You're Better Than This

We arrived, after an hour and a half crawl on Highway 80 from the Bay Area to Sacramento. My fiancé, usually the patient one, tensed up several times and grunted as someone passed us illegally on the shoulder of the highway. “It’s Thanksgiving,” I said in that tone that also says, gently, take a breath. “It’s time for us to spend together.”

She sighed and said, “You promise you’ll stick to our deal?”

“Mm-hm,” I replied. The sun wouldn’t set for hours. I turned from the large city street onto the private road owned by Uncle Marvin and Aunt Kelly. 

I stopped counting the number of cars lining the broad driveway at twenty. The home was built on a golf course in the suburbs south of the city and designed by Franck Lloyd Wright. An enormous, beautiful home with lots of glass, angular rooms, and surrounded by towering redwoods. You had to cross a wooden bridge under which a small stream flowed over a rocky creek bed. There was an indoor patio with a waterfall and pond full of goldfish which always attracted me on the numerous times I’d visited my mother’s family growing up. The home had the perfect James Bond villain vibe. It was lit up with Christmas green, red, and white lights and even before parking we could hear holiday music blaring from the deck speakers.

Overwhelming is the term I would use to describe the feeling that can encroach upon me in situations such as these with lots of stimulation, family and alcohol.

Uncle Marvin greeted us with a huge smile and open arms. He was related by marriage. A fun, funny guy. One of those old school San Francisco gentlemen who always wore a suit, tie and pocket square. A drink in one hand and his cell phone in the other. “Aw there they are!” He beamed as if some 70s Game Show host welcoming in an audience. He handed me the drink and slipped his phone into his slacks. Then took us into a vigorous hug. “Come on in!”

I felt pressure on my arm. “You ready?” my fiancé asked. Her soft voice full of love had a note of worry. “Yeah, no worries I said.” She gave a pleading look. “I’ll stick to the deal,” I said. She released my arm, I returned the drink, and we went inside.

“Your uncle might be the one person who does know everyone,” my fiancé said.

They came from all over. We navigated our way through the hippies from the misty fog encircled hills of Berkely, the blue collared conservatives from the valley and the well dressed and groomed effetes from the city. Some I recognized and some I did not. Some were family, some were not.

We found my mother seated upon a long white leather couch in a large room with a long glass wall offering a view of the vast green golf course between gaps in the giant red woods. Mom was seated amongst her elderly peers, and all held either a napkin with a snack or a cocktail. Mom scooted forward and got up to greet us. She hugged my fiancé, but I could still sense the rift between them. But we all agreed to be on our best behavior.

We sat with her for a while. A waitress in a short festive dress bent forward to ask if we’d like anything to dink. “Two mineral waters with lemon.” Mom asked for another glass of wine. We caught up on the wedding plans. At which time my fiancé excused herself to use the restroom.

“Everything OK, between you two?” Mom asked. Already. This is where she wanted to start.

“Better,” I said.

I steered the conversation until mom said, “Help me up.” She had to go into the kitchen to ensure her sister wasn’t interfering with her food. “Mom the events catered,” I said.

“I know it’s just a little plate. Hold this.”

She left me alone with her drink. I placed it on the table and headed toward a room from which a large television was broadcasting the holiday football game. Here I found my brother, his face was puffy and red. He greeted me genuinely, warmly. He smelled of hard alcohol. “Happy Thanksgiving, Bud!” A dozen other guests cheered kindly at my appearance. The immense stadium television screen blared the football game.

“I told you I’ve been trying to cut back.” I said to my brother when I told him I didn’t want a drink.

Since when? He asks. I listed some off the occasions; birthdays, holidays, sporting events, kids’ birthday parties.” Oh yeah, he said. Well, it’s a holiday, man. You’re allowed to relax and have fun. He said as a justification to indulge. But there’s always seems to be a reason to do it. I should not set up scenarios in which it is acceptable to drink. It only takes a moment’s weakness to slip up and once that train departs it picks up speed pretty quickly.

Every single person in the room was smiling, laughing and joking except me. I began to get the feeling it might have been a mistake to come.

My brother handed me a beer. Once the lid popped off a cold IP the stories started and my brother got me up to speed on him, his family and his jobs. I wanted to tell him how I’d been having trouble with several things, but it didn’t seem the appropriate location or time. I excused myself and went to use the restroom where I poured out my beer into the toilet and flushed. The brown liquid swirled and disappeared.

I rejoined my brother. “You need another one.” He said and stepped away, finishing his as he went up to the bar to retrieve two more beers. I accepted it and wedged it between my legs. By the time I had finished it we were being called to dinner.

The dining room opened out onto an enormous, covered patio where tables were set with silverware, plates and dishes. Space heaters were positioned around the tables, their wire coils glowed orange and hummed. It was beautiful. My brother found his table and I found my fiancé seated at our table. As I sat down beside her, she leaned in close said, “We had a deal.”

“It was just one beer.” I said. The deal was that I would not begin to drink at events until food was served or I had eaten something.

We sat with my cousin and his wife. We’d see each other about once a year when there was a large family gathering in the Bay Area. “Its too bad you guys don’t live close,” his wife said. “We’d love to get together more often.”

I wanted to say that’s it’s too bad an hour’s car ride could be what’s preventing us from getting together. Instead, we talked movies. Our tastes were different. I spoke out against the latest movie involving a group of teenage girls taking out a killer.

“You don’t think a woman could take a man down?” She said not without a little irritation in her voice.

My fiancé’s face seemed troubled.

I sipped my wine, enjoying its bitterness.

“Ah! Dinner!” The food was served. I ate and drank. The conversation and wine flowed.

Someone mentioned a cousin traveling abroad. Another mentioned someone serving in the military. Which branch? Where? The conversations intermingled quickly. The voices began to blend, and I found myself looking at a plate of uneaten food. Someone had lost a pet…

Uncle Marvin made an appearance.

After enquiring whether we were having a good time Marvin began explaining with how the streets of San Francisco are much different than they were when he was a kid. “Especially after dark,” he said. “The park where I used to play with has been closed several times by the police. Not many kids there anymore. Most of the time it’s filled with adult men just smoking listening to music and playing sports.” Before he could turn to his dissatisfaction with the marina and its current condition he was cut off by my cousin’s wife. She’s the family Karen. She’ aspired to be a doctor and still plans to be after the kids have grown older. She attends all the school board meetings in the city. She knew some of the members personally. She’d gone to school with some of them. She always has information she thinks we all want.

I remember when arguments hadn’t been nasty. It seemed as if they have gotten more so in the last few years. People watched their words; some did a better job than others.

I told my fiancé I had to use the restroom and went back into the house. I wandered through the labyrinth floor plan passing someone occasionally. Someone asked if I knew the way back to the patio. We used to have such fun here as kids I thought.

I found myself outdoors with the well-dressed cigar smoking wine drinkers from the city.  Nice guys. We fell into talking about work. Very quickly we discovered we ran in the same circles professionally. One of them said “So, that was you who pulled the fire alarm at last year’s industry Christmas party? O man.” I laughed nervously and said details of the incident have been greatly exaggerated. We laughed it off and moved on.

The cigars did me in. I vaguely recall becoming sick, more drinking and laughing and then my fiancé shaking me awake.

I was laid out supine on the floor with my calves in the pond water. I felt the fish swim around my feet and giggled.

Then reality set in, and I saw the look of sad disappointment on my fiancé’s face. “You are better than this,” she cried.