Yes And... by Will Kelly

Bea dips chicken breast into egg yolk before coating them in panko breadcrumbs. She’s making her famous chicken parmesan for dinner. “You better not ruin your appetite,” Bea calls to her son as he sneaks into the pantry and finds a granola bar, “dinner will be ready soon.”

Maisie rushes through the front door, tears filling her eyes. Bea chases down the hall after her, “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m a murderer!” Maisie screams, slamming and locking her bedroom door.

“Drama queen!” Jake shouts from the table.

“What? What do you mean?” Bea yells, panicking.

“Leave me alone to rot!” Maisie wails from behind her door.

#

Bea has always struggled with Maisie and her flair for the dramatic. She never fails to say the wrong thing. There was the time Maisie’s class took a field trip to the farm, and she learned that chicken nuggets come from live chickens. Maisie cried and cried, saying she’d never eat her favorite meal again. “But honey, chickens aren't the only animal you eat. Where do you think cheeseburgers come from?” Maisie was a vegetarian for about thirty-six hours after that.

#

“Sweetie, open the door. Talk to me,” Bea pleads.

“No, I’m a monster. Move on with your life. Forget you ever had a daughter.”

“But I could never forget about my Maisie-girl,” Bea singsongs, trying to sound pleasant and open, though it comes out sounding anxious and strained.

#

To be fair, Bea is not the best with words in any part of her life. She has a reputation at work for being negative. As a mid-level manager, her main job is to make her team look good to the higher-ups. Unfortunately, her department is a bunch of idealistic twenty-somethings who don’t have enough life experience to think through the ramifications of their ideas.

For example, Bea watched the light drain from her team’s eyes when she challenged Lucas’s suggestion that employees should get an hour exercise break each day. “Okay, I see the merit in that, but…”

It’s not that exercise breaks are even a bad idea, but she has to ensure they hold up to scrutiny. She’s sure he hasn’t thought through any of the questions they’ll face if this idea is presented. Why wouldn’t they exercise before or after work? Are they prepared to stay an extra hour because they took an exercise break in the middle of the day? Will HR be bombarded with hygiene issues because staff are working up a midday sweat?

Bea knows her team is smart and they have great ideas; they just don’t come to the table fully formed. She works to mold them into something presentable, so they aren’t dismissed without a second glance. Don’t they see that she’s on their side?

No, they don’t. They hear the word ‘but’ and shut down. No one thinks of Bea as an ally; they think of her as a gatekeeper. All they hear when she utters the word ‘but’ is ‘no’.

#

When she was little, Bea believed her mother was the smartest person in the world. She had advice for any problem, could answer any question. But Bea had never murdered anyone. No one prepares you for how to respond when your child’s done the unthinkable.

The springs squeak as Maisie tosses herself onto her bed and lets out a frustrated scream into her pillow.

#

Bea’s palms are sweating as she enters her boss’s office. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the open chair. She hates being summoned without an agenda. “Bea, there’s a new class being offered at the college, Positive Communication. I’d like you to attend and bring back notes for the managers. We’ll cover the registration costs, of course.” She doesn’t want to attend, but she works for him. She doesn’t get the opportunity to filter his ideas. There’s no logical ‘but’ that’s going to change his mind.

The course focuses on the power of positive phrasing and emphasizes how small changes can make a big impact on perceived intention. The suggestion that stands out the most to Bea is one simple word: ‘And.’

By following up a suggestion with the word ‘and,’ the response feels more like a brainstorm, like the door is open for further communication.

Bea decides she’ll give it a shot at their Brainstorm Friday meeting. It’s not long before Alyssa raises her hand to put forward an idea. “I think we should be able to bring our pets to work on Fridays.”

Standing at the white board, her staff’s eyes fixated on Bea, she uncaps her marker and says, “Okay, yes,” then watches as Alyssa looks away, already defeated, “and…”, Alyssa’s head swings towards Bea, her eyes bright and hopeful, “we need to be prepared when the bosses come back with questions about allergies, bathroom accidents, and confinement of larger dogs.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll write all of the logistics into a formal proposal. Thanks, Bea!” Alyssa beams.

It’s the first time Bea has ever been thanked at work.

#

Bea starts using her new favorite word, ‘and’, in all aspects of her life. When Jake’s baseball team loses the championship game, Bea’s ready. “Yes, and you got to play in three more games than the teams that didn’t make the playoffs. Be proud of what you accomplished and how far you made it.”

Jake smiles. “Thanks, Mom.” He’s quiet for a minute. Bea is used to him talking non-stop after a game; recounting every play, rehashing every bad call, analyzing every what-if he can think of. At a traffic light, Bea watches him in the rearview mirror. The wheels of his thought process are churning. When he catches her reflection, she smiles at him. He looks away, then speaks, “Actually, can I ask you about something else?”

“Anything.”

“So, there’s this girl…”

  Bea almost faints then and there. Jake has never talked to her about anything social, much less a girl. She tells herself not to overreact, not to scare him off. She watches his profile light up as he describes being partnered with her for a science lab. A grin flashes across his face when he finally says her name: Chloe.

When Jake asks if his plan to invite her to the Spring Formal is a good one, Bea says, “Yes, and I think she’ll agree.”

#

‘And’ is working well for Bea at work and with Jake, BUT her daughter killed someone. What could she say? And they probably deserved to die. And you’ll get over it. And mistakes happen. No, ‘and’ doesn’t feel right in this situation.

Bea decides on another approach. She heads to the kitchen and returns a few minutes later. “Maisie, I brought milkshakes. Neapolitan, your favorite.”

“I don’t deserve a milkshake.”

“If you don’t eat it, I’ll have to eat both, and if I eat yours too, I’ll get fat, and if I get fat, it’ll be your fault, and aren’t you blaming yourself enough right now?”

Maisie lets out a chuckle. It sounds more like a whimper through the tears and snot, but Bea knows every sound her children make; there is levity in this noise.

Then, the door clicks, and Maisie opens it a crack before scurrying back to her bed. Bea takes the invitation and curls into the bed beside her, handing over the milkshake. “Tell me, what happened.”

“I was driving home from school,” Maisie inhales deeply, “and I know I shouldn’t, but my phone buzzed. I didn’t even read the message; I just looked down because it caught me off guard. When I looked back up, there was a family of ducks crossing the road. I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could, but there wasn’t enough time. I swerved and hit the mother duck. When I got out, she was lying there, her head bent the wrong way.” Maisie inhales deeply again, “Even worse, there were these four baby ducks crowding around their dead momma making these tiny, little quacks. I just orphaned four ducks! I couldn’t even imagine getting back in the car. I ran the rest of the way home.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know you feel awful right now, but,” Bea sees it immediately. Maisie shuts down and turns away, her body language telling Bea emphatically that she used the wrong word. Bea isn’t sure that she’ll be able to get Maisie to open back up again.

A knock on the door interrupts Bea’s spiral. Jake is standing there, “Can I come in?”

“No!” Maisie is stoic in her response.

“Listen, I saw the accident. There was nothing you could do. You were coming around a corner, no way you were going to see those ducks. You had to make a split-second decision AND…you chose to save the babies.”

“Those babies are now orphans and they’ll probably be eaten by an owl or something,” Maisie retorts.

“AND… you have the best little brother out there. Mom, am I doing this right?” Jake smirks at his mother. Bea stares at this thirteen-year-old cherub trying to cheer up his big sister using her words.

“You’re doing great, sweetie, but maybe don’t make it about yourself.”

“Mom, you’re not supposed to use ‘but,’ remember?” Jake retorts.

“You’re right, AND keep going.”

“Maisie, I found my old terrarium and then I went back for the ducks, capturing them all. I added a heat lamp and figured you could repay your debt to the universe by nursing these ducks until they’re old enough to care for themselves. Come look.”

Maisie crawls out from under the covers, a little hope in her eyes. Bea follows her children out to the garage, tears welling in hers. Sure enough, there are four ducklings fighting over pieces of bread that Jake has left in their tank.

Maisie grabs Jake and pulls him tightly into a bear hug. “Alright, alright, you’re squishing me!” Jake yells.

“Thank you, Jake,” Maisie says with full sincerity, picking up a quacking duckling and petting him gently. “I have a lot to learn about raising ducklings AND I’m going to make sure they grow big and strong.”

Bea pulls both her kids into a hug, amazed that she’s raising such thoughtful, responsible, considerate children. “AND…let’s go spoil our dinners with the rest of those milkshakes!”

Will Kelly is a 5th grade teacher in Las Vegas, Nevada. He writes character driven, slice-of-life stories with protagonists you can root for. When not writing, Will enjoys reading thrillers/mysteries, taking long walks and rooting for the San Francisco 49ers. His work has been published on Sci-Fi Shorts, Neither Fish Nor Foul, Rat Bag Lit and upcoming in Foofaraw.