“They say necessity is the mother of invention,” quipped my grandmother, grasping onto the jar lid with her rounded piece of rubber. I heard the air let loose from the seal as her small wrinkled hands passed me the mason jar that I’d been prying on for the past hour. Okay, for the past 5 minutes.
Maybe it was more like 20 seconds.
I felt the corners of my mouth twitching back and forth, one to the other. I couldn’t tell if my lips wanted to turn upward towards a smirk or downward to a frown, as it seemed like they were arguing over which would win. I reached out and took the jar, sliding my spoon in to scoop out its desired contents. My mouth watered in anticipation of the sweetness to come. But it still didn’t smother the bitterness.
“The mother of Invention, you say? Necessity, is she?”
“So they say,” my grandma shrugged, opening a drawer to replace her magic rubber jar opener.
“Hmm, whatda’ ya’ think they say about Invention’s father?”
She turned and looked at me, suspiciously, the wooden drawer slowly closing behind her. I watched as her eyes traveled into her thoughts. Finally she responded, “Don’t recall that they say anything at all about him.”
We exchanged an uncomfortable glance between us.
“I knew it,” I nodded, licking the leftover honey from my spoon and turning towards the fridge to pull out some milk.
My grandmother sat at the table, sliding into the chair nearest me, still casting an apprehensive look my way. She didn’t seem all that interested in stirring her creamer into her coffee anymore. “Knew what?” Her words were as tense as her lips.
“Nobody minds bringing up Invention’s mom, do they? But they skirt around the issue of mentioning who his dad is…”
“You can stop right there with those thoughts, mister…”
“Invention, clearly then, must be a bastar…”
My old grandma had cleared the corner of the kitchen table and opened my bottom lip about as efficiently as she had that jar. Only, this time, she hadn’t even needed her piece of rubber.
She turned her head away from me, throwing her hand over her face. It didn’t matter. I still heard a gasp of air escaping from the seal of her heart. When she turned back around, she reached to straighten the worn, red and white checkered tablecloth.
I licked the red spot from my lip, then wiped what was left of my milky mustache, all before she could get a washrag to doctor me. Pulling in my tongue, I hung my head and murmured the final sound, “D.”
That was the last time I ever brought him up again.
Time to dig around in the pantry this week & come up with a story for the Speakeasy!
The first line this week was supplied by Rara, winner of speakeasy #107: “They say necessity is the mother of invention.”
That line + a jar of…whatevers (the included photo prompt) will get you access to today’s story.