An Indiscreet Holidy Katie Bertrand

An Indiscreet Holiday

Katie Bertrand Third Place, Mirage Prose Contest

“She’s blatantly unhappy. She’s not fooling me, let alone anyone else here.” You’d think my Aunt Margery could refrain from such talk during Christmas Eve. But then again, she does seem to think she knows exactly what’s happening in everyone else’s lives. I often wonder if she has any idea what’s going on in her own life. “It’s just pitiful, isn’t it? How she tries so hard to make people like her? Always seeking their … validation. It’s rather sad, really. She’s been like that for as long as I can remember.” My Aunt Margery was speaking about my Aunt Gina, who was the oldest of the three sisters. My mother was next in line as the forgotten middle child, while my Aunt Margery pulled up the rear as the spoiled youngest, coming in a mere eleven months behind. There was no denying my Aunt Gina did have a few hang-ups, but at least people liked her. The same couldn’t be said of my Aunt Margery, yet if anyone ever tried to tell her that, I’d hope the sweet Lord would take mercy on their soul. Thanks to where I’d plotted myself to read, I was unintentionally overhearing this bashing session between my Aunt Margery and second cousin Louis. I didn’t necessarily enjoy listening in on their badmouthing, but at least if I could hear what they were saying, I could rest assured they weren’t talking about me. My always-having-my-nose-in-a-book tendencies, as they referred to them, were apparently a cry for help. Last year on my seventeenth birthday, they’d even went as far as to explain what they believe is so wrong with me. “Social anxiety!” Aunt Margery had diagnosed. “You were practically born out of your Ma’s womb with it.” “That’s right!” Louis had chimed in. “They took you into the nursery afterward, and can you believe you were the only child in there that wasn’t crying? We all thought something was wrong with you! But the doctors couldn’t seem to find anything physically wrong. Turns out you’re just a bit of an odd bird.” Aunt Margery was quick to pipe back in with what she must have thought were comforting words … “But, not to worry! I suppose maybe you’ll grow out of it in time,

dear.”

I have to admit I had been rather impressed with their imagination. I concluded it was probably best to let them believe what they wanted. It seemed less painful than telling the truth … I always had my nose in a book because it helped me tune out their bullshit. 45

The older I got, the less patience I seemed to have at these annual family gatherings. This year, I couldn’t even last ten minutes around their talk before I was off to find a better perch for my reading. My book wasn’t drowning out Margery or Louis’s malevolence tonight. As I migrated from the living room into the dining room, I found that the seats around the dinner table were completely empty. And not only that, but the cheese, mini sausages, and deviled eggs appeared entirely untouched. This couldn’t be right … now could it? It was practically tradition by this time in the day to see my shiftyeyed, always-up-to-no-good teenage cousins, Jessie and Josephine, devouring the appetizers. It was quite a comical ordeal, year after year always the same charade. My mom and Aunt Gina would be in the kitchen slaving away on our grandiose meal when my Uncle Donny or cousin Bill or Grandpa Stu would saunter into the kitchen to grab another beer.

Once one of the men wandered in, my mom and aunt would ask for their help on setting the pre-dinner hors d’oeuvres out on the table. The beer-grabber would assist, while indiscreetly taking a few nibbles for himself before moseying back to rejoin his fellow men, who were watching the game. What always happens next, I can only rationalize in that my younger cousins, Jessie and Josephine, or “the twins” as we refer to them, have supernatural powers. Either that or they were born with the nostrils of a search dog because every Christmas Eve, within mere seconds of the food hitting the table, they appear out of nowhere. Like damn illusionists. And once they arrive, they spare no mercy on that food. It’s on. I don’t even know how they do it. I’m stunned all over again as I watch it ensue. Yet it happens year after year. Everything but the veggie tray - the lone survivor as I’ve begun referring to it - vanishes as if in thin air. There’s not a single … cracker … left. Then, once they’ve finished, they excuse themselves as discreetly as they arrived, and they head back upstairs to God knows where to continue their texting to God knows who about God knows what. Those animals. Next, I watch as the rest of the family slowly migrates in, one after another, like a herd of cattle in search of their trough. Their faces drop once they see, yet again, that nothing remains of the appetizers but a few measly veggies. Next, the blame game begins. At first, the women believe the men already got to it. Drunk off their beer with their lousy manners! But then, another theory develops. Maybe, it wasn’t the men? Maybe, my mom and aunt again skimped out on the appetizers, and the men only took their fair share!

The hushed whispers pass from one ear to the next as I watch the game of telephone transpire. Each ear the story reaches is told a version that’s a tad bit different from the last. The whispers eventually reach my Aunt Gina’s ears in the kitchen, and I see her face turn five shades darker than any red I ever thought humanly possible. She excuses herself momentarily from the kitchen and starts her ascent quietly up the stairs to discreetly scold her daughters on their selfishness, yet again. I must commend my Aunt Gina’s persistence and patience, always somehow managing to keep her cool in front of the family. Never giving away that it’s her daughters who are the real culprits. However, this year, the usual fiasco did not appear to be the case. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. But even with my pinching, the food was still there. All the appetizers sat untouched, displayed neatly in front of me … calling my name. I decided I’d best indulge while I still had the chance. The twins could make their devious appearance at any moment. I dished myself up a plate of appetizers and filled it right to the brim. I took my smorgasbord of crackers, sausages, deviled eggs, and even veggies and meandered on my way. I figured it was probably best to be nowhere near the crime scene if the twins did decide to show up. As I popped a mini sausage in my mouth, I savored the smoky flavor that burst onto my taste buds. I turned in the direction of the attic - my hiding spot in this crazy house - and hoped that just like every other year, I’d find it deserted. It would be the perfect place to eat my snack in peace. While heading towards the attic, I realized I should probably let the rest of the family know the appetizers were up for grabs. Then, after a moment, I thought better of it. After all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this family, it’s that you’d better know how to fend for yourself around here.