“‘Don’t you be jealous of what God decided.’” Sissy shakes her finger as though little boy Aaron standing in front of her, at the cookie party with us.

“‘Think I’ll make up my own words,’ he goes.

“What a mess that was. For a while he mashed words and no one understood him. School called, telling me, ‘Miz Peoples, Aaron need speech therapy.’ He didn’t need speech therapy, he needed knocked upside his head for being jealous of Adam, I tell ’em.”

We chuckle.

“I stopped talking to him unless he said it in regular words. I wouldn’t even feed him ’less he asked for it in English words.” Sissy sips her wine. “Got hungry, he sure did. ‘Milk. Hot dogs. Spaghetti. Burger. Chicken,’ he said.

“I gave it to him. ‘Regular words gets you somewhere, see, son. See, honey.’

“He looked like he lost his best friend. So I try to make things better. ‘Don’t you know you naming by how you put words together? Then you being a little bit Adam. You adding to God’s words that way. Not inventing stuff no one understand.’”

His intoxication started so early and expanded. Just like Tara. Funny how both my daughters met partners young and formed relationships that have lasted for years. Maybe it’s a rebellion against my constant hunt and search.

“You think that be enough.” Sissy’s hands are on her knees as her voice trails off. She sits on the edge of the chair, talking into the coffee table. “But that little man get something in his mind he don’t let go. Struggles till it’s solved. The next year in school he found the dictionary. Oh, boy. Here we go again. ‘See, no Adam named everything. This book, dictionary named everything.’

“‘It’s like this,’ I say. ‘Adam named everything and then some Englishman put all Adam’s names in that book and called it a dictionary. And if you hear a word Adam made up and you don’t know what it means, you look it up in that book.’

“Aaron looked at me with those eyes of his that go on forever like children have and I know he’s not believing me, so I go, ‘Boy, you better soften those eyes and don’t come at me with that attitude.’ He look down and I say, ‘Go ahead and ask me something. Go ahead. Think of a word.’ He blink at me and say, ‘Nothing. I’m thinking nothing.’

“I look it up in the book. Point to it. Nothing. No thing. Not anything. Lack of existence, nonexistence.

“‘What’s that, Momma? Nonexistence?’ So I look that up, too.

“‘Oooooh. Momma. These words hold hands with each other … I want you to read me that book, Momma. I wanna know all those words.’