“You know… I could take over the gravy, give everyone else a task… no one would notice if you slipped away for a few minutes,” I knowingly whisper to Laney, said knowledge stemming from our very similar husbands.
She gives me a secret side glance and smile. “Yes, they would. I’d be gone a while.”
“True,” I snicker. “What was I thinking?”
“Merry Christmas, party people! I’m here; let the celebrating begin!” Presley’s voice pierces the air… and sound barrier.
“Well, thank God, the season can officially commence, now that my child’s made her subtle entrance,” I sigh.
Laney just laughs. “Em, you’ve got to stop worrying about her every word or every move. We all know and love Presley, like she’s our own. Actually, she is our own, and we accept her, adore her, exactly as she is. Family doesn’t judge or scrutinize. Family embraces and enjoys each member, as is… for what only they can add. In our eyes, Presley is perfect. You just let me know if anyone says different.”
“Really?” I worry my bottom lip. “You don’t think she’s been getting worse? Way-over-the-top?”
“No. I think she was born over-the-top, and raised by a mother who taught her morals, ethics, the good stuff, and a heathen, who taught her the rest. I love Presley, so knock it off or you’re gonna make me mad.” She playfully nudges my shoulder.
And the second I exhale, feeling a bit better, in she bursts.
“What’s cookin’, good lookins’? Oh, except for your, um, sweaters. Not sure what’s goin’ on there.” She motions a pointy, sarcastic finger up and down the length of us. “Whatever it is, you should make it stop.”
Her father’s daughter— crazy head to outspoken toe.
“Hi, honey. You look beautiful tonight.” I ignore her sass and hold out my arms for a hug.
“That’s because I didn’t let a blind person, or Aunt Whitley—just a guess—dress me.” Ever-ready with a comeback as she hugs me, then does the same to Laney. “Not to traumatize you further, but warning shots fired. I spotted her separating notecards into color-coded stacks when I came in. That can’t be good. Who put her in charge?”
And now she’s quoting her father — verbatim.
“We’ll survive; with smiles on our faces, young lady.” Laney emphasizes her directive with the gravy-covered spoon pointed right at Presley. “Once we get through this, there’s nothing else for her to plan until July Fourth… so, use that as your… happy, cheerful, ‘I am loving these activities’ fuel.”
“Yeah, good plan. So, we skippin’ Easter this year then?”
“Shit,” Laney groans, abruptly flinging the spoon back in the gravy. “Forgot about Easter.”
“And Uncle Dane’s birthday?” Presley… presses.
“I get it. Stop talking.”
“Always here to help!” Pres pops an olive in her mouth and breezes out with every bit as much flair with which she entered.
“I swear, I didn’t do any drugs, or drink, when I was pregnant with her.”
“Em, seriously, you gotta loosen up. Life’s too short not to laugh every single chance you get.”
Once Sky and Judd arrive and Brynn gets home, from where, I didn’t catch, we finally gather at the table to eat. My helpful husband offers to say the prayer… and is immediately met with a resounding chorus of protests, so… for the first time ever, I speak up.
“Please join hands and bow your heads. Judd-”
“Yes, ma’am,” he beats me to it, removing his hat.
“Now then.” I clear my throat, dip my head… and offer thanks. For each unique soul that makes our family whole, in body or spirit. For every memory, and moment, to come. And for blessing me with a spot at this, of any in the world, table.
“Damn, Mom, you spanked grace! Where’d that come from?” Presley asks when I’m finished.
“I have a lot to be thankful for, besides your language. We all do, and I thought I’d better jump on the chance to get a word in edgewise.”
“Atta girl, Em. It was beautiful,” Zach praises.
“Very. P’s right; you totally spanked it.” Bennett nods. As though “spanking” a prayer is normal conversation, everyone falls into a comfortable rhythm of passing dishes, filling their plates, and other small talk… until Whitley reaches her limit… about to pop.
She raises her hand, because she always does, beaming ear to ear. “Did the adults, uh, I mean, the, the elders, remember to choose their quotes?”
“The elders?” Presley doesn’t whisper to JT. “Is that supposed to be condescension, or did Aunt Whit just win the race to facing reality?”
“No way I’m answering that, because they’re all listening. Inside voice much?” he doesn’t whisper back, his absolutely wonderful girlfriend Bellamy burying her face in his sleeve to, I assume, laugh.
“Baby, no idea on this quote plot twist either. You got me covered?” Dane speaks over them to ask Laney.
She rolls her eyes, digs in her pocket, then hands Skylar a piece of paper. “Pass that down to your father.”
“Great!” Whitley’s excited now. “I’ll start.” In all that is “Whitley,” she sits up straight, wets her lips, and pauses… letting the moment build. “‘Call it a Clan, call it a Network, call it a Tribe, call it a Family: whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.’ Jane Howard.” Another pause. “I, we, call it a Crew. Our children call it a Squad. I chose this quote because I thought it was perfect for us, and she didn’t use our words. She must’ve known they’d be taken.”
Whitley Allen has the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
Tears build in my eyes, Bennett’s too… why, I don’t know… as if serious emotion would be tolerated here.
“Whitley, none of our quotes could possibly compare to that.” Dane shakes his head, faking amazement pretty well. “So, I say we leave it on that note. No sense in the rest of us even trying.” He manages to seem solemn too. Not bad.
“Uh huh. You’re full of more shit than the turkey, Dane Kendrick. Your turn.” Laney’s raised brows and tone call him out even louder than her words.
“Two.” He holds up as many fingers. “Two favors.”
“Daddy!” Skylar whines. “Ewww. Always, always, ewww. You’re not speaking in code, we’re not deaf, or five anymore, and just… no. Must I keep saying this?”
“Seriously, Daney, it’s Jesus’ birthday, for Chrissake. Have some class.” Again, my helperson husband trips over his own tongue, and I, again, dip my head… might need to throw in another prayer too.
“It’s Jesus’ birthday, for Chrissake? Really? I’d say ‘good God,’ but at this point, I’m already headed straight to Hell by association. So, my turn,” Evan huffs. “‘Families are the compass that guides us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights, and our own comfort when we occasionally falter.’ Brad Henry. Your go, Zach. Hurry up, before anyone gets a wild hair up their ass and talks off-script.”
Don’t need to tell Zach twice; he’s here for the food. “‘A happy family is but an earlier Heaven.’ George Bernard Shaw. Good one, sweetness.” He leans over and kisses Bennett. “Don’t even, Whit.” Lips still on Ben, he catches, and stops, Whitley’s wind-up. “Evan didn’t pick his own either. Compass? Like his tattoo, that you chose? Sell it somewhere else, sister.”
Oh, God… now Presley’s about to talk again. Please, please let it be something eloquent, sentimental, spiritual… I’ll settle for sans cuss words.
“Elders? Excuse me, Elders? As much as it pains me to put more doom and gloom on your whole ‘Jesus’ birthday, for Chrissake’ anthem you’ve got rockin’, I don’t think you’re playing your own games right.”
“Amen,” Brynny grumbles.
“They’re not. They’re so not,” Whitley adds, frumping.
“Whitley, I think it’s a very sweet, meaningful idea. I’m anxious to read mine. That I put time and thought into choosing, and everyone will love.” Laney stands, whips out another piece of paper from her pocket and slowly, seriously, gives everyone the eye. “‘The informality of family life is a blessed condition that allows us all to become our best while looking our worst.’ Marge Kennedy. It’s like she knows us, right? And I, somehow, knew… this exact quote would be fitting.”
And… we eat.