Day #6: All in the Family by Amber Averay
December 25 is always a big family gathering. Everyone begins arriving at Mum and Dad’s between 12 and 1 pm, and Christmas lunch is the full-on, traditional event. Roast turkey, pork, chicken, ham, sauces – cranberry, apple, mint, bread – and the veggies seasoned and coated with herbs. It’s been the same every year, and though it’s incredibly exhausting I love it.
The only troublesome issue is that every year my father’s sister and her husband come along, and bring their three kids – and nobody wants any of them there. They’re all loudmouths. Abusive, ungrateful, jealous, greedy, spiteful creatures. They watch everybody so closely while opening presents to ascertain whether they were given gifts of equal, greater, or lesser value – and usually finding their own of inferior quality. Not because any less is spent on them, or their presents are tat, but because they are unsatisfied with everything.
I dread the words ‘Aunt Ricki and Uncle Robbie are coming tomorrow, and they’re bringing Molly, Micky, and Mitch.’ When we were younger those horrible brats used to sleep in my room, and it was all I could do not to smother them when they finally fell asleep. Molly would throw my stuffed toys around the room, kick them, and go through all my drawers looking for a non-existent diary. Micky would follow her, pulling my underwear out and fling it about the place, wear it on his head, and take over my bed so I had to sleep in his filthy, stinking sleeping bag on the floor. And Mitch – well, he was the worst. He’d relieve himself under my desk, every damn time, until Mum and Dad decided to just pull up the carpet and leave the floorboards bare.
I’d suggested bitterly that they just ban those feral brats from coming over, but they said they couldn’t possibly, they were family, and Christmas was for family, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah.
Thankfully now, I only have to deal with snub-nosed, narrow-eyed Molly – she of the evil face – sharing my room. Since we’re now teenage girls, it’s not ‘proper’ for the boys to bunk with us. Last year, when she’d tried Micky’s trick of claiming my bed, I’d wrapped her long hair around my fist and dragged her out of it, promising to use scissors on her locks next time if she tried it again.
So Christmas morning, after we’ve opened our stockings, I ask my parents hesitantly, ‘Has anyone heard if Ricki, Robbie, and the monsters are coming today?’
Mum and Dad exchange a knowing glance, then Dad says with a grin, ‘Not today. We’ve had a…disagreement, and they’re going to Robbie’s family this year.’
I clap my hands excitedly, declaring this will be the best Christmas of my life, and when everyone starts arriving I greet them with beaming smiles and hearty hugs, spouting festive cheer and offering to provide whatever drinks are required – because Dad has the key to the liquor cabinet it’s usually tea, coffee or juice that I supply, but I always offer.
Mum’s been working hard in the kitchen, and the most delicious aromas pour through the house garnering compliments from everyone, and impatient questions about when it will be ready. I’m one of them. It all smells amazing! And this year I have the hugest appetite – funny how being with nice people and having fun can make you hungry!
So when Dad yells that all is ready we all flock to the table and claim our seats, mouths watering, and watch eagerly as my parents carry in platters of food. The roast meats glisten gold and juicy, the vegetables steam, the sauces are rich in colour and flavour. The gravy is thick and beefy and the bread rolls are crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.
‘You’ve outdone yourself, dear.’ Dad smiles at Mum as he begins carving the meat, and portions it out onto the waiting plates and everybody digs in with mumbles of appreciation.
‘This is delicious, Mary!’
‘By far your best efforts!’
‘Compliments to the chef, marvellous.’
Cousin Alethea notes how lovely it is without ‘them’.
‘What happened?’ Steve asks curiously around a mouthful of potato.
Uncle George catches Dad’s eye before looking away and answering gruffly, ‘It’s of no matter now, kiddo. It is what it is.’
‘All in the family,’ we younger ones intone solemnly, before breaking into giggles at the silliness of it all.
Mum smiles, slicing up some pork and jabbing it with her fork. ‘Children, eat! Enjoy. There’s much more in the kitchen.’
‘Enough to feed a family of five for days,’ guffawed Uncle Barry, and the adults chuckle easily.
The comment goes over our heads, as does Aunt Sally’s words as she heads out the door later this afternoon: ‘I’ve never before so enjoyed a meal that included Ricki, Robbie, and the kids!’ She waves goodbye to me and dips into her car to leave.
Later, when I recall her words, I ask my parents about them – but they say simply, ‘She means they were there in spirit, love.’
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