“And the year five of us made chocolate chip cookies.”

Sissy’s eyes check out each one of us. Her brightly colored scarf brings out orange tones in her hair.

“Besides, we want the story,” Charlene says.

“Okay.” Sissy spreads her hands wide. There’s no nervousness to her gestures, she seems as comfortable tonight as she did at her Labor Day barbecue. “Been getting a kick at being a virgin at anything by this point in my life. Time to devirginize me in this one last thing.” She nods her head quickly, as though drawing an exclamation point, and we all laugh. “I have to tell a story about my cookies, so here it is. It’s a story about Aaron, Tara’s baby’s father. My littlest one. Words was what he was about.” She sits down, then leans forward and turns toward me, as though I’m the only one in the room and this tale is for me. “Aaron, he’s the smartest of my five. Gotta say that. Don’t know why, but he is. He’s the one always saw the world differently, things other people don’t pay attention to. Hearing rhythm. Even the honking horn.” Sissy clicks her tongue. “When he wasn’t nothing but a baby, if a horn would honk beep beep-beep, he would pound out that same beat on the table or floor.” Her hand makes the motion of drumming.

Like Tara and her xylophone, I think.

“And wondering about words.” She expels some air and shakes her head. “Got words in his mind and got on my last nerve with questions. ‘Who decides the words, Momma?’ he asked me. ‘Who decides? Who gets to name everything?’

“I told him, ‘Adam. God let Adam name everything.’” Sissy narrows her eyes as though trying to see Aaron as a boy. A cluster of small moles on her cheek dances. “Strangest little boy. As though the power of things was in the word for them. He walked around asking me for the word for everything like he was collecting them in a box.” She stops.

I sit back and her eyes move to Juliet and then to Allie, the two women with whom she has spent most of her time tonight. “When he discovered two names for the same thing … like rain-sprinkle-shower-drizzle he asked why Adam gave it so many names. I tried to explain how each one’s a little different. Then he realized there was one word for two things. Like nail. He went, ‘Why only one word for metal you hit with a hammer and the thing on the end of your finger? Why Adam cheat those two things?’”

“‘Honey, you jealous of Adam.’

“He looked at me, closed his eyes thinking hard, so hard, and went, ‘Yes, ma’am, believe I am.’