A ‘Normal’ Christmas

Twenty-seven years of age: a baby in the eyes of his grandmother, a grandfather in the eyes of his nieces and nephews, and a suitable age for a wife in the eyes of his father. That’s probably what kicked Frankie the most, that his father, the patriarch of the family, had remarried to a girl that he went to school with. 

Not only did he go to school with her, but she was his first love.  As a child, he was infatuated with Cecile and her curly blonde hair. Like all first crushes, the love was unrequited, and Frankie was full of horrible teenage angst until he shipped himself to America and he met his fiancé.

Even so, the act on his father’s behalf was biblical in scale. His mother was not yet cold in her grave and he’d decided to shack up with his first crush. If Frankie’s nanny had been alive, his father would’ve been six feet under before the vows were dared to be uttered.

“This is ridiculous,” Frankie grumbled, holding onto his fiancé’s hand. “I’m not going in to spend Christmas with my father and his new family. She’s only out for his pension. Once she’s offed him, her and her little brats are gonna flee to Cuba or one of those countries where you don’t pay taxes.”

“You’re the one being ridiculous,” Danny replied, dragging Frankie up the icy pavement. “Your father hasn’t got two cents to rub together. If I were going to get myself a sugardaddy, I’d certainly get one that could afford sugar.”

Frankie groaned. He knew he was right; Danny was always right. 

“If one of her little shits calls me their brother, I will flip my lid.”

“You will not, Frank.”

“Yes I will!” he insisted, stomping his foot for effect. 

Danny held the cake dish close to Frankie’s face. Frankie had never seen a desert look so menacing. “Do that, and I’ll shove this dry-ass Victoria sponge cake in your face.”

Grimacing, Frankie knocked pointedly on the freshly painted front door. Twenty years Mam asked Dad to paint this door, he thought bitterly. Not three seconds had passed when a tiny, plump face swung the door open enthusiastically. 

Frankie had already had enough of the energy with that.

“Frankie!” the little girl cried, wrapping her arms around his waist. He grunted upon impact, not having enough time to prepare himself for the assault. “I finally meet my big brother.”

“For the love of-” Frankie stopped once he saw Danny wave the cake in his peripheral. Frankie patted her head awkwardly, like she’d explode if he touched her for too long.

“She’s not a bomb,” Danny muttered.

“Say another word and that cake will go where the sun doesn’t shine,” retorted Frankie, a murderous glint in his eyes. Danny brushed it off, look having lost its potency seeing as though it was the tenth time he’d been on the receiving end of it in the space of an hour. 

“For God’s sake! Let the poor men into the house, for god’s sake,” Cecile said, standing at the foot of the stairs, her hands on her hips. 

Frankie looked at her, took in her appearance. There wasn’t a thing to fault about it – her curls were still effortlessly bouncy and platinum blonde; her lips were still small and red as a rose. The only thing that had changed was her body. She was short, as she always was, but her hips were motherly and held more grace than they did before he left. She’s aged like fine wine, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that she was heavily pregnant with his half-sibling. The demon child.

“Thanks for inviting me into my own home, Cecile. Not like I haven’t lived here longer than you.” Frankie smiled falsely and crossed the threshold.

Cecile’s smile dropped immediately. “Of course,” she said with a choke. “Well, dinner will be on the table in half an hour. You must be Frankie’s fiancé Danny.”

Danny stepped forwards and shook her hand. “I brought cake!” he said earnestly.

“You didn’t have to,” Cecile cooed. “Let me take that into the kitchen.” Danny shook his head and insisted he do it so she could sit down. “What a lovely southern gentleman you nabbed, Frankie,” she said as they watched Danny bounce energetically through the house.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the two once they were alone. Frankie didn’t trust himself not to say something he’d later regret if Danny wasn’t there to accost him. 

“How was your flight?” Cecile asked stiffly.

”Fine,” he answered shortly. “How’s the pregnancy?”

Cecile laughed, rubbing her stomach affectionately. “It’s a lot easier than the other two, I tell you. I haven’t been hugging the toilet as much and I don’t crave gherkins with Nutella. If the baby’s anything like you, I’ll be in for a nice relaxing ride.”

“I don’t know about that,” Frankie chuckled awkwardly, “I was a little shit whenever I got home. Mam used to call me—”

“— street Angel, House Devil.” Cecile and Frankie turned around to see Frankie’s father balancing the toddler on his hip. He had a kind smile on his face, one that Frankie no longer trusted. “Had a bigger temper than me, my Frankie did.”

Frankie scoffed and rolled his eyes, walking around his father so he could go into the kitchen. 

“How’d it go?” asked Danny.

“How’d what go?”

Danny looked at Frankie as if to say Are you acting or just plain stupid?. “Jeez, I don’t know, Frank? Did you bond with the woman carrying your brother or sister?”

Frankie ignored his comments and made his way towards the wine cabinet. To his horror, the fine collection of vodkas and wine had been replaced by plastic bottle of water and trays of fresh-looking fruit. He was not going to be able to handle this visit without being heavily intoxicated. 

“Where’s the alcohol?” Frankie demanded when his father came into the kitchen.

“We don’t have alcohol in this house anymore,” he answered, looking concernedly at Cecile. 

Frankie rubbed a hand down his exasperated face. “Why? You’ve got to be the only house in the country that doesn’t have alcohol.”

Cecile and Frankie’s father looked uncomfortable at this. Cecile’s eldest, supplied the answer before her mother could stop her. 

“It’s because Old Daddy drank his Angry Juice and got too rough with Mammy,” she said with misplaced enthusiasm. “Then New Daddy let us live here and he promised never to drink Angry Juice again.”

Frankie rubbed the back of his neck. The aura of the room changed. It was doubtful a power saw could cut the tension, even the toddler jitterily moved in his highchair.

“So, I guess I should keep the bottle of Gossip Juice in the bottom of my bag?” said Danny with a nervous chuckle. Frankie wanted to disown him then and there.

The atmosphere took a while to recover after that, even after the food had been laid out and everyone tucked in. Upon seeing the dishes full of macaroni cheese on the table, Frankie mumbled like a petulant teenager. Danny kicked him under the table several times to scold him, but it was as effective as a chocolate teapot.

It didn’t take long for Frankie and his father to get into it.

“You are twenty-seven years of age, Franklin! Fucking act like it!” bellowed the man as Danny and Cecile ushered the children away, covering their ears as a litany of swear words came from their mouths. 

“You’re one to talk! Did they run out of age appropriate people at bingo, or did you download Tinder thinking it was a way to meet friends?!!”

They had gotten up in each other’s faces, not even caring as spit flew ono them. 

“I’ve been accepting of you and Danny!”

“Oh my god,” Frankie laughed hysterically “Why does my relationship always wind up in all of our conversations?! I came out FIVE YEARS AGO! Why can’t you accept that?!”

“I want to know why it’s expected of me to accept you and your relationship, but you hold the privilege to come into my house, make my wife feel uncomfortable in her own home and then scoff at all of her children’s traditions!”

“BECAUSE THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE! IT WAS MAM’S AND SHE LEFT IT TO ME AND YOU! THIS IS MY HOUSE TOO!” Everything went silent as they took a second to breathe.

“Mam’s only dead two years and you’ve forgotten all about her. You painted the front door, you got rid of her wine collection… all of her paintings are gone and replaced with pictures of her children. Where are all of Mam’s painting, Dad? Did you make a quick buck, or did they just get thrown out with the rest of her memory? It’s Christmas day and Nanny’s golden fairy tree topper is nowhere to be seen. That’s replaced by that gaudy looking glass star that she won when we were in second class, together!”

Frankie’s father stubbled back as if he’d been slapped. Frankie continued, “You’ve thrown every remainder of me and Mam out of this house. Why?” 

There were tears in Frankie’s eyes, his voice was catching on itself as he tried not to let them spill.

“I-I-I,” Frankie’s father stuttered. “This is Cecile’s home too. I didn’t want her to feel put out.”

“Save the bullshit, Dad. I know Cecile. She wouldn’t have cared either way. I thought you cared about me enough to not blatantly lie to my face.”

His father shuffled on his feet.

Frankie began to laugh uncontrollably. A horrifying sense of realisation came over him. “Cecile made you invite Danny and I over, didn’t she? You didn’t want us over here, mixing with your new ‘normal’ family.”

Silence.

That was all the confirmation he needed. 

Before any more words could be said, Frankie gathered his and Danny’s things and left the house, the door slamming.

The glass star on the tree fell to the floor, shattering into frosted bergs of disappointment and eternal estrangement.