Midwestern Goodbyes

It isn't as if I don't like Marlene's family. They're friendly people, sometimes a little too loud but genuine. They ask about your life, your job; they remember your hobbies and show genuine interest when asking about them. Her Uncle Herb is pretty funny and makes me laugh anytime he's around. I like when he's around.

Even so, I always find myself dreading her family gatherings. Maybe it's because everyone is so damn touchy-feely, grabbing your hand, making uncomfortable eye contact, asking invasive questions that make me sweat. It's just how they are. Marlene tells me it's how they were raised.

But today, on Thanksgiving, my patience is running thin. We arrived earlier than usual so Marlene could help prepare the turkey since her sister couldn't make it this year. I sat in the living room watching football with her male relatives, making small talk and enjoying the silence that came when everyone was engrossed in the game. I was elated when the meal was finally ready.

Dinner ended about an hour and a half ago, but everyone is still lingering, 20 some people gathered in the living room even though there isn't enough seating. The kids naturally gravitate towards the floor, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, giggling and whispering as cousins do while the adults sit around and chat…about nothing.

I managed to snag a seat on the edge of the sectional, with Marlene perched on the armrest beside me. She does all of the talking, turning to me for confirmation occasionally or my opinion on a particular subject, which I give in the least number of words possible. I can barely hear her over the chatter around me. I can make out four different conversations, all at maximum volume. It's madness. I don't understand how anyone can stand the chaos.

I smile up at Marlene in distress, desperate to meet her eyes, trying to signal to her that I am at my wit's end and ready to retreat to our vehicle, drive away, and begin recharging for the next family gathering. She keeps on talking, oblivious to my discomfort. I remind myself that she's in her element. She thrives in this environment.

"Welp, honey, it's getting late. We should probably head out here soon." I finally say, touching the small of her back.

"In a minute," she says, deep in conversation with her Aunt Aileen.

I want to stand up, stretch my legs and signal our departure by moving towards the front hallway, but I know that sometimes it can take up to 45 minutes to get out the door, and I don't want to lose my spot unless I'm sure our exit is guaranteed.

I nod at Cousin Jeff, who is going on about his fantasy football team to my right, I can make out about every fifth word, but I smile when appropriate and try to react as if I'm engaged. Finally, Marlene turns to me as her Aunt Aileen walks away.

"Alright, Dan, I know you're tired. We can head out."

She stands, and I follow, grateful it didn't take more convincing to start our exit.

I brace myself for the beginning of the departure routine.

"Well, everyone, Dan and I have to get up early for work tomorrow, so I think we're going to head home," Marlene announces to the room.

Groans of disapproval ring out, but Marlene waves them away.

Family members begin to stand, and this is the part that I hate. Hugs are as necessary here as breathing, and it's not something I'll ever get used to. We don't touch in my family. A firm handshake and eye contact are all that is needed for a heartfelt goodbye. 

"Good to see you, Dan," Cousin Jeff says, patting me on the back and bringing me in for one of his suffocating embraces. I lose Marlene in the crowd as relatives surround her, desperate to get their hugs in. I shake hands with a few other in-laws who share my hatred of physical touch then parade unwillingly through the flow of aunts, uncles, and cousins who hug me, kiss me on the cheek, and share their sadness at our early departure. 

I smile pleasantly, desperately hoping it comes across as genuine. I subtly move towards the front hall, hoping Marlene catches my cue to start towards the exit point. Finally, she emerges from the sea of family members and follows my lead, laughing with Cousin Jean and a straggle of other female relatives who follows us towards the front door. In mere minutes we will be alone in the car. I will be able to breathe again, to think.

Cousin Bobby, whose house it is, reaches the entrance before me and pulls the door open, propping the screen door open with his left shoulder.

"Good to see you, Dan," he says, clapping me on the back as I cross the threshold. I give him a genuine smile, so relieved to be on our way out.

"You too Bobby, thanks so much for having us."

I walk down the steps and onto the paver walkway, turning back to give a last wave, expecting to see Marlene following behind me. Instead, she is still on the front porch for final embraces, moving from one family member to the next. I don't understand, we've already done the hugging, and we will see them again in a matter of months for Christmas. 

I stand awkwardly, waiting for her to finish, but the second round of hugs seems to go on forever. I make awkward eye contact with Bobby and pull my phone out for something to do. I scroll mindlessly through my emails, silently begging Marlene to finish up.

Why did I agree to move to the Midwest? We could have been happy on the East Coast where people are brisk and sometimes rude, where Irish goodbyes are common and often appreciated. We could have spent holidays avoiding my own family, who believe a simple card is an appropriate substitution for your presence at any events. Not here. It would be a genuine afront to skip a Thanksgiving meal, a birthday celebration, or God forbid Christmas where everyone has a handmade stocking, and the family gift exchange takes a good two hours to complete.

Finally, Marlene pulls herself away from the crowd and starts down the stairs, calling out last-minute goodbyes as she goes. She tucks her arm into mine, and we make our way towards our car. Thankfully, Bobby and his family live in the country, so there is plenty of parking on their plot of land. At the last gathering, hosted by Aunt Sue, we had gotten blocked in by another car, and I had nearly lost my mind.

I climb into the driver's side, start the car and turn on the heated seats, grateful that we had opted for this upgrade. Marlene sighs as she settles into the passenger seat and waves from the car to the crowd still gathered on the front porch. I put the car in drive and start to edge out, but I spot a figure running towards us out of the corner of my eye. Close to tears, I put the car back in park and turn as Marlene rolls down her window to greet her Aunt Janet, who has run out with a stack of Tupperware dishes and Marlene's forgotten sweater.

"Sweetheart, you snuck out before I had a chance to give you leftovers, and you almost forgot your sweater inside."

Marlene takes the bundle from her aunt's hands and sets them on her lap. Janet leans in to hug Marlene through the window, and I nearly step on the gas right then and there.

'Thanks so much, Aunt Janet; you know I love your Oyster Dressing."

This is a lie. Marlene hates Oyster Dressing and always throws it out the moment we get home. I don't understand why the recipe even exists, it is vile, and I have to hold my breath when I pass it in the buffet line.

"Remember to call your Great Grandma Debbie next week. It's her birthday, and she wants to hear from you so bad."

"I know I've been meaning to…"

The conversation fades into the background as I imagine what it would feel like to throw myself into the pond to my left.

"Bye Dan, see you soon," Aunt Janet says, backing away from the car.

I throw my hand in the air and step on the gas too aggressively, causing us to lurch forward.

"Jesus Dan," Marlene says, steadying the stack of Tupperware on her lap. "You don't want this to spill, do you" She raises an eyebrow at me and smiles.

"God, No," I reply as I slowly pull the car forward, down the long gravel driveway.

Marlene turns to look out the window, sighs heavily, and gives her watching family one last wave.

I pull onto the road and breathe a sigh of relief that we have officially made it off the property.

"I always feel like I never see everyone enough," Marlene laments, her breath fogging the window.

"Mmhmm," I mutter, desperate to change the subject.

 I can picture my lazy boy at home, waiting for me to sink into the worn cushion and pop up the footrest. I can nearly taste the leftover cheesecake I've been dreaming about all night. I imagine the feeling of relief that will come from pulling off my jeans and slipping into my fleece pajama bottoms. I smile to myself in anticipation.

Marlene's phone ring, interrupting my thoughts of home.

"Hello…. Oh no. We'll turn around right now."