Christmas With The Family

As Drianna descended the stairs, her new red dress made obnoxious crinkling and swishing noises. The color was festive, but distracting. She felt stuffy, not comfortable, like you’re supposed to feel for the holidays.

Why her aging and old-fashioned mother insisted on Drianna wearing a new outfit every Christmas, she never knew, despite her persistent questioning and protests. The day after Christmas, her old outfits were in perfect, unblemished shape—and were at least a day worn in and starting to feel agreeable. But each year, that same day after Christmas, Drianna’s mother auctioned them away so she could buy another stiff, unused outfit the next year so Drianna would always be on trend.  At least the proceeds go to charity, she sighed.

Entering the foyer, she saw her uncle arriving with her cousins. This uncle was okay. He often gave his time, as well as his money, to charities and projects that were near and dear to his heart, and had taught her younger cousins the same ethic. They all smiled up at her as she entered.

“Dri!” Emmalina yelled as she ran up and almost knocked Drianna over with a huge hug. Drianna was very glad she’d decided to wear flats instead of heels. At least her hidden feet could be comfortable, and she was at less risk of tripping and making a fool of herself.

“Emmy!” Drianna hugged her little cousin. “How are you?” She couldn’t help but smile at the skinny little thing clinging to her.

“I’m good, Dri! I bought you a gift!” Emmalina was hopping up and down a little as she handed the small, neatly-wrapped package to Drianna.

“I’m well, thank you and I brought you a gift.” Emmalina’s older brother, Efram, corrected, rolling his eyes.  He reached over and gave Drianna a formal handshake. “It’s nice to see you again, Cousin.”

Drianna rolled her eyes, grabbed Efram and wrapped him in a big hug that squished a giggling Emmalina in between them. “It’s nice seeing you too, Dork.”

“DRIANNA,” a stern voice responded coldly. “You are not to use such words. You forget yourself!”

“Moooom,” Drianna disentangled herself. “They’re family. They get it. And it’s a holiday. Please!”

“Nevertheless,” her mother responded dryly as she led the party back to the dining room.  That was Drianna’s mom’s signature reply. It meant the discussion was over, even if you were in the middle of a conversation with her. Her mother didn’t believe in arguing—or even lively discussions--especially in front of anyone other than Drianna’s father. Her cool unflappability left Drianna awestruck at some times, and frustrated at more times.­­­­­

“Nevertheless,” Drianna whispered to herself. Her uncle, her mother’s brother, giggled a bit. How he and her mother could be so different, she had no idea. Having never experienced siblings herself, their behavior had always baffled her.

They at last arrived at the back of the house, in the main dining room. As always, it was very formally and tastefully decorated. The other, mostly older family members had arrived earlier—too much earlier to Drianna’s consternation. She had had to dress semi-formally in the morning—hours before the main meal. She’d been uncomfortable all day and may have been a bit cranky about it. Fortunately, most of this part of the family was either nearly deaf, too well-mannered, or just didn’t care enough to complain, or she would have gotten a speaking to from her mother. Or worse, from her father, which would mean her mother was too angry with her to speak to Drianna herself.

Nervous Emmalina took Drianna’s hand as they entered the room where quiet grown-up conversation was happening. All eyes turned to them and the conversation stopped as Drianna entered the room. She hoped it wasn’t because of the somewhat gaudy outfit she was wearing. The men stood and nodded. Drianna nodded an acknowledgement, but bent down to Emmalina.  “Remember the puppets we made with our fingers last year?” Drianna whispered down to Emmalina. Emmalina nodded. “As everyone talks, make little finger puppets of them talking in your lap where no one can see.” Emmalina giggled and Drianna smiled and gave her a big hug. Efram quietly led Emmalina to her seat.

The meal itself went its normal solemn way. The conversation drifted to the people who lived in the outskirts of town, with Aunt Tilda (her father’s well-bred sister) confused over why people would protest over the raising of the price of flour. “Really, the millers can charge any price they want. Given the high demand lately, they should charge more. Much more. That’s the basics of economics, isn’t it?”

Drianna’s older cousin Derrick responded with a bit of an explanation for his aunt that was not as heated—or correct--as she’d expected. She watched the discussion transpire and stopped herself from shaking her head. Her mother was watching her reactions like a hawk tonight, she was well aware. Her father merely glanced at her, and then her mother, and then went back to silently eating his meal. He understood where his sister’s ignorance came from. He wasn’t far-removed from it himself.

Taking in the scene, watching her relatives chat, snore, argue, laugh or stew, her eyes fell on young Emmalina, looking down at her lap and giggling madly. Efram caught Drianna watching Emmalina and elbowed Emmalina to stop. She just looked up at Drianna, who gave a hint of an approving smile, and then she went back to her game again. Drianna let a full smile escape her lips, which she felt should be acceptable to her mother, given the occasion.

Growing up, she hadn’t liked many members of her family and frequently would argue with them or--at best--refuse to say more than the bare expected minimum to them. She didn’t understand how they could be so callous to others’ suffering. She also didn’t understand how they could be so cold—and occasionally mean--to one another. They’re supposed to be family. In all the books she’d read and discussions she’d had at college, family was supposed to be the one group of people where you could relax and be yourself. Maybe even laugh and have fun with them. Not her family, apparently, except for a precious few members.

It wasn’t until she was fourteen and her mother started spending more time on her, shaping her, that she realized that her various aunts, uncles and cousins, most of whom rarely left their family homes and certainly didn’t go to college, were all simply ignorant to the realities of the world as products of their own strict shaping and upbringing. She decided to focus on those family members who were able to break free of their cultivation, learn about the people they lived among, and who could think and speak on their own.  However, both parts of the family had expressed support for her in one form or another, and she appreciated that greatly.

The first two courses of the meal complete, a servant placed an orange sorbet in front of her. Sweets were something her mother rarely let her have, even at this age, and the cool tangy ball—with a pinch of salt on top, to her delight—was her most favorite entremet.

As the last orangey bite melted slowly down her throat, a thought struck her:

“Another, please!” She gestured maybe a little too drastically to the servant who was trying to surreptitiously refill wine glasses and clear the table for the next meal. She pointed down to the empty dish. 

She heard a fork drop, as various eyes turned to her, but she knew it wasn’t her mother’s fork. Her mother would never express herself so boorishly. Still, she avoided her mother’s eyes. It was Christmas, this was something she desperately wanted, and for once, she was going to get it. Manners, family upbringing, tradition, whatever it was that wouldn’t allow her to have her treat, be damned.

The servant looked back at her a little confused at first. “I’d like another sorbet, please,” she clarified. “They are absolutely delicious.”

“They most certainly are! I haven’t had anything this flavorful in years.” Tilda crooned, breaking the stifling silence. “Well, except the past two courses, of course.” The table erupted in polite laughter. Drianna was grateful for the support.

“Then you should have another as well, Auntie,” Drianna joked. Tilda raised her glass to her in agreement and smiled.

The servant glanced at Drianna’s mother, who showed no sign of approval or disapproval whatsoever. This was all Drianna’s call, he (and Drianna) realized. He looked back at Drianna and nodded.

“Yes, Your Highness. Right away.”