the screen.
“I’ll have Grandma Mary say a prayer for you.”
“Thanks,” Leonard intones.
Sheldon looks questioningly at the two as Leonard walks away. Georgie shakes his head.
“Your book,” Georgie finally says.
“Memoir.”
“It’s good,” Georgie acknowledges, ignoring the correction.
Good, Sheldon scoffs. High praise.
“But.” Sheldon furrows his brows. “I’d rather you didn’t mention the age gap between me and Mandy. Or that I lied about it to her.”
“Why not?” Sheldon asks, uncomprehending. “It’s part of your story. Part of our family’s story.”
“Because even though she’s grown, CeeCee’s our daughter. I don’t want her reading that.” Georgie looks somewhere off-screen. “Our relationship is already complicated as is.”
“Because you were unfaithful toward Mandy,” Sheldon states as clarification.
Georgie’s face hardens as he looks again at the screen.
“Sheldon.” His voice is much colder. “Remove it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sheldon says. Georgie runs a hand over his face. “You and Mandy are together. ‘End game’, as Gigi calls it. How you began together and what you did to her is no longer of any consequence.”
“Tell me, Sheldon,” Georgie says in lieu of a response. “Think of the worst thing you’ve ever done or didn’t do to Amy.”
“That’s an odd request. Amy would be the first to say I’m a wonderful husband.”
“Before you were married,” Georgie amends. Sheldon frowns. “Would you want Leonard and Gigi to know about it? Or about how you never wanted kids?”
“I didn’t oppose procreation, Georgie,” Sheldon sighs. “I merely thought — and still think — there are better ways of bringing it about than coi —”
“I swear to God, if you use that word, I’ll fly out there right now and kick your ass.”
“Charming.” They lapse into silence. Sheldon thinks about what his brother said.
He knows there are moments over the years when his words and actions — or, more often than not, inaction — have hurt Amy. Not because he realized it after saying or doing something. She would often tell him. Sometimes in the moment. Other times, after she’s walked away and gotten some “space” from him.
Sheldon knows that it requires patience for her to explain why his words hurt. Which is why as he has gotten older, he’s tried not to make the same mistake more than once. Granted, Amy has on some occasions questioned whether he’s purposely creating new ways to offend people and, not being one to lie, he confirms it. Which ultimately leads to another argument.
More to Georgie’s point, he thinks of their children. How their mother implicitly understands what each one needs. How they can draw him a road map and he’ll sometimes still end up on the train going in the completely wrong direction. Though, if you’ll excuse the digression, there’s really no wrong direction to take a train.
The point is that he knows on some level that Georgie’s correct. He doesn’t always — frankly, he almost never — understand his family. That doesn’t mean he wants to hurt them. He can act like he’s right all the time — because God knows, it’s true — but he’s finally learned the cost of being right can be losing someone who matters to him as much as his pursuit of knowledge.
“Sheldon.”
“Sorry,” Sheldon says, pulling himself from his thoughts. “Did you say something?”
“You’ve been spaced out for like, five minutes. What —?”
“I’ll make the edits. They’ll be in your email inbox by tomorrow.”
Georgie nods and neither of them speaks for a while.
“Thanks,” Georgie eventually says. Sheldon nods. “I can’t believe you remember so much.”
“Eidetic memory,” Sheldon says, tapping his temple. Georgie snorts.
“I don’t think I ever realized how much you cared.”
Tilting his head, Sheldon says, “About what?”
Georgie shrugs.
“About us. About anything other than science,” Georgie says. “I know I told you how I had to be there for Mom and for Missy after Dad died. It never crossed my mind that it was hard on you.”
Sheldon shrugs, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“I didn’t let it be,” Sheldon says. Biting the bullet, he adds, “I regret that now.”
Memories of writing certain chapters push their way to the surface. Sheldon focuses instead on Georgie and what he says next.
“You always were the oldest person in our house,” Georgie remarks. “And the youngest.”
Sheldon starts to say that he’s, in fact, older than Missy but refrains. Instead, he settles for:
“Mandy’s made you smarter.”
Georgie throws his head back and laughs.
“Ain’t that the goshdarn truth.”
***
The doorbell rings.
“Gigi, can you get that?” Amy calls from her office.
Sheldon emerges from the bathroom just in time to hear Gigi exclaim, “Aunt Missy!”
“Hi, sweetheart,” Missy says. Sheldon rounds the corner and sees his twin hugging his daughter. “There’s my twin. Long time no see, Sheldon.”
“If only that were true.”
“Dad!” Gigi gasps, but Missy just laughs.
“Just ignore him, sweetheart. I do,” Missy says, winking conspiratorially. Gigi grins.
“Oh, real nice,” Sheldon deadpans. “Next you’ll be encouraging her to run off into the night and drag along her unsuspecting big brother.”
“You may have started high school before I entered middle school, but you’re still only a few minutes older than me.”
“And didn’t those minutes make all the difference.”
Missy rolls her eyes and motions for Gigi to give the siblings the room. Missy opens her arms and Sheldon reluctantly walks into them. He awkwardly pats her back as she hugs him tight.
“I take it you read my memoir and decided a phone call wouldn’t suffice?”
“You got all that from a hug?” Missy says once they pull apart.
Sheldon gives her a flat look. He walks toward the living room, not waiting to see if she follows.
“Is Amy around?” Missy asks, distractedly.
“In her office,” Sheldon says. “If I were to guess — and I’m not a guessing man, as we both know — she’ll be out once we’ve sufficiently discussed whatever it is you’re here to tell me.”
Missy laughs and nods more to herself than to him.
“Right. Straight to it.” Sheldon doesn’t like how sad her eyes get when she looks at him. He can’t tell if it’s pity or something else all-together. “You never told me.”
“You’ll need to be more specific. I don’t tell you a lot of things.”
“Right after Dad’s death,” Missy clarifies. “I was horrible to you. I thought you didn’t care. You really seemed not to care.”
“What are you doing?”
Sitting at the kitchen table, Sheldon replies, “Thinking about Star Trek.”
It’s not a lie. He waits for Missy to ask why he’s thinking about his favorite show.
She never does.
“What is wrong with you?” Missy demands. “Our dad just died.”
He watches as his twin sister storms out of the room.
“That was easier,” Sheldon says, candidly. Missy sniffs. “What was the alternative?”
“Falling to pieces?” she supplies. “Like Mom. Or being mad at everyone.”
Like me. Missy doesn’t say it, but it doesn’t need saying.
When Sheldon doesn’t respond, she continues, “Did it help to imagine other scenarios?”
Sheldon considers her question. If it weren’t for his exceptional recall capabilities, he doubts that he would have much clarity on that time of his life. Everything was changing, which is already the worst for someone who hates change. But he, up-to-a-point, had held onto the fact that he would have a home to return to if he ever chose to step foot again in Texas.
That home died, much like Spock, when his father walked out the back door one last time.
“No,” Sheldon determines. “It was the one time in my life when I truly couldn’t distinguish fact from fantasy and had no desire to do so. In short: It was the closest thing to a non-existent hell.”
Missy places a hand over his that rests on the sofa cushion. Sheldon stares at the gesture for a moment before using his other hand to stiffly pat hers twice.
“So,” he says. “Was that it?”
Missy’s laugh is short. She shakes her head and reaches into her purse. She pulls out several sheets of paper.
“Get your laptop,” Missy orders. Sheldon raises his eyebrows. “I’ve got a list.”
***
“Hi, Mom,” Sheldon answers the phone.
“Good morning, Shelly,” his mother responds. “I just finished your memoir.”
“I can’t believe Georgie and Missy beat you,” Sheldon says in amazement.
“I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. And I had to start and stop a few times,” his mother explains. “Now, be nice to your brother and sister.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheldon says by default. His mother hums in approval.
“Now, about this testicle dropping business,” his mother says, sternly.
“Do you have evil thoughts?” Sheldon asks Missy during the service.
“I’m having one right now,” Missy says, coyly.
Naively, Sheldon responds, “Really? What is it?”
“When we get home,” Missy says, slowly, “I’m gonna kick your little balls.”
“Can’t,” Sheldon says, matter-of-factly. “They haven’t descended yet.”
Turning next to look at his mother, he asks, “Mom?”
“What?” she asks, impatiently.
“When should I be expecting my testicles?”
“That’s far too vulgar for publication,” she says. “For decent conversation, in fact.”
Sheldon disagrees. He promised his life’s story. The masses deserve it in its entirety.
And, for the record, they descended when I was fifteen.
“It’s crucial to my story, Mom,” Sheldon insists. “Plus, they’re my testicles. My choice.”
“You’ve been living amongst liberal heathens for far too long,” his mother tuts. Sheldon rolls his eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man.”
Sheldon looks around the house with mild suspicion bordering on justifiable paranoia. He would not put it past his mother to have bugged the place during her last visit to see her grandkids.
“There was something that confused me,” his mother says.
If it were anyone else, Sheldon would respond that he’s sure many things confuse them. He wisely keeps his mouth shut and waits.
“You write that there’s only one time in your life that you had a truly low opinion of your father,” his mother says. Sheldon stares at the wall. “After Germany. Then all you say is that your low opinion led to your three-knock policy.”
“I never talked to my father about what I saw that day. But, from then on, I added extra knocks so people could get their pants on.”
“What were you referring to, Shelly?”
Sheldon takes a deep breath. He kept that part deliberately vague — to the point where his editor questioned whether its inclusion was truly necessary.
For once, Sheldon wishes that he listened to someone else.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sheldon says.
“Well, I’m not going to stop asking about it until you do,” his mother affirms. “Your move.”
Sheldon grits his teeth.
“We had returned from Germany,” Sheldon begins. “I came home from college mid-day. I called out to see whether anyone was there.”
Sheldon can picture the entryway of his childhood home. It’s as though he’s still there.
“I put my bag on a chair and walked through the living room,” Sheldon continues. “Then, from the master bedroom, a German woman said, ‘Are you sure your wife won’t come home?’”
“Dad laughed and said he was sure. I knocked and opened the door and …”
“Shelly,” his mother gasps. He winces and braces himself. “That was me.”
Sheldon opens his right eye and hesitates.
“No it wasn’t,” Sheldon says. “She was blonde. And German. And her name was Helga.”
“I was Helga. Oh, Shelly,” his mother sighs. “It was a wig. I thought it would be a hoot for your dad. We were … well, role-playing.”
Sheldon lowers himself onto the couch with the phone still to his ear. He feels it vibrating. He looks to see who’s interrupting their call, but there’s no incoming caller.
“Shelly?” his mother asks. “Are you there?”
Oh, he realizes with sudden clarity. I’m trembling.
“Y-Yeah,” Sheldon says. His voice unexpectedly cracks. “Dad didn’t cheat on you.”
It’s part-question, part-statement. His mother makes a sad noise.
“No, he didn’t,” his mother says. “All these years. You never said a word.”
“It would hurt you,” Sheldon says, simply. “You were already angry at him when he died.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t …” His mother chokes on her words. “… Do this. I am … so angry. George and I had our ups and downs, but we were finally in such a good place. And then he …”
Sheldon watches as his mother looks at the casket. The wooden box.
The hunk of wood containing his father’s body.
“Left,” his mother whimpers. “He left all of us. How could you do that?” she cries. “I am so mad at him. I’m mad at God. I’m mad at myself for not trying harder while he was here,” she spirals.
Mee-Maw rushes up and onto the altar. Sheldon watches distantly as his grandmother embraces his distraught mother.
Voice breaking, his mother weeps, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Sheldon looks to his left as Missy leans into Georgie. Their older brother comfortingly rubs her shoulder. Sheldon is torn between two distinct phenomena. One where he feels nothing as he watches his family implode before his eyes.
And aching loneliness.
“I was, wasn’t I?” his mother acknowledges. “We all handled that in our own ways.”
The last word is punctuated by a sniff on Sheldon’s end.
“Oh, baby,” his mother says, getting choked up now. “Shelly, don’t you cry.”
“I’m fine,” Sheldon says, clearing his throat. “I-I’m fine.”
They sit in silence for a while. They’re not sad tears. All Sheldon feels is relief. Relief that he was wrong — but don’t tell any of his friends. Relief that his father, in spite of his flaws, wasn’t actually an unfaithful husband. He loved their family.
The way Sheldon, in spite of his flaws, loves his own.
“I liked the opening line,” his mother says, breaking their silence.
“I’m not surprised,” Sheldon deadpans. His mother chuckles. “I thought it set the stage. It’s also another reason why the testicle story stays.”
“What is wrong with him?” the fellow parishioner asks from the pew in front of them.
“Nothing is wrong with him,” his mother says, sternly. Sheldon looks up at her with wide eyes. “Now, turn around before I knock your lights out.”
The woman gives them a lingering nasty look before turning to face Pastor Jeff.
Sheldon still remembers the bracing smile that his mother gave him. How steady she was at that moment. He recalls looking at her shoulder, which he was about eye-level with in those days. He still feels the fabric of her Sunday blouse. Its coarseness against his cheek as he leaned into her.
My mom was my Christian soldier. There was no other consideration for an opening line.
His mother delivers a long-suffering sigh.
“I suppose I should thank the Lord that any bit of Sunday service left an impression on you,” she says. “Even though my youngest grandbabies are yet to be saved.”
Sheldon’s eyes widen and dramatically, he says, “What’s that, Leonard? I’ll be right there. Sorry, Mom, I’ve gotta go.”
“Sheldon Lee Cooper, lying is a sin!”
“Love you. Bye.” Sheldon quickly ends the call.
Leonard comes out of the other room with a confused expression.
“Did you call me?”
“Grandma was talking about religion. I needed an escape.”
Leonard nods in understanding. Then:
“Can you take me to the skate park? I want to meet up with some friends.”
Sheldon stares at him before begrudgingly nodding.
“She’s laughing right now, you know,” Sheldon says as he grabs his car keys.
Yes, having kids meant he had to once-and-for-all reconcile his fear of driving with practicality.
“What do you mean?”
Sheldon gestures vaguely to the skateboard and helmet.
“Bible or boarding,” Sheldon replies. “Out of the frying pan into the fire.” He pauses. “That must be what she means by the so-called ‘eternal fire.’”