I stood at the doorway. I could hear the sounds of laughter and children screeching through the heavy door. I took a deep breath and grasped the doorknob, opening it and stepping through the threshold. The noise of the inside washed over me, and my entrance into the small hallway went unnoticed.
“Yes, yes dear, I love you too,” said a sultry voice off to my right. I turned to see Aunt Tammy eyeing me from the bar room. It was empty except for her, and she was already slipping her phone back into her purse.
“Gregory, dear!” she exclaimed. She had an assortment of glasses in front of her, bottles of every color and size. “It’s never too early for shots, let me pour you one.”
“No, no! I’m okay, thanks,” I said.
Aunt Tammy squinted her eyes at me. “Suit yourself.” She threw the shot back in one quick gulp, then plopped the glass down with a clink. She stalked toward me, and I could feel my body tensing.
“So,” she said. She rocked on her heels. “You’re the oldest now.”
My stomach sank. Not her too. I tried to hide the pain from my face.
“Are you nervous? About… Well, he always did the blessing.” Aunt Tammy put her hands up, cutting me off. “Not that you have to do the blessing.”
“I’m thinking about it. And no, I’m not nervous,” I said, running a hand through my hair. She smiled a sad smile, clearly not believing me. We hugged and then we turned to the scrum of people.
“Where’s Kate?” she said.
I winced. “We… broke up.”
Aunt Tammy feigned a gasp, then laughed.
“It’s nothing, Aunt Tammy. Just not a good time for a girlfriend.”
“Not a good time! You’re thirty-four! Get married already, Greg.” She waved out of the shadowed cave we stood in toward the greater living room. It was packed with bodies, children running in between small packs of adults, the noise deafening even over here. She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe not.”
We had a laugh at that, then I said, “Into the fray,” and strode into the living room.
Cheers erupted from the children. Nieces and nephews came scrambling up, with chants of “Uncle Greggy!”, even little cousins who didn’t know any better took up the chant, and I was swarmed by little pressing bodies.
I went on the attack. Roaring like a monster, I snatched up the first squirming wriggling form that reached me, swinging them up and around like a battering ram, pushing through the crowd. I didn’t have to fake laughter as the kids attacked back, redoubling their efforts. I hugged and kissed foreheads and patted heads, pushing my way to the small circle of adults.
My twin siblings laughed and embraced me. Sterling gave me a vigorous hug, slapping my back a little too hard. Avery was next, giving me a soft hug.
Our little circle broke off into the small kitchen. “So,” Sterling said. “How are you feeling?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my smile faltering.
Sterling put his hands up in quick surrender. “Nothing, bro. You want a Shiner?”
I shook my head. “No, no I’m good, man. Sis, how we doing?”
She looked at me from under her shaggy bangs, her eyes big and round. “We’re good, Greg. Are you going to do it?”
I looked between the two of them. Then Sterling said, “The blessing, brotherman. You gonna do it?”
I shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.”
Avery gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know how anyone is supposed to be thankful right now.”
Sterling caught my gaze and interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Say. Where’s Kate?”
I stiffened, my palms up. “I… we…”
Avery gasped audibly. “No! You didn’t. On Thanksgiving?”
“Nothing like that! I broke up with her a few days ago.”
Sterling laughed out loud, shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want a Shiner, man?”
“I’m sure,” I said, a little more stern than I wanted. “Where’s Papa?”
Avery pointed to the back door, “Turkey duty.” I nodded, then hugged them again. They returned to their spouses, and I pushed through the mosh pit of cousins and uncles and aunts, snagging hugs on the way through, laughing at crude jokes, planting a smile on my face. I did my best to ignore their looks, the questioning gazes.
I went through the back door, pushed aside by a flood of kids. I shook my head at the passing chaos and made my way down the concrete path to the outdoor kitchen. Papa stood next to the gigantic, stainless-steel fryer, a fat cigar in his mouth and a whiskey glass nearby. He wore a baggy Hawaiian shirt and flip flops. His hair was shaggy and long, since Grandma passed he rarely got it cut anymore.
“Hey, Pop,” I said in greeting. He turned to me and grunted, smiling around his cigar.
“Hey, Kiddo.” We hugged. He waved me toward the fryer. “Step into my office, son.”
I followed, taking my place next to him. We checked gauges, tracked time and adjusted the heat.
I could feel the question, the one they all wanted to ask, but he stayed quiet, steadily chewing on his cigar.
I broke the silence. “I’m thinking about giving Grace for the family. Since… you know.”
Papa nodded. He picked up his whiskey glass with the same hand that held the cigar and took a sip. “Yeah,” was all he said.
“Problem is, I’m not sure how.”
Papa grunted a laugh, a raspy sound. “Well, son. Thankfulness, grace, blessing. It’s a heart condition,” and he patted his chest. Then he saw my face. “A thing you feel in your mind, smart ass. It’s something you have to live and feel. Then you pray to our Heavenly Father and thank him.”
I nodded. “But how,” my voice cracked, and I felt a lump in my throat. “How are we supposed to be thankful?”
Papa peered at me. “You angry?”
I coughed. Thought about it. “Yes.”
“At yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You know, when your father passed and your mother did… Well, what she did, it was easy for me to be angry too. I bathed in it. Was my daily bread. But now, with Bradley, I feel only heartache. I say give your anger to God, son. He can be angry enough for the both of you.”
I chewed on that, then Papa’s watch buzzed at him.
“Pull that turkey, here.” Suddenly I was handed the triangle hanger and was digging into the boiling greasy liquid, hot oil spattering out at me. I fished with the hook and lifted out the golden brown bird, my mouth salivating at the sight.
“Good, God,” I said.
“See, you sound pretty grateful to me,” Papa laughed, sticking the pan under the bird and hoisting it out. “C’mon, let’s get Sterling to carve ‘er up.”
I followed the stout man into the house, shaking my head at him. I didn’t feel any less angry, but something felt a little lifted from me. I walked with a lighter step.
In the kitchen Avery poked and prodded Sterling as he carved the turkey, laughed and called out every time he made a mistake. The generous spread was laid out, and the line started to make its way down, filling plates to the edges, little mountainous feasts in every hand.
The main table was full of adults, side tables were pulled and filled with teenagers and children and anyone in between.
At one end of the main table, Papa sat. I sat at the other head, then stood. Everyone turned toward me, and I felt my throat constrict. My hand had a slight tremor to it.
A murmur spread through the family, sighs of relief that I would step up to the task.
“Please bow your heads for the blessing.” The hush spread as quickly as the murmur had, and soon every head was hung in solemn silence.
“Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing us all together to share in this Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you for keeping Papa’s timing honest and Sterling’s knife hand steady to deliver another good turkey.” Soft agreement followed. “Father God, there’s an absence today that weighs heavy on our hearts, but we hope and pray that you can bring peace to Monica and the kids, who must go on without a husband and a father. I ask that you take some of our anger and frustration, and instead help us understand why you needed to call Bradley home to you so soon, and to help us trust in your design. And Father, I ask that you help us all get home safe tonight, especially Aunt Tammy, we know how she likes to drink.” A soft ripple of laughter at that last, and I raised my head and looked out at my large, crazy family. Every head was bowed, except Papa’s, who smiled and nodded to me.
Then I realized that no one had raised their heads yet. I cleared my throat, then said, “Amen.”
Dallas is based in Houston with his wife, daughter, fat orange cat, and dachshund. IT guy by day, author by night.
