Shoveling Snow in Queens

“Your mother is coming over for dinner tomorrow night,” she said.

I was shoveling our car out from last night’s snowstorm. In the background I heard the rumbling of the Seven train, bounding its way. I chucked piles of snow between the sidewalk and the car, forming a mini wall that my wife stood behind. I took a break, watched her blow softly into a cup, waiting for her next words like adoring crowds wait for the announcement of the new pope.

“She’s bringing Jerry,” she said.

I went back to shoveling and heard a ping. I was hoping to see gravel but instead I saw a sheet of ice, and my head sank.

“Probably better if you pour boiling water on that,” she said.

“You wanna switch?”

She giggled and said, “You got it sweetie.”

I picked away at the ice, but only little shards broke away. So, I took a break and stretched, twisting left and right to wring my lower back muscles like dishrag.

“Plus, your mother says she has news.”

I just grunted.

“It’s not going to be all bad,” she said. “Hey, we have news for her too.”

With her non-coffee holding hand, she pulled out a little white stick. Her eyebrows rose and her eyes got big.

My words came out, “Is that...are you…,” and she nodded her head. Then I ran, tumbling through the wall towards her, while she waited for me, smiling, sipping her coffee.