Family Dinner

“Hello? We’re here!” My father announced our entrance. We were met with unsynchronized greetings. A “hello” from the dining room, a “good evening” from the family room, and a grunt from the kitchen. My aunt beat a pot of mashed potatoes as if they insulted her. Despite her carpal tunnel and arthritis, her mother attempted to wash dishes.

“Mom, what are you doing? Stop. Sit down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re old. Sit down.”

“Hi, Nana!” My sister swept in for a hug, as I made my way to the dining room. I set down the carrot cake on the buffet designated for desserts as I heard my other grandmother tell her story of living in Germany to whoever would listen.

“Stephanie!” My cousin greeted me with more energy than her typical “hello.” A smile returned to my grandfather’s face, ecstatic to hear about my basic day. 

“How are you?”

We carried on with pleasantries, counting down the seconds until my grandmother could find a connection to Germany again.

I said, “I ran into a friend at the grocery store. Haven’t seen her in years.”

“Oh,” she started. We sighed. “I had lots of friends when I lived in Germany.”

I scurried off to the bathroom. I did have to go pee, but I could’ve held it for ten more minutes. On my way, I was greeted by my other cousin with a drink in hand. “Steph!” While hugging, we stumbled and found balance again. She returned to her pow wow with my sister who I knew was venting about her boyfriend. During the car ride here, that was the conversation’s focus. He cancelled on her, and Mom had to hold back her frustrations at an empty plate and even more leftovers on top of the already mountainous amounts of food.

After I peed, wiped, flushed, and washed my hands, I opened the bathroom door and searched for another way to keep myself busy. Why would I have small talk while my mother set the table alone? She scoffed as she shuffled chairs around and ditched a whole table setting. On one hand, she was annoyed at the equilibrium knocked off its course. The table for six now set for five looked dumb to her. On the other hand, she didn’t even like this boyfriend.

“Hey, Nancy,” my second aunt interrupted our assembly line of silverware.

“Yeah?” My mom replied without lifting an eye.

“Maria’s not coming. She’s ‘sick’ yet again.” Mom paused folding napkins and forced a deep breath, as my aunt went on about her flaky sister. While we finished setting the table, my aunt had three more anecdotes of evidence for why her sister was “difficult.”

Once another responsibility was relieved, I moved on to the kitchen where my other aunt scowled at the meat thermometer. The pot roast wasn’t done, and people had started to gather. She was as steaming as much as the broccoli. With both ovens on, a chilled glass of wine seemed further and further away.

As I placed the rolls in their bowls, I heard my cousin across the house, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“You’re not wearing it, so it’s fine.”

“But you didn’t ask!”

“Why are you being so fucking loud?”

“Both of you,” my aunt started from her spot over the stuffing. “Shut up! Who cares about who’s wearing what when neither of you are helping me? You’re both drinking, laughing, having a great time, while I slave over this meal for you. Shut up!”

“But she - “

“Shut up!” Saved by the oven timer, my aunt left my cousins to sulk in separate corners.

I made my way out of the kitchen to set the rolls at the table. Back in the dining room, I’m greeted by the voices of my father and grandfather. I stared at the plates my mom and I just set, now shifted to make room for their arms and beers. 

“It’s the damn unions!”

“It’s not the unions!”

“Then, what is it? Just a few rotten apples? Give me a break.”

I set down the rolls, walked away, and rolled my eyes. That conversation had five minutes before it needed to expire. Mom would have none of that. As I returned to the kitchen, I was met with the sound of the electric carving knife. First, that was always a bad sound. Second, I wasn’t even going to be eating it, but enough about me.

“How can I help?” I asked the group.

“Mom, go sit down,” my aunt scolded her mother.

“Just let me do something.”

“We’re fine. We’ve got it,” she lied as the green beans boiled over. “Shit.”

My aunt ran over to the stove before she could hear her mother say, “Let me help.” The woman walked across the kitchen. Then, I saw another bowl of rolls, grabbed them, and went off to complete another task.

Left, right, left, right.

“How could you vote for a man like that?

“Just like how you voted for a woman like that!”

Bowl down and get out.

Left, right, left, right.

CRASH!

When I turned the corner, I saw my grandmother standing with porcelain shatters all before her. “It slipped,” she explained.

“Mom.” My aunt sighed, too tired to scold anymore. “I told you to sit down.”

“I was just trying to help.”

“I know. Thank you. Stephanie, could you clean that up?”

“Yeah. Where’s the - “

“The laundry room.”

I hustled for the broom in question, found it, clutched it in my hand, and readied myself for the new duty. I was sorry for the circumstances but so happy to have a valid reason to avoid familial small talk. I was put to use. I was important.

***

I wished I could’ve said the best part of dinner was the conversation, but it was the food. It’s not like the food was any better than it was the year before, but the conversation was putrid. Grandpa and Dad continued their presidential debate. Next to them, first Grandma had Mom cut her food, while she iced her wrist and thanked my mother between every saw of the knife. On the other end of the table, second Grandma repeated her stories of Germany like a record as old as her memory. Next to me, my sister typed up and sent her mobile manifesto to her boyfriend, letting her food get cold. Across from me, my cousins got innovative figuring out how to get certain dishes without asking each other. I was a frequent resource.

“Steph, can you pass the gravy?”

“Thank you, Steph.”

Once the feast concluded, I found oasis washing dishes in the kitchen. I know I could’ve saved more water, but the running faucet sounded so nice. My mother dried, and my aunt put away. With the last dish rinsed, I drained the sink and watched the water disappear.

“Thank you, ladies,” my aunt said to me and my mother. She then groaned as she sat down. My mother grabbed her wine glass and followed her.

“Cheers to another holiday done.” My mother held up her drink with her elbow still on the table, and my aunt offered nothing more than a nod. I sat down next to my mother, brought my glass to hers, and leaned back.