takedown.
Alison responds, “And I suppose that is my prerogative as Jimmy’s mother.”
“I suppose. I just don’t understand why you’d continue to buy that poison when you know how bad it is.”
“Well, Jill, I’m an enigma.”
Jill hates it when Alison uses uncommon words. She knows she does that to test her. And truthfully, Jill doesn’t have an exact fix on what enigma means and so rather than make an error she shrugs and walks away.
“Suit yourself,” Jill says.
Alison makes eye contact with Aunt Lydie who grins exposing some missing teeth.
Uncle Wes, who is a pudgy red-faced man nearing retirement age, passes a plate to his twenty-year-old niece Eleanor. Aunt Beth reaches across the table for her spoon as she attempts to stir up conflict.
“Fry-‘em,” Aunt Beth says, “the death penalty is the only answer.”
Uncle Wes agrees, “Two chairs - no waiting.”
“Isn’t that a little barbaric?” Alison can’t help herself even though she has learned staying out of political discussions with Hank’s family is the prudent course.
“Naw,” Uncle Wes says, “it’s nature. Bloody real nature.”
“I think, we, as humans, should be above that.”
“Read a paper, Alison,” Aunt Beth responds, and blows a smoke ring. Eleanor can’t keep quiet another second.
“You know, Aunt Beth, passive smoke is harmful to us all.”
“So, hold your breath.”
Uncle Wes laughs loudly. Alison shakes her head as she proceeds down the hall looking for her husband. She finds him in the den with his sister Emily, who is breast-feeding, and their mother, Carolyn, who is disgusted.
Hank insists, “Emily, a nipple’s a nipple.”
“Not true. It’s a fact that breastfed babies are smarter.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hank replies.
Carolyn adds, “Neither of you were breastfed”
“Oh, so, that explains it,” Alison says from the doorway.
“My wife knows us too well.”
“Dinner.” Alison smiles. Hank walks over to her in the doorway, but Carolyn has not quite finished her thought.
“Emily, I love you but you look like a cow.”
“Mother, it’s a normal part of nature.”
“So is peeing and I don’t want to share that with you either.”
As Hank kisses Alison, “My family drives me crazy.”
“They have a special gift.”
“Did I ever thank you for putting up with them?”
“Not often enough.”
He leans close and whispers into her ear, “Later I’m going to thank every inch of your body with my tongue.” His moist warm breath is welcome on the side of her neck. It gives her a little thrill. He still makes her crunch her toes. Hank runs his hands through his bangs. His caramel hair is long for a man in his thirties, but it is nicely trimmed and has a natural cowlick in the front, which is really attractive. He has a broad grin, which he employs constantly to keep those around him smiling, too. He can be lazy about shaving and so the five o’clock shadow that the macho movie stars try so diligently to achieve, comes naturally to Hank. Women always notice him. He only sees Alison. Sometimes, he wonders why this refined lovely woman puts up with him: his constant need for music, his quirky sense of humor, and his relatives. He doesn’t appreciate how entertaining a large vivacious family could be to a girl from Alison’s quiet world.
He kisses her on the neck, turns and walks toward the dining room singing “Beautiful” in falsetto. Alison looks back at her mother-in-law and they smile. Wife and mother - yes, they both love that man. That is their bond.
After dinner, all of the relatives gather around Jimmy’s birthday cake to sing. His parents flank him. He blows out the red and white swirl candles, which relight over and over. He’s too old for that trick. She knows that, of course, but the sentimental strain in her refuses to stop buying them. She joked with him last year that when he’s forty years old she will be lighting those same candles so he should get used to it. She leans in and kisses him on the top of his head. She knows he will allow a small public kiss since it is his birthday, and his cool friends are not at the family party. She lingers for a second, smelling his freshly washed hair and wants to submerge herself in the disheveled mess of it. She remembers the afternoon he marched off the grammar school playground and announced with gritty six-year-old determination she could no longer hug or kiss him in public: it was too embarrassing. And she knew there would quickly come a time when he would be too tall to kiss on