The Newcomer

 Simon grinned broadly down at his fiancé donned in an ugly Christmas sweater despite the scorching weather. The hot Australian sun had reached its pinnacle, perched high above the scalding and cracked earth; a cold-hearted phenomenon in a cloudless blue sky reminiscent of clear water on a balmy day. The vestiges of green on leaves, withered and parched, lay wilted in the boughs of native eucalyptus while fauna sought shade or became stealthy poachers sipping H20 from containers left out for pets.

‘It’s really hot. Are you sure you won’t take that off?’

‘This is mild in comparison from where I spawned.’ 

‘You really are odd.’ Simon laughed and exhaled through pursed lips, hot breath mildly cooling the damp brown hair plastered to his forehead, before knocking on the wooden door.

‘Coming,’ a deep familiar voice boomed while heavy, booted feet thudded towards the opposing side of the door.

Simon leant down and pressed a kiss to his fiancé’s brow. ‘They will love you.’

The door was pulled open. A middle-aged man with spectacles perched on his pointed nose, locked eyes with Simon before daring a glance at the newcomer. ‘Hello, son. Is this the fiancé?’

Simon gave his father a vigorous nod. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Hmmmm.’ The older man leant towards the newcomer, eyes pivoted on their guest’s as if peering into their soul. ‘Name?’

‘Father, you are being … unusual.’ Simon laughed nervously.

‘Oh right, right.’ The bespectacled man drew back. ‘I am zgau—’ 

‘What my father means to say is …’ Simon stepped towards the portal that would allow them access to his sire’s abode.

The older man coughed. ‘Forgive me, I choked. My name is Alistair Zgaun. What name did you claim?’

The older man began to walk through the entry as the couple followed.

‘Father, my fiancé is called Venus Zorp.’ Simon hurried after his sire.

‘Unusual name.’ Alistair turned towards the invited pair, gesturing to the fluorescent green walls. ‘As you can see, we are a standard family. My walls are adorned with likenesses of our family unit in mundane tasks.’ Their host attempted a grin, which was more of a grimace. ‘Now, you shall be accosted by kith and kin making merry while we have plucked a living evergreen and festooned it with homemade baubles, and imbibe toxins to fuel unacknowledged grudges.’

‘Thank you for inviting me to engage in your festivities.’ Venus bowed at the waist.

  They entered the room. A Christmas tree was dressed haphazardly as if it was an afterthought. Roughly carved wooden baubles, bearing no paint to gladden up or accentuate its raw design, followed a theme of iconic Christmas novelties such as stars, deer and snowmen. The ceiling exploded in too much popcorn and dried cranberry threaded on strings, red and white rings of crepe paper made into garlands and garish vintage decorations hung from above.

  The furniture was minimalist, a large table to the back of the room near a glass door, a vinyl couch near the back room poised to offer comforts as you crossed the grey linoleum floor.

 Several women of middling and adolescent years surged forwards as if engaged in battle, their voices rose in a cacophony reminiscent of a banshee as questions were hurled at the pair, cheeks were pinched, the air was squeezed from them as they were embraced before the gaggle of aunties, nannas, cousins and mums retreated, their conquest won.

 The women, having greeted the pair accordingly, sidled away to prepare the afternoon repast, leaving the masculine entities and their small replicas to terrorize the couple, from Uncle Peter sporting several beers adorned with rosy cheeks and yeasty breath to shake Simon’s hand and press a kiss to Venus’s cheek, to Grandpa Bruce commenting on the solid weather while the nippers demanded attention by pulling on garments and howling statements of, ‘pick me up and what did you bring me’.

‘Oh hello.’ Venus greeted the menfolk and took a step back. ‘Oh yes, the weather is accurate for one of the four segregated changes in atmosphere.’ She laughed nervously. ‘No, I don’t imbue in alcohol.’ Venus held their hands up in protest as Peter pushed a can of beer into the guest’s hand.

  The matriarch of the abode stepped out from the kitchen, armed with tongs, donned in a festive hat, a checkered apron guarding her garments from splatter, a half-full wine glass in her left hand.

‘Eeek.’ The matriarch eager for to greet her offspring, sculled the contents of her cup and pushed it into her husband’s hand to sweep up her son in a whirling embrace.

‘Mother, this is—’ Simon was pushed eagerly away from his mother as Venus was greeted enthusiastically.

‘Come, come, dear. You must be Venus. I am Lucinda, but you can call me Mum.’ Lucinda pulled the newcomer towards the kitchen. ‘We must get you away from these males.’

‘How come I didn’t know the fiancés name in advance?’ asked Alistair.

Lucinda shrugged. ‘Did you care to ask the offspring sequenced at position two?’

Her husband shook his head negatively. 

‘Well then, that answers that. Is it not your mission to gather information for sorting our kith and kin into routines of normalcy?’ The matriarch puffed out her chest, her generous bosom heaving in the curvy body.

‘This is just too weird.’ Venus pulled away from Simon’s parents, inching backwards towards the frontal escape. ‘I can’t do this.’

Simon hurried towards his fiancé. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You are all trying too hard.’ Venus’s lower lip trembled, eyes widening as they continued their snail-paced retreat as if in hope of rescue.

‘Nay, newcomer.’ Uncle Bruce crushed the can in his hand. ‘You are permeated with a personality to match a starched linen.’

Simon’s cheeks were resplendent in scarlet reminiscent of humiliation, but his hands balled into fists as he replied in righteous outcry. ‘This family unit is all mixed up. You defy the timeline somewhere between the Regency era and the 1970s. No wonder my partner is of a bewildered constitution.’

‘Quieten your speech, you are of an inferior age,’ cried Grandpa Bruce.

‘Halt … I wonder.’ Lucinda smiled disarmingly before reaching for a large broom and rushing towards Venus.

***

The wooden table was beclothed in a silver tablecloth and overladen with various bowls of cooked vegetation, sugary desserts and cardboard receptacles that made a loud crack when pulled by two beings as crepe paper crowns, playthings and papyrus with humorous etchings rewarded the players. The various beings hovered around the table, the device once emulating a broom had engulfed all in a green light before revealing the truth. 

‘We are so happy to have you here, newcomer.’ Uncle Peter smiled and glubbed down another mouthful of his amber treasure.

‘What is Venus like at this time of year?’ asked Grandpa Bruce, the family unit’s meteorologist.

The newcomer smiled. ‘Hot as usual. This land down under feels like home.’

Her blue-skinned fiancé squeezed her green webbed hand. ‘Welcome home.’

The End