(The following short story is excerpted from my forthcoming novel.)
The day before Thanksgiving I got a phone call from Peggy.
“So guess what, David. Mom has invited Duncan and I for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Fantastic. What do you think made her change her rigid ways?”
“Honestly I think she misses me and feels bad about treating me like shit since I moved in with Duncan. Maybe Dad put a little pressure on her. After all I’m his favorite.”
“I was always the favorite.”
“Says you. Being the girl Dad liked me best.”
“Being the youngest, he liked me best.”
“Ya know, maybe we’re both wrong and he liked Jim the best.”
We both laughed then I asked if Jim was coming. “Nah, he’s having Thanksgiving with his new girlfriend at their mansion in Virginia.”
“Mansion? Seriously?”
“That’s what Mom said he said. This girl’s family is apparently rich. Old money they call it.”
“Mom must be over the moon.”
“Come to think of it, that’s probably one of the things she has against Duncan. His father is a mechanic and they don’t even own the house they live in.”
“But Mom doesn’t know that.”
“For all I know she hired a private investigator.”
“Ya know, I never thought about it but I’m sure Mom would love nothing more than for all three of us to marry into wealthy families.”
“So Jim’s on the right track. How’s about Cordelia? She got a fortune socked away somewhere?”
“Apparently her father left her a good amount. She gets a chunk next year when she starts college and the rest when she turns twenty-one. No idea how much, though.”
“Mom likes her anyway so given that she’s not a pauper she would be happy enough with you two getting married.”
“I need to talk to you about her and since you’ll be at Thanksgiving that’ll give us a chance.”
“Oh-oh, is there trouble in paradise? You two aren’t on the outs are you?”
“No, nothing like that. Just complications.”
“Well, give me a clue.”
“Okay so we’re still madly in love etc. and she’s still coming out here to school next Fall but we’re both seeing other people in the meanwhile.”
“Well I sure knew you were you nasty boy, but sweet Miss Innocent from Sunnybrook Farm? She swapping spit with some guy?”
“Yup.”
“I’m assuming that this displeases you.”
“Yup.”
“Okay, I’ll be prepared to hear all about it.”
“And in exchange you can dump all your woes on me.”
“My woes are an avalanche that would bury you alive, but you can try.”
“I take it for their first Thanksgiving at the new house Mom and Dad are having Uncle Jack’s brood over.”
“All except Roger, like Jim he’s spending Turkey Day with his new lady love in San Diego. Aunt Heloise will make it down from Chico, in fact she arrived yesterday.”
“Sounds like you got all the latest dope. You must have had a long pow wow with Mom.”
“Speaking of dope, you bringing any?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wonderful. Yeah, Mom and I talked for about an hour. It’ll be interesting to see how it goes when we’re all together. Ten for dinner. She’s paying their new maid double time to help.”
“Ya know, I guess I’m looking forward to it. It’s come to that in my life, looking forward to dinner at Mom and Dad’s new house in suburbia.”
“I better go, David. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“Likewise. Drive carefully.”
I’d only been to the garish monstrosity that my parents called home once before. That was right after they moved in. They hosted a house-warming party a few weeks later but I made my excuses.
For a couple with an empty nest the house was particularly ostentatious. Three bedrooms, two and half bathrooms, a large basement, rec room, a sauna, a sun roof, a large deck in the back leading to a swimming pool. There was a garden beyond that rivaled whatever they had at the Palace of Versailles. The property boasted a huge garage with room enough for the boat that they used about twice a year.
All the fixtures inside were modern as was the brand spanking new furniture. Copies of great paintings dotted the walls in a mish mash of unsophisticated taste. I’m sure Mom thought it all looked simply too wonderful and that Dad barely gave it a thought.
They had a new TV and a new stereo system and a thoroughly stocked liquor cabinet the size of an airplane hangar.
Over the mantle were the standard graduation pictures of their three children along with a few of us as babies and a wedding photo of the happy owners and pictures from vacations. A prominent photo of the matriarch, Aunt Heloise, was centrally displayed.
The rec room had what looked like a never-before-used pool table along with another new TV, two sofas, a riot of throw pillows, a cabinet full of board games and an auxiliary refrigerator stocked with beer and soda. There was also a dart board that had not yet been disturbed. A few sports posters of local stars donned the walls in an evident effort by Mom to appeal to us youngsters.
I was the first to arrive, other than Aunt Heloise, of course. After greeting my parents and great aunt and having a fascinating discussion on the weather and how school was “just fine” I went to the kitchen where the maid, Maria, a recent emigre from Mexico, was putting the finishing touches on a few of the — apparently — thirty thousand courses that would comprise the meal. I chatted with her in Spanish, which I’d studied in high school. She praised my great aunt’s kindness — maybe my Spanish needed brushing up, surely she wasn’t singing the praises of my Heloise — but said of my mother, “ella es muy mandona.” Which I believed meant that she was bossy. That was Mom all right.
The kitchen looked like it should be photographed for a spread in House Beautiful on kitchens of the future. There was a garbage disposal, dishwasher, ice maker, a microwave oven, the biggest, sleekest toaster I’d ever seen and a refrigerator big enough to store a frozen moose.
I was dizzy from all this modern luxury by the time I sat down with Dad for a chat. Mom and Aunt Heloise took my place in the kitchen. The latter to help Maria, the former to ride herd.
Dad was fifty-four years old but didn’t look a day under sixty-four. Was it all the booze? A poor diet? Lack of exercise? All the work he did? Or was it a combination of all those but most especially the pressure Mom had put him under for most of the years of their marriage? Well, he’d come through for her. She had what I’m sure was her dream house. She had all the prestige that I’m sure he felt came with having lots of money. She’d pushed, cajoled, driven, harangued and browbeat Evan Trentwood until he’d made her rich.
Dad gave me wan smile, sipped his ever-present drink, smiled again and asked, “so you’re getting along all right, eh son?”
“I am Dad. How about you? You think you can start taking it a little easier now? Relax more?”
“Oh I don’t suppose I can quite yet. Still a lot of bills to be paid off and we want to invest more and make sure that we can set aside plenty for you kids.”
“I worry about you, Dad.” These were words I’d never said to my father before.
He seemed at once surprised and touched. “Oh, I’m fine. The ticker doesn’t give me any trouble anymore and I go in for regular check-ups. I get in a game of golf every now and again and when the weather’s warmer I’ll take advantage of that pool of ours. Plus your mother makes sure I eat right.” It might have been my imagination but it seemed like Dad was trying to convince me of something he didn’t entirely believe himself.
“How about the drinking? You’re not overdoing it, are you?”
My father squinted and pursed his lips but then, as if having decided on a change of tact, broke into another soft smile. “Moderation in all things is my motto.” Then he looked at the cocktail he was sipping at five after twelve in the afternoon and said. “I probably started too early today. This’ll be my last till the guests arrived.”
I smiled broadly at my father feeling genuine affection for him, along with the usual pity. “It sure is good to see you, Dad, I should try to come by more often.” It was not only surprising that I said it but that I half meant it.
“It’s good to see you, David. You’re a fine son.”
Mom came in an interjected, “he IS a fine son but his hair is too long. David, dear, why didn’t you think to get a haircut before the holidays? Long hair is so unbecoming on a man.”
Here was a key battle in the cultural and generational war, one which had assumed out-sized importance for many on both sides. I was never going to yield. My hair — now touching my shoulders — represented the position I’d staked out in in the generational divide.
“I like my hair this long, Mom, you might as well get used to it.”
My mother sighed softly and turned away. I considered her retreat on the issue a personal victory.
A half hour later Peggy and Duncan arrived. I’d never met the boyfriend before. He was tall and built like a defensive lineman. Looking at him I finally knew what was meant by rugged good looks. His dark hair was of medium-length as if it hadn’t taken sides yet in the cultural debate, and combed to one side. Duncan gave me a firm handshake and told me how great it was to meet me after all the wonderful things Peggy had said about me. I was genuinely touched and responded in kind. Peggy and I exchanged a warm hug that seemed to encapsulate the strong bond that had grown between us over the last few years.
There was iciness in the greetings my mother and Heloise offered Peggy and her beau but Dad did his hail-fellow-well-met bit. I could feel rising tension in the room, mostly emanating from my mother, so it was I who suggested the occasion called for a round of drinks.
The conversation was light and as pleasant as one would expect given my mother’s evident discomfort. I caught her looking at Duncan as if he were an axe murderer. I thought if Peggy and I could only get Mom to smoke a joint with us she’d mellow out. I might as well have wished for world peace.
Mom took Peggy and Duncan on the obligatory tour of the house. I noted how stiff she looked, clearly uncomfortable being polite to the young man who was ravaging her daughter.
When we were all together again there was a lengthy discussion on the weather followed by an awkward silence before Dad was inspired to ask about Peggy and Duncan’s drive up from Santa Cruz. This and the make and model of car that Duncan drove killed more time. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat praying for death’s sweet release as I watched Mom continue to give poor Duncan the evil eye and regard Peggy as a fallen woman. Mom finally dismissed herself to go to the kitchen, no doubt intent on seeing that Maria wasn’t stealing the silverware.
Finally there began a few side conversations. I got to know Duncan a little bit and found him to be an affable and intelligent gent, far and away — in my opinion — the nicest of the young men Peggy had ever brought around. Most of her previous boyfriends were cardboard cutouts, adequate at social niceties but ill-prepared to handle my strong-willed sister. I managed to speak privately for a second to Peggy while Dad took Duncan to look at his boat and Heloise joined Mom in the kitchen.
“When and where can we smoke a joint?” She asked me. “I don’t know that I’ve ever needed one more in my life.”
“We can always do the old, go-for-a-walk bit. Will Duncan want to join us?’
“No. He gets paranoid when stoned so he’s gonna stick to booze. God, Mom is being so weird towards us.”
“I couldn’t help but notice.”
“So it’s pretty obvious.”
“Our mother has never been good at hiding her feelings. In certain circumstances such as this, it seems like she’s not even trying.”
“I hope Duncan and I coming wasn’t a mistake.”
“We’ll find out.”
“How’s Dad seem to you?”
“Himself, only more so.”
“I don’t think he’s physically well.”
“I don’t think he has been since before the heart attack. I worry about him.”
“You’re a good son.”
“And you’re a good sister. Speaking of which, I’ve got something heavy I need your advice on.”
“Let’s go for that walk.”
Peggy and I announced that we were going for a brief stroll to have sibling catch-up time. Duncan looked at us like a small child being left behind by his parents, so we brought him along.
After a bit of catching up I told Peggy about Cordelia’s romance and about my fling with Jada and one-nighter with Izzy.
“My, my, my. You young people today are certainly prolific in the bedroom,” she teased. Then getting serious asked how I was going to emotionally handle Cordelia’s love affair.
“So far I’ve responded to it in four ways: being angry, crying, getting high and getting laid. Admittedly the later two are not uncommon activities for me but I approach them differently now.”
“How so?”
“The getting high is to mask the pain and the sex is a way of payback for what Cordelia is doing.”
“It’s not sustainable, David. You need to figure out how to accept what Cordelia is doing, especially considering the way you chase after girls — and catch them. As a woman, maybe I should be pissed at you.”
“Why?” I asked stunned.
“For your double standards. You screw as many girls as often as you can but when Cordelia does it — and is totally open about it, unlike you — you have the nerve to be upset with her.”
“I’m not upset with her. I’m upset that it’s happening.”
“But don’t you see? You shouldn’t be. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“You’re right. I should allow for the fact that Cordelia can do whatever I do. But I still can’t help that it hurts.”
“You’ll get over it in time and if you don’t at least you know you two will be together soon.”
“Right now seven months doesn’t seem soon.”
“We should head back, the cousins will be arriving any minute.”
And indeed they did, minutes after we got back. I felt optimistic about the rest of the day. It had been a good chat with Peggy and the grass had mellowed me out. Plus I’d get to hang out with my cousin Eileen, Uncle Jack and Aunt Lucy. I’d also have to forebear my bratty cousin Brent, but no day is perfect.
I snuck off with Eileen, now a sophomore at UC Santa Barbara, for another joint and another lament about Cordelia. My cousin was even more blunt than Peggy.
“Men think they can fuck anything that moves but get upset if a woman so much as looks at another guy. I’d understand your feelings if you’d been faithful, but come on, Cuz, you’ve got no room to complain. Deal with it.”
I couldn’t in good conscience argue with Eileen and told her so. “It’s still going to hurt when I think about it.”
“So don’t think about, silly. Now pass that joint.”
We talked of school and music and the war. Eileen was active in UCSB’s anti-war movement, for which I was proud of her.
Eileen told me that, “my mom said she’s sick of your mother bitching to her about Peggy living with a guy and told her the other day to and I quote, ‘get over it and let the kids live their own life, they’re going to anyway.’ Mom said your mother did not take well to the suggestion and the phone call soon ended. I hope they’re getting along okay. We don’t need any drama fucking up Thanksgiving.”
“Well if there is any drama it’s going to originate from my mother although Aunt Heloise might also contribute.”
All seem pleasant when we returned to the house. Dad had a football game on TV and he and Duncan, Uncle Jack and Brent were all watching with various degrees of interest. Happily, Dad and Uncle Jack were being nice to Duncan. Heloise, Lucy and Mom were helping (or hindering, who could tell?) Maria’s final preparations for dinner. Peggy was splayed on the floor flipping through Cosmo. When we approached her she looked up and snapped, “next time you two go off like that, don’t you dare leave me.”
Eileen apologized and asked, “How’s your mother treating you?”
“Like I’m wearing the scarlett letter. And she looks at Duncan as if he was intruder. I’m growing to hate that woman.”
“Let’s try to enjoy the dinner and split as soon as we can after,” I said.
“You’re right. I’ll grit my teeth and survive the next few hours.”
“Grit your teeth? But if you do that, how will you manage to masticate?” Eileen asked with a laugh.
“Masticate?” Peggy asked, playfully. “Isn’t that what David here does in the privacy of his bedroom with a stolen copy of Playboy?” The three of us fell into each other laughing in the way people do when stoned.
Duncan joined us and we moved to the rec room where we broke in the dart board and guzzled beer from the fridge.
Our reverie ended after a half an hour when Aunt Lucy called us to dinner. My aunt was looking radiant as usual and I wondered what she saw in Uncle Jack. She’d been eighteen when they married, ten years his junior. The years had worn on him while she seemed to get more beautiful with each passing day.
After everyone was seated, Maria brought out a massive turkey and gently placed it in the center of the table. “Enjoy your dinner,” she said in her heavily accented English before slipping back to the kitchen.
“Isn’t Maria going to join us for dinner?” I asked, genuinely confounded.
“No, David,” my mother said in a patronizing manner. “Servants do not eat with the family.”
“Horseshit,” I said a little bit too loudly and emphatically. “We’re not THAT kind of family.”
“Oh, David and exactly what kind of family are we?” My mother said. She was looking for a fight, desperate for one. She really wanted it with Peggy and perhaps Duncan but would settle for me.
Eileen, sitting next to me, kicked me under the table, looked me in the eye and whispered, “let it go, David, I mean it.”
I was struggling to answer my mother and Eileen’s reaction caused me to retreat. “Forget it, Mom, let’s eat,” I said in my least committal tone.
“Fine,” Mom said firmly as if there’d be no more of this nonsense from anyone. Then she said, “but first we’ll say grace.”
I groaned.
Mother instructed everyone to hold hands and bow their heads. I was a hold out and held my head erect. “David,” Mom said firmly. Another kick from Eileen prompted me to yield.
“Dear God,” She started as if dictating a letter, “thank you for this wonderful feast and the shelter and warmth you provide us. Thank you for your eternal love—”
Is she going through a checklist? I wondered.
“— Thank you for bringing us all together. Please guide us in the days and months to come. Let us follow your teachings and remain humble, reverent and let us not sin. Amen.”
The last part was new. Never in saying grace had she ever said anything about following “his teachings” or not sinning. It was clearly a direct shot at Peggy and when I looked at her I could tell she recognized it as such too. She was fuming.
From that terrible start the meal took it’s first turn — fortunately for the better. There were immediate compliments for the succulence of the big bird and the wondrous gravy and stuffing and the delights of all the scrumptious side dishes. There were reminisces of Thanksgivings past and those of us in college were quizzed about our classes. Politics was strictly avoided as a topic in deference to the liberal leanings of us in the younger generation. “I guess it would be a bad idea to ask people their opinion on Nixon’s election,” said my Uncle Jack, who could be a bit thick at times. This was met with silence for a few awkward sentences before I said, “I, for one, will refrain from criticizing him on the condition that no one sing his praises.”
“That’s a deal,” Uncle Jack.
“Ya know,” my father offered, “we’ve never been one of these families that let political rancor ruin a social occasion like Thanksgiving.”
Great Aunt Heloise huffed. “Hmpf. I hope this younger generation will at least give the president-elect a chance and not disparage the man before he’s even assumed office. I for one wish him well and believe he may win us that awful war.”
“Well, Heloise, I agree with you on one thing,” Eileen said. “It’s an awful war.”
I could sense that the conversation could, like the war always seemed to these days, escalate, but we were all rescued by Brent who announced that he’d made the school basketball team. Kudos were offered and the conversation turned to sports, specifically the local football teams, college and pro.
Everything was pleasant enough as people dove in for seconds or announced that they were stuffed, then my mother struck. The day was about to take another turn.
“Evan and I have found the nicest church to attend. It’s a beautiful building only recently built. The minister is a bit on the young side, but gives a fine sermon. Don’t you agree, dear?” The latter directed to my father who would no more publicly disagree with his wife than pee on the carpet.
“He’s good,” Dad said happily.
I hoped that the was the end of it. But my malevolent mother clearly had other ideas. She was going to pick and probe and either provoke a fight or prove a point. There was a certain sickness to it — a rational person would have seen that it would not end well.
“Peggy,” she said, as if finally recognizing that her daughter was present. “Have you found a church in Santa Cruz that you go to regularly.”
“No, Mom,” Peggy sighed — she must have realized what was coming — “I haven’t gone to church since I was a junior in high school when you stopped making me.”
I swallowed half a glass of wine and immediately re-filled the glass. Eileen and I exchanged a look of solidarity.
“I should think, Peggy,” mother said in an officious tone, “that you and your friend — ”
She wouldn’t even say Duncan’s name.
“— might benefit from going to church and studying the Bible.”
Heloise tried to save us all from what was looming. “Now Charlene, maybe it’s best to leave the children to their own devices. Also this may not be the best time —”
“I think,” my mother said, coldly, “that anytime is appropriate to talk about the Lord and I’m merely giving them advice.”
I glanced at Duncan who looked stricken.
“Mom, thank you for your concern.” Peggy was being sarcastic. I wondered at this tactic but rooted her on nonetheless. “Duncan, whose name you seem to have forgotten, and I will take what you said under advisement. Now can we talk about something else?”
Well done, I thought and mentally applauded. Unfortunately I was high and unknowingly clapped for real. Heads that had been bowed in embarrassment at this awkward moment turned in my direction.
I realized what I’d done and so made a joke of raising my glass to everyone and taking a sip.
“So we hear from Mr. Funny Man,” my mother said. “You most certainly —”
“Please stop!” My father, his face a combination of horror and pain, actually cut my mother off. Actually raised his voice. Actually raised it at my mother. I’d never been so surprised nor so proud of him.
Mother was stunned and turned to him, having yet another person to receive her bile.
“So we hear from— ”
“Evan is right, you’ve said quite enough for now.” Heloise to the rescue again. “This is a family gathering. What is Duncan to think if we’re quarreling with one another on a day of thanksgiving.”
Mother took a forkful of turkey as if suddenly discovering food on her plate. She chewed quickly, her shoulders hunched, her eyes tiny slits. I watched as she put her fork back down and prepared to speak again. I seized the moment.
“Does everyone agree that this was one of the tastiest Thanksgiving dinners of all time?”
Once again the table erupted in hosannahs for the fantastic meal. In a particularly wise move, Aunt Lucy directed praise to my mother who looked utterly defeated, her machinations for now subverted. Mom smiled gamely and re-directed credit to Heloise and Maria. “She was a real find,” my mother said presumably of Maria and not Heloise.
At this point I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, hopeful that we would all escape Thanksgiving without further rancor. On my way back I peaked into the kitchen and noted that Maria was still there, now occupied with getting the pies ready.
I was in my cups and so decided to have a chit chat with Maria. However my combination of badly broken Spanish and slurred English only confused the poor woman who smiled, nodded and said “si” a lot.
I’d started going on about classism when Peggy came in. “What the hell are you doing David?” Then she literally pulled me out of the kitchen into the hallway. “Do you really mean to try to flirt with our parents’ maid who’s at least twelve years older than you and hardly speaks any English?”
“What the hell, Peggy, I wasn’t flirting, I was being friendly, having a chat. Maybe I should slow down on the drinking,” I offered.
“More like stop completely. Now come back to the table. Mother may launch another attack and I need my allies.”
As it happened, Mother made another foray while we were all enjoying pie and coffee. This time she went straight for poor Duncan. “So tell, me Duncan, how do your parents feel about your living arrangements with my daughter?”
Around the table everyone’s spirits drooped. Faces contorted with worry. But to his credit, Duncan answered immediately. “My parents think the world of Peggy. I mean, it’s pretty clear to anyone what a wonderful girl she is. I’m sure a lot of credit has to go to you and Mr. Trentwood, you obviously did a great job of raising her. And to answer your other question, they’re okay with us living together.”
I’m sure I wasn’t the only one at the table who felt like hugging Duncan and telling him what a fine chap he was. I settled for saying, “bravo,” but not too loudly. Still, my mother saw an opening, however slight.
“You said they’re okay with you two love birds living together. So they’re not thrilled.”
“Mom!” Peggy exclaimed, clearly having had enough. “Why don’t I give you their phone number and you can call them and discuss it with them personally.”
“That won’t be necessary,” my mother said quietly, perhaps at last admitting defeat.
After finishing desert, I suggested to Peggy we make an exit lest mother re-group. We bid our goodbyes to all assembled.
Mother gave me a hug and told me she was sorry we didn’t get to talk more. I was on the cusp of saying that if she hadn’t spent so much time picking at Peggy and Duncan we might have had a fine chat. Instead I told a bald-faced lie: “I hope we get to talk more over Christmas.”
Mom gave Peggy a hug as well and said how nice it was to see her and told Duncan that it was, “nice meeting you.”
I shook Dad’s hand and told him, “I don’t know how you do it,” referring, of course, to putting up with mother. However he either didn’t understand or hear me and said, “Say again, son?”
“Nothing Dad, I was saying how great it was to see you again.”
“You too my boy. I’m proud of you. And say if you ever decide to take up golf, let me know.”
Peggy and Duncan drove me home. (I’d hitchhiked to my parents’, though I told them I’d gotten a lift from a friend.) I told Duncan that I thought the world of him and was happy for Peggy that he was in her life.
Peggy had a tear in her eye when she thanked me and hugged me good-bye.
I walked into my dark, empty house and smoked a joint before finally turning on a light and taking off my jacket and tie. Then I had a good hearty belly laugh.
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