Thanksgiving Grace

The kitchen smelled of Thanksgiving turkey and savagery.

The turkey had just been pulled out of the oven by my mother-in-law Donna. The savagery she had been dishing out for quite some time, along with her sisters Betty and Jeanne. They were in the midst of a heated political scuffle when Ryan and I walked trepidatiously through the door.

I gripped the edges of the green bean casserole I'd spent two hours on. Donna glanced up from basting the bird. "Well look who's here! Ryan and Grace!"

"I made a casserole," I offered, searching for a clear spot on the counter.

Donna regarded me with a bright smile. "Oh really, dear? And when did you learn how to cook?"

My face flamed bright red. Ryan mumbled something about my being a great cook and having learned plenty since last Christmas. Donna brushed all that aside and ushered us both into the living room. "You go sit down. Dinner is almost ready."

Donna's husband George was snoring away in his favorite recliner in the living room. Ryan paused in the doorway, looking at his father enviously. He no doubt wished he had the ability to sleep through any family function, be it wedding, funeral, or just plain Thanksgiving-from-hell.

His uncles Aaron and Tom were in the corner having an unnecessarily animated discussion about local roadwork. "So I called the city five times over the pot holes—five times!--and when they still didn't fill 'em, I went out there myself," Tom was saying.

"You filled the potholes on the highway yourself?"

"Of course not, dummy! I spray painted around 'em with white paint! Then when I called the city and told 'em that, they came out right away. Life is all about persistence, you know that, Aaron?"

"Ain't that the truth."

Ryan's sister Kimberly was curled up on the couch in leggings and a trendy sweater. "Hi Gracie!" she purred when I sat down next to her. "I am so glad you're here! You know, I've been thinking about you all week!"

I very much doubted that. I usually saw Kim on the big holidays, never in between, although we lived in the same city.

Kimberly bubbled on. "I just started using essential oils, and, my stars, they are amazing. They've been such a life-changer, you know?"

Her diatribe was interrupted by the arrival of her cousin Katie, her son, and her husband Akshay. For reasons nobody ever quite understood, quiet Katie had married an Indian man who didn't speak a word of English. Akshay raised his hand in silent greeting to the room in general, then found himself a chair in the corner. Katie joined Kimberly and me on the couch.

"Katie! How are things with you and Akshay?" Kimberly bubbled.

Katie blushed, as she did any time anybody ever spoke to her. Literally anybody. "Oh, they're good...they're, you know...quiet," she faltered.

"My stars, that must be amazing," Kim exclaimed. "Imagine having a man who never talked back. And he's handsome, too!"

I heard Father Chris' jovial voice in the kitchen long before he reached the living room. Somehow Ryan's family had managed to produce, of all people, a Catholic priest. A cousin on his father's side, I'd never quite figured out exactly how they were related, nor whether, as family, I was expected to call him "Father." The rest of the relations didn't help my confusion, alternating between addressing him as "Father," or simply "Chris."

Big and cheerful, Father barreled into the living room and somehow managed to sweep aside the political tensions that were flaring as he greeted everyone with vigor.

Donna stood watching in the door-frame, arms crossed tightly over her Kiss the Cook apron. "My, Chris, you're looking well," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "They certainly seem to be feeding you plenty over at the rectory."

My throat constricted painfully at the thinly-veiled insult. Ryan and I were among the only family members who knew of Father Chris' recent diagnosis: the inoperable tumor that affected his metabolism, among other things. "I'll tell the others in a few months," he'd told us quietly a month earlier. "They said I have another year or two, so there's no sense in getting everyone riled just yet."

Now, Father only smiled and patted his generous girth. "I'm well taken care of, I'm afraid, but I made sure to save room for your wonderful cooking!"

Donna only glowered at him before announcing, "Dinner's ready."

At the table, I was somehow separated from Ryan and stuck between his sister and Donna. Akshay was wedged uncomfortably between uncles that feuded over everything from politics to auto mechanics. Father Chris gave his blessing at the head of the table, and we all began eating.

Kimberly nudged me. "I've been wanting to talk about a business opportunity with you, Gracie. I wouldn't go into business with just anyone, you know, but what are sisters-in-law for?"

In spite of his earlier compliment to Donna, Father Chris had served himself only a small helping of salad. He made a good show of pushing the leaves around on his plate while he chatted casually with Katie's son, Eric. "Hey Eric, your mom told me you like mysteries now, so I thought you might like my old set of Chesterton's finest."

Eric timidly accepted the volume that was offered to him. "Really? They're mysteries?"

Donna snorted. "Couldn't you have come up with something more educational?"

"Oh, these are very educational, Cousin Donna. They're in Latin."

Eric looked horrified.

Father Chris roared with laughter. "I'm kidding!" he exclaimed. "Give them a try, Eric. If you like Holmes, you'll like these."

Donna was shooting daggers at the priest through narrowed eyes. Father turned his chair toward her. "Tell me, Cousin Donna, how's your health?"

Donna's face immediately brightened; Father had hit on her favorite subject. For the next half an hour at least, she poured out the tale of her many woes while Father listened attentively. She was so detailed, I was surprised she didn't add hangnails to the list.

I suddenly realized that Kim was still talking to me. "...and all you have to do is purchase the $79.99 starter kit, and you'll be on your way!"

Uncle Aaron and Uncle Tom had managed to discover that they flatly disagreed about every detail of the upcoming local election. Akshay focused on his food with fierce concentration as they yelled at each other over his head, insults and spittle flying back and forth.

"I can't imagine what this city'd come to if we wound up with your guy!" Tom was yelling. "Ain't he the one who wants to let in all them damn foreigners?"

Katie blushed scarlet. "Uncle Tom!" she protested, nodding at her husband.

Tom stared at her. "What? He can't understand me. He don't speak English!"

Kimberly had finished her sales pitch and foisted her conversational efforts onto Aunt Jeanne. "So I said to her, I said, 'Veronica,' I said, 'My stars,' I said..."

I stared at the limp salad and lukewarm casserole on my plate and tried to imagine I was very far away, on a Caribbean island, with my feet in the sand and the ocean stretching away in front of me.

When my attention came back to the table, Donna had run through her laundry list of health complaints and started on another of her favorite grievances. "These church-goers," she lectured Father Chris, "act like they're so holy, but do they do anything to help others? No! Hypocrites, every one of them. All they do is gossip and judge everyone that's not like them. Judge, judge, judge. I'm sure glad I'm not like them."

"Now, Donna--"

"As an example--" Donna waved her hands illustratively. "The Church always asks people to donate, but does that money actually go to the poor? No! It goes right into the coffers of the clerics. No offense," she added delicately. "But, well, you'll excuse my saying, you certainly aren't starving. I can't see how one can look so well-fed without all of it coming out of the mouths of the poor."

Tears sprang into my eyes at my Donna's cruelty. I hastily excused myself, not staying to hear Father Chris' response. I was sure it would be something gentle and thoughtful, but just for once I wanted him to give her a response that she wouldn't forget, something that would stop her in her tracks and make her think twice before treating anyone like that again.

I stepped into the bathroom to collect myself, realizing too late that it was occupied and whoever was in there had forgotten to lock the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, starting to swing the door shut before I realized that it was Kimberly inside, wiping black rivulets of vegan mascara from her cheeks. "Kim? Is something wrong?"

She tried to smile through the sniffs. "My stars, Gracie, you always find me out, don't you?"

(I hadn't the faintest clue what that meant.)

"Alright, I'll tell you!" she exclaimed, in a voice that bespoke of acceding to a drawn-out argument. She looked down and sniffed again. "It's just that Ben and I have been trying to get pregnant. Trying for a really long time, you know? And this morning, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I might be. But the test was negative again. It's just...it's always negative!" She burst into a flood of tears while I patted her back in amazement. Kimberly, who always wore everything on her sleeve, had a secret sorrow. Perhaps not a very well-guarded secret, but a secret nonetheless.

I murmured semi-coherent sympathies and rubbed her back until she stopped crying, gave a prodigious sniff, and wiped her face. "You're the only person I've told, Grace. Besides Ben, of course. You won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not," I promised. She flashed me a grateful smile and threaded her way back to the living room.

Dinner had wrapped up and the football game was blaring from the room as I walked slowly down the hallway. Outside the entrance I found Father Chris leaning against the wall, his face drawn in pain. Alarmed, I laid my hand on his arm, but he smiled and brushed aside my concern. "It's nothing, Grace, it always passes. That was one helluva casserole you made, by the way."

I tried to compose myself yet again before following him back into the living room. How many secrets could one family hold?

It seemed everyone else had gone into the kitchen to clear their dishes, leaving only Akshay staring dumbly at the television. Several other family members re-entered the room from the door to the kitchen just as I was coming in the hallway entrance. Akshay, entranced by the game, didn't seem to notice any of us.

"Seriously, man, how could you fumble that one?" he exclaimed to the TV set. "A five-year-old could have caught it!"

How many secrets? A lot, it turned out.

Uncle Aaron stood in the doorway, thunderstruck. "What did you just say?" he demanded.

Akshay jumped, then turned to see us all staring at him. Katie stood behind Aaron, her face a profuse shade of magenta.

Akshay feebly raised a hand and waved at the family, lips glued shut. Aaron shook his head. "Oh, no you don't. I heard you. You spoke. And it was none of that Hindustan stuff, neither."

Akshay threw up his hands in defeat. "Okay, fine, I speak English, okay?"

Even Donna looked stunned. "How can you possibly speak English?"

Akshay was recovering from the shock of being found out. "How could I not speak English?" he yelled. "I was born and raised in Philadelphia! I told you all that when I first met you, but everyone insisted that I couldn't understand them unless they shouted monosyllables at me. I finally just went with it."

"What's he saying?" Tom asked Donna. "I can't understand his accent."

"I speak like any other American, Tom!"

Tom shook his head at Donna. "I still can't understand 'im. Must be all that curry or somethin'."

Everything fell apart. Aaron started yelling at Akshay, while Donna and Betty turned on Katie. Akshay yelled back at Aaron, until his son Eric joined in defending his father and was yelled at by both Akshay and Katie for not respecting the family. Before long, all but a few had entered the fray. Ryan huddled in the corner, shooting me apologetic looks. I stayed rooted to the spot in the door frame. Father Chris, a calm island in the midst of the storm, sat serenely on the couch.

Donna was the first to turn, wolfishly, on him. "Well we have a priest for a cousin, don't we? Let's let him sort it out!"

The others were only too happy to agree. "Yeah, Chris, talk to us. This ain't right."

"What say you, Father?"

Father Chris blinked imperturbably at the crowded room. "I?" he asked.

He was answered by vigorous nods.

Father Chris shrugged his shoulders. "I say...Let's have dessert," he proclaimed.

After a moment of silence, Betty and Jeanne started nodding. "Dessert," they murmured. "Yes. Dessert."

The others followed suit. Donna, Betty, and Jeanne retired to the kitchen to bring out the many wondrous dishes crafted for the occasion. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally put curry powder instead of cinnamon in my pumpkin pie?" Jeanne could be heard saying.

As plates of cake and pudding were passed, the conversation turned to more comfortable things. All the uncles fell asleep in a line on the couch, while Ryan and Ben cleared the table and Kimberly fussed over Eric, her little nephew. Just for the moment, she looked happy.

We met Father Chris at the front door as we were all putting on our coats to leave. He gave Donna a kiss on both cheeks and waved jovially before offering to walk Ryan and me to our car.

"Really, Father, I don't know how you put up with it," Ryan murmured as we walked down the snow-dusted driveway. It occurred to me that by "it," he meant his mother.

Father Chris looked at us very seriously. "In my line of work, you come to realize that most people have their secret sorrows. I don't have to know what griefs have shaped someone to know that they may be there, and to act accordingly. We're all just broken people, you know that?"

Broken people. That sounded about right.

We said our goodbyes and got into the car. The drive home was unusually thoughtful...and blissfully silent.