* * *
Dinner at the Wagner house was a serve-yourself affair. Most of the family gathered round the serving table, serving themselves generous portions. Mrs. Wagner, who had spent all day in the kitchen with her daughter, took the opportunity to sit down and pour herself a glass of white wine. She was a graceful woman, whose dark hair had been streaked with silver as she aged. She was wearing a sophisticated navy-blue blouse and white dress pants. She had dressed carefully, knowing that her in-laws would be present for dinner. As she watched Grandpa Stag and Grandma Joan circle the serving table, she knew that she had not only met, but exceeded their expectations. As Mrs. Wagner watched, Grandpa Stag turned to throw her an admiring look.
Grandpa Stag was a short, wiry man in his seventies, who had been married three times in his life. His most recent wife was a blonde woman in her fifties named Joan. As Mrs. Wagner watched, Mr. Wagner came up behind his father, and engaged him in a lively conversation. Glancing between her husband and his father, Mrs. Wagner observed that they were a great deal alike. Mr. Wagner was taller and had not yet gone totally gray, but their manner of expression was strikingly similar.
Mrs. Wagner finished her glass of wine and lit the candle in the center of the table. It was pumpkin pie scented and sent wafts of spiced aroma into the overly warm air.
“Boy, I sure am looking forward to that pumpkin pie later; it smells delicious!"” Grandma Joan commented, pronouncing the words like they were themselves were a delicacy.
Mrs. Wagner glanced at the candle, then at her mother-in-law.
“That's actually just the can—” Mr. Wagner began.
Mrs. Wagner stomped on his foot, effectively silencing him. “Thank you, Joan!” she finished, smiling.
As Grandma Joan and Grandpa Stag finished loading their plates and took their seats at the table, Mr. Wagner and Shelly, the Wagner’s daughter, took their place at the serving table. Once they had their food, they too took a seat at the table.
Mrs. Wagner noticed that her son, Greg, and his girlfriend Stephanie stood slightly apart from the rest of the family with Stephanie’s two daughters and had made no move toward the food, despite the obvious social cues. Mrs. Wagner served herself and took a seat at the table with her family, leaving them standing.
The Greg that stood in the dining room looked nothing like the Greg in the pictures Mrs. Wagner had hung on the walls. He had gained at least a hundred pounds and grown his hair out into a long, scraggly, greasy ponytail. About an inch down the hair strands, his hair took on a grayish tinge, from when he’d tried and failed to dye his hair blue a couple of months earlier. There were purplish semicircles under his eyes that made Mrs. Wagner wonder whether Greg ever slept.
Stephanie leaned into him, clinging in a way that was almost obscene. She was short, only about five feet tall, but she was far from petite. Stephanie weighed close to three hundred pounds and had nearly every health problem known to man, though Mrs. Wagner suspected that there was at least some hypochondria at work. Stephanie was dressed from head to toe in black, and had even taken the time to apply a thick layer of black eyeliner to her eyes.
Stephanie’s daughters, Elisha and Alana, were three and nine, respectively. The girls looked strikingly different: Alana had straight brown hair, while Elisha’s hair hung in golden ringlets. It didn’t surprise Mrs. Wagner that the girls looked different, since they had different fathers. Stephanie had been married twice before meeting Greg, with a child resulting from each aborted match. Mrs. Wagner was glad that Stephanie had had a hysterectomy, and that Greg wouldn’t become the third man to father a child by Stephanie.
Elicia grabbed Stephanie’s thumb, tugging insistently. “Momma, I wanna watch Wizard of Oz. Why‘ren’t we watching Wizard of Oz?”
Stephanie smiled indulgently down at her daughter, “Greg’ll fix it, Elicia.” She then turned toward Greg, glancing up through her lashes. She leaned up to give him a slow kiss, their bodies forming around each other in a mass of quivering blubber to allow their mouths to meet. As they pulled apart, Mrs. Wagner saw the glint of Stephanie’s tongue stud and shuddered with revulsion. There is a time and a place for everything, and in front of the entire family is not the place for a plus-sized make-out session.
Greg lumbered toward the TV, switching off the football game and popping in the Wizard of Oz. The rest of the family watched slack-jawed. Grandpa Stag’s mouth was working like a fish, wanting to protest but not knowing how. In the end, it was Mrs. Wagner who said something.
“Greg? What are you doing?” Mrs. Wagner asked politely.
“Elicia wants to watch Wizard of Oz, so I’m putting it on for her,” He promptly turned back to the task of working the remote with his stubby fingers.
“No, you aren’t,” Mrs. Wagner replied.
“What?”
“No, you aren’t,” Mrs. Wagner repeated. “We always watch the Thanksgiving Day football game as a family.”
Greg had the decency to blush. “Mom, Elicia will throw a tantrum if she doesn’t get her way. We have to watch Wizard of Oz.”
“She throws tantrums because she knows she’ll get her way if she does. Give her something else to play with and tell her no. She can watch it when you get home,” Mrs. Wagner said, with finality.
Greg’s chin jutted out, and he ground his teeth. He turned the football game back on and stomped back toward Stephanie and Elicia.
“Aren’t we gonna watch Wizard of Oz? Momma?” Elicia asked, resuming tugging on her mother’s hand.
“Mrs. Wagner said no,” Stephanie told her daughter. “You have to watch football like everyone else.
Elicia let out a deafening shriek, like an angry teapot. Her face flushed maroon and her eyes welled up with tears. “WANNA WATCH WIZARD OF OZ! NOT FAIR!!! GREG, FIX IT!! FIX IT NOW!” She grabbed the lacy runner and tugged, sliding all the food toward her as she collapsed to the floor, sobbing. The punch bowl lurched precariously, hanging out over the edge and sloshing some of its contents across the floor and into Elisha’s golden curls.
“Elicia, honey, would you like to play with some blocks instead?” asked Mrs. Wagner, hopping up to try to salvage the situation. The effect was instantaneous: the sun came out from behind a cloud and the tears dried away to nothing.
“I never would have thought of that,” Greg said, awed.
“Can we have those blocks to keep her quiet at home?” asked Stephanie.
“No, they’re to keep her quiet while she’s here,” Mrs. Wagner replied, rearranging the things on the table and setting the punch bowl away from the edge. As she stooped to mop the punch off the floor with a rag, Stephanie pulled Greg into the next room, whispering in his ear. Alana, who had been her mother’s silent shadow the entire night, went with them, leaving her sister to play with the blocks.
“Mom?” Greg called around the corner. “Steph forgot some important medicine in the car, we’re going to run out and grab it.”
As the outer door squeaked shut, Shelly got up from the table and came to join her mother, bringing paper towels. Shelly was a sophomore in college, and had come home for the holiday to visit with family and help cook. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wore a black button-up shirt.
“Mom, when are they going to leave?” Shelly asked.
“Not for a while, Shelly. Dinner is only just starting,” Mrs. Wagner replied, taking the paper towels and continuing to mop up the liquid.
“Stephanie was asking me to be her bridesmaid, and I didn’t even know Greg had proposed. She was asking me what color dresses I thought would be best.”
“She’s planning a wedding?” Mrs. Wagner asked in disbelief. “She hasn’t said anything to me about it. Is there anything else she’s said to you?”
“You mean other than when she pulled me aside to give me advice on how to put Velcro between the buttons on my blouse so they wouldn’t pucker at all? She was making comments about how us big-busted women needing to stick together. I don’t get it, I mean, proportionally speaking, compared to the rest of her, her boobs are not that big.” Shelly wrinkled her nose in distaste, gathering up the soiled paper towels.
Mrs. Wagner pushed a wayward strand of blond hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful just as you are. Don’t worry about what she has to say.”
Shelly threw away the paper towels and returned to the table, just as Greg and Stephanie returned, chomping gum and reeking of cigarette smoke. The atmosphere twisted and stiffened.
Greg and Stephanie finally served themselves and the girls. Once everyone was seated at the table, Grandpa Stag gave a brief blessing. No one closed their eyes.
Mrs. Wagner took her first bite of turkey, gazing speculatively at Stephanie. "So, Steph, I heard something about you planning a wedding. How come you didn't say anything about it to me?"
"Oh, yes, Ma'am. I asked your daughter to be our bridesmaid this afternoon, since she's Greg's sister, and we were really hoping that you guys could be a part of our marriage, since Greg didn’t invite you to his last wedding, and weddings are so wonderful, and I was thinking that Greg could wear a ducktail suit and that the bridesmaid dresses would be blue, since that's a color that looks good on everyone...”
Mrs. Wagner tuned out for a moment, watching Stephanie speak rather than listening to what she was saying. Stephanie’s mouth was still half-full of broccoli, which sprayed out of her mouth with each syllable and fell down the front of her blouse. Mrs. Wagner looked back at her plate.
“...and we were thinking about November, since that's when my best friend Nicole's coming home from Norway, where she's living with her fiance, but she has to come back to the states because she had a rubber band put on her stomach and it slipped, and she can't even eat, and so she needs emergency surgery--"
"Oh God, enough! I'm gonna be sick!" Grandpa Stag exclaimed, clutching his stomach.
Stephanie, glowing with the limelight, paused uncertainly at Grandpa Stag's exclamation.
"Go on, Steph," Mrs. Wagner urged, trying to move the conversation forward.
"Apparently they only do rubber bands on stomach in America, and they use staples in Europe since it's safer, so they won't even operate on the rubber bands, and--"
"You were saying November?" Mrs. Wagner prompted.
"Yes, because the weather in November is so lovely for weddings, and I think it would be perfect, and Greg will be able wear his suit comfortably, and the girls will be able to wear long dresses, and I really like fall weddings best."
"When were you planning on inviting us?" Mrs. Wagner asked.
"Of course you're invited! We were planning on you being there, since you are
Greg's family, and of course we want him to have people there too, and of course I'm going to invite my parents."
“Then is your divorce with Elicia’s father finalized?” Mrs. Wagner queried.
“No, Ma’am,” Stephanie answered. “since he doesn’t want to let me go, and his mother has always hated me, so she’s waited years to be rid of me. My divorce with Alanna’s father went so much smoother, and we were able to still be friends afterword, but I don’t think that’ll happen with Elicia’s father since he’s being such a jerk, and he resents Greg moving in with us, which I don’t understand since I love Greg, and just because we’d only known each other for five weeks before he moved in with me doesn’t mean we’re moving too fast, and--”
“What about you, Greg? Has your divorce with Liz gone through?” Mrs. Wagner asked, hoping to draw her son into the conversation.
Greg grunted, his mouth still half full and his neck angled forward like a vulture, allowing him to shovel food into his mouth quicker. He had hardly even glanced up from his mashed potatoes, and Stephanie was already answering. “No, Ma’am, since you have to have been separated a year under Australian law before you can officially get divorced, and I think that’s really a stupid law, since I’ve been married and divorced twice already and I’m only twenty-six, so people should be able to get married and divorced as they choose.”
“Wow, two already at twenty-six? You must really chew through ‘em! I’ve had three wives, and it took me fifty years to work my way through!” Grandpa Stag exclaimed, throwing back the last of his third glass of scotch. Grandma Joan winced at the reminder that she was his third wife and twenty years his junior, a blond bombshell seated beside a gray-haired older man. It was bad enough that the children accidentally called her “aunt” sometimes.
Stephanie opened her mouth to answer. Mrs. Wagner kicked Mr. Wagner under the table, frantically mouthing, “Do something!”
Mr. Wagner said the only thing he could think of that would prevent Grandpa Stag and Stephanie from having a drawn-out and awkward comparison of past conquests: "So, Greg, how did you propose?"
Greg was on his second plate of mashed potatoes. His neck had seemingly extended, allowing him to put his mouth closer to his plate and shovel even faster. He swallowed, and paused long enough to say, "I didn't." He immediately went back to eating.
Mr. and Mrs. Wagner glanced at one another, unsure. Stephanie continued prattling on about weddings, dresses, and how certain she was that she and Greg had been made for each other. Greg continued eating.
As Stephanie continued to talk, a rather large glob of gravy fell from her fork into her cleavage. For the first time since he had seated himself at the table, Greg stopped eating and sat up. He took a napkin and reached into his girlfriend’s shirt to clean the gravy away. Stephanie giggled flirtatiously, gazing up at him through her lashes as Greg’s hand lingered longer than necessary.
* * *
By the time Mrs. Wagner and Shelly had begun to serve dessert, Grandma Joan had succeeded in wrestling the scotch glass out of Grandpa Stag’s hand, but the damage had already been done. The old man was glassy-eyed and drunk, and Mrs. Wagner doubted he would remember anything come morning. Dessert was served on Mrs. Wagner’s grandmother’s nice china, as it was every year. Stephanie insisted that she didn’t want dessert, and that she could just have some of Greg’s slice instead. It soon became obvious that she was lying, as Mrs. Wagner watched Greg and Stephanie work together to polish off four whole pieces of pie.
As Stephanie cleaned off the last of the fourth piece of pie, she asked, “This is a lovely piece of china, and it looks very old, like what my grandparents have. Is it worth a lot?”
“I really don’t know, Stephanie. I’ve never wanted to sell it.” Mrs. Wagner replied tersely.
“Well, I think it would be, since it’s so pretty and so old and in such good shape, and I bet you could sell it for a couple hundred dollars.” Stephanie paused in her examination of the plate, suddenly serious. “What time does the last person leaves for work in the morning?”
“You have no need to know something like that.” Mrs. Wagner answered sharply. “I think the girls are getting tired, and that you guys should head home now that you’ve had dessert.”
“I was thinking that we could maybe stay the night, since it’s late and I don’t know if we really feel up to driving, and I’d really like to see more of your lovely home,” Stephanie answered, suddenly eyeing the silverware intently.
“You are not welcome to stay the night without invitation, Stephanie.” Mrs. Wagner replied, bristling.
“You’re Greg’s mother, and you should be supportive of us, and my mother would have let us stay the night without an invitation! You’re a terrible mother, and I want you to know that Greg and my love is too strong to be broke apart. It doesn’t matter if you approve, ‘cause we’re going to be together forever,” Stephanie stood up suddenly, her stomach colliding with the table and rippling from the impact. “Elisha, Alana, get your coats. We’re taking the moral higher road!”
“Aren’t we getting pie to go?” Greg asked.
“I’ll make you all the pie you want, Schnookums,” Stephanie replied leaning over the back of his chair to kiss him before dragging him out the door.
* * *
The Wagners watched through the front windows as they got into the car and drove away. After their tail lights had vanished around the corner, Mrs. Wagner turned to her husband and asked, “So, how about a drink?”Before Mr. Wagner could answer, Grandpa Stag turned to his daughter-in-law, his eyes glassy. “A drink? An excellent idea, my dear!” He reached around his wife to reclaim his scotch glass, and promptly refilled it, despite Joan’s protests. “Have I mentioned how lovely you are? Greg’s got a winner of a mother, yet he’s choosing to date a whale!” Grandpa Stag paused to drain half his glass. “I know! The nine-year-old! She’s quiet, and her father went to MIT, so she must be smart! Greg should marry her instead of the mother!”
The entire family gaped.
Mr. Wagner jumped in, trying to make light of the situation. “How like you, Dad! Always trying to rob the cradle!” The family let out a collective nervous chuckle, and Grandma Joan shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Well, my boy, we can’t all get lucky like you and marry such a beauty on the first try!” Grandpa Stag grabbed Mrs. Wagner’s arm. “Really, my dear! You have such a pretty face! I would expect to see it when I open up a catalogue, not when I come to have dinner with my son’s family--”
“Dad, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Mr. Wagner said sternly, stepping forward to shield his wife and pulling the glass from his father’s fingers. “Perhaps it’s time for bed?” Mr. Wagner shot a look at Grandma Joan, who hurried to her feet and took her husband by the arm.
It took several minutes for Grandpa Stag to make his way up the stairs, his wife leading him the entire way. He rambled under his breath about whales, Greg and catalogue models the entire way. Grandma Joan said nothing, recognizing that he probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, and making a mental note to have a long talk with him about his drinking in the morning.
* * *
The Wagners sat downstairs, each nursing at a glass of wine, not knowing what to say. After the door to Grandpa Stag and Grandma Joan’s room finally clicked shut, Shelly excused herself, and headed upstairs to bed.Now that they were finally alone, Mr. Wagner turned to Mrs. Wagner. “I’m sorry about my father. I should have made him stop drinking sooner.”
Mrs. Wagner made a choked noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry, and reached out to squeeze her husband’s hand. “Matt, let’s not have any company for Thanksgiving next year.”
Mr. Wagner laughed humorlessly, and then leaned over to give his wife a kiss. “All right.”
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