Kent Juniper

Every year on Thanksgiving my family holds a big dinner. It’s usually referred to as the “Family Feast” in the intricately designed invitations that are sent out to every living member. The invites are always done on parchment paper with hand-drawn calligraphy like we were part of some sort of ancient royal lineage, instead of the boring wealthy white family we really are. I don’t know who they ever thought they were fooling. Probably themselves. But it never worked on me.

I’d always found my family to be too strange to introduce them to any of my past lovers. They were so obsessed with tradition and the appearance of monetary success to understand my ex-girlfriend the florist, or my ex-boyfriend the graphic designer. They barely understood me as a freelance journalist. But I couldn’t ignore them forever. Now that I was engaged to Matthew, I knew I needed to bring him to Thanksgiving and get it over with.

I showed him the invitation and explained to him that we would need to tell them in person about our engagement, before they found out on their own. If they ever felt disrespected, they would never let it go.

I could tell he could sense my hesitation, but he agreed to go. He’s always been the optimistic one; just one of the many reasons I love him so much. He even bought us matching ties.  Seeing his joy and excitement around the idea, I started to relax about it. Even on the drive up to my old family home, I felt a sense of calm with his hand on my lap. Matthew was such a great guy. What did I have to worry about?

But the moment he pulled our car into the quarter mile gravel driveway, and we made our way down the path, it was as if the gravel beneath the tires had found its way into the pit of my stomach. As he parked by the courtyard water fountain, it took everything in me not to reach over and slam the car back into drive and tell him to go as fast and as far as he could to get us out of there.

“Just soup and salad,” I blurted out, “We will just stay for soup and salad then leave, okay?”

“Whatever makes you comfortable, babe. I know families can be overwhelming. You know mine won’t even talk to me anymore. I think it’s sweet that you still have your family, even if it’s just for dinner on the holidays.”

He caressed my chin with his thumb and gave me a kiss before grabbing the flowers and getting out of the car. It took me a moment to muster the courage to follow him, but with slow and heavy steps, I followed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

My mother opened the door before we had even finished knocking.

“Joey, my baby!” my mother hugged me in her usual robotic way, keeping it light so as not to wrinkle her expensive blouse. She had always been a bit distant.

“Please, mom. Don’t call me that.”

“And who is this? You said you would bring a guest, but I didn’t expect them to be so tall, dark, and handsome.”

Matthew blushed, handing her the bouquet of flowers. “Farm fresh flowers. Joe said you prefer them straight from the source, and now I can see why. They are so beautiful.”

“Yes. We are strong believers in connecting with nature and using all natural ingredients in this house. I’m sure Joey already told you everything. Well, hopefully not everything.” My mom gave me a wink and the knot in my stomach tightened.

We entered the foyer, where a Tiffany chandelier hung over head. It was the same one from my childhood, and it still made me feel so small. While my family was obsessed with the natural state of their food, their decorating tastes leaned away from nature, and towards sleek, modern aesthetics. Marble, crystal, and gold could be found in every piece of furniture and every surface of the neverending halls and rooms within.

My mother guided us to the large dining room table, where most of the family was already seated. The table could fit 20 people in high-backed chairs, and the table was large enough for the plates, bowls and platters overflowing with appetizers, and extravagant center pieces to fit without looking too crowded.

As usual, the men sat on one side of the table with their wives on the opposite side directly across from them. But the seats with labels for Matthew and I were next to each other, resembling more of a friendship or brotherhood than a romantic relationship.

We took our seats, but no one really noticed us. The men were too wrapped up in their conversations about the stock market and cryptocurrency, and the women were all discussing their own business ventures or parenting tricks.

I plated some salad and a variety of cheeses and seed crackers onto our plates, and I put my hand on Matthew’s thigh, squeezing him for reassurance to keep me grounded. As soon as he took a bite of the cheese, the man to his side turned and proudly started sharing his story.

“That cheese comes straight from one of our dairy farms,” he smiled.

“That’s my Uncle John. John, this is my partner, Matthew,” I tried to say as politely as possible with a mouth full of crackers.

“Partner?” John cocked his head, “Like a business partner? I didn’t realize journalists had business partners.”

The table went silent and everyone stared in our direction. Their faces were blank and difficult to read.

“No,” my mother chimed in, “He means they are lovers.” Everything she said always sounded so threatening underneath, like her words were dripping with venom.

My Aunt Lauren piped up with her cold judgemental eyes, “But that’s so unnatural. How will you provide children for our family?”

Then my father added his voice to the conversation, wiping the salad dressing from his lips, “There is much more to life than just kids, Lauren. I know my Joey didn’t continue our legacy of high-end food distribution services, but he is loyal to this family all the same.”

“Exactly,” my mother added, “Journalists can do so much for us. It’s always good to have someone in the press there to help spin a better story if anything should come out to the public that’s deemed… distasteful.”

I reached for Matthew’s hand, “Thank you for your support, Mom and Dad. And while we can’t stay long, we came here tonight because I thought it would be a good idea to tell you in person: Matthew and I are engaged.”

A few people clapped, while others stayed silent and picked at their food. Matthew gave me a loving look and put his arm around me.

“Well, since you can’t stay long, I better bring out the soup and go see how much longer we have on the roast,” my mother said, popping up from her chair and going to the kitchen.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“So,” Matthew tried to start up the conversation again and break the tension as we sipped our soup,”So you’re a farmer?”

Everyone at the table chuckled. Except me. My leg was shaking, and the grip I had on Matthew’s hand was about to start breaking his bones. We needed to leave.

“No, I’m not a farmer. I own a chain of farms. I work with the management and logistics, helping wealthy customers get the quality products they ask for.”

“Oh, okay. That sounds…fun?”

I couldn’t stop a small nervous smile from flashing across my face. I knew Matthew, like myself, had no interest in their business ventures. He was my ticket out of here.

“Well, the food from everyone’s contribution this year was delicious. I’m glad you could all show Matthew some samples of your various food industries, but we really need to get going. I’ve got some editing to do for tomorrow’s paper. And Matthew’s a nurse, so he has to be at the clinic early. Thank you all, again.” I stood and started pulling Matthew out of his chair, no longer trying to hide my anxiety.

“No, don’t go, yet,” my father begged, “It’s your cousin Tammy’s first year providing the roast. She worked so hard on it. You know, lucky number two and all. It’s been a few years since we had a homemade one. They’ve all been bought for the last few years, remember?”

My family was powerful. They had money and influence. They had international reach. If I wanted Matthew to survive, we needed to leave. Even a small sign of disapproval could be seen as a threat. Their lifestyle demanded secrecy and total loyalty. I usually just kept myself busy over the holidays so I’d have an excuse to stay away and miss the Feast. But now, I was trapped.

“Aww, Joe! We can’t leave until we try the roast. It sounds like your family really wants us to stay,” Matthew insisted.

My eyes stung with tears as I searched his face for a sign that he was joking or just trying to be polite. But his gaze was pleading, and I could tell he meant it.

He pulled me back to my seat, and the table applauded as my mother brought out a large silver plate with a metal food cover over the top.

I hissed under my breath at Matthew, “I thought you were on my side…you said we could leave.”

He patted my hand and flashed a little smile in my direction. There was nothing I could do. He was going to see the roast, and I’d never see him again. My family would be sure of that. They never allowed loose ends.

With a flourish, my mother removed the cover and the roast was revealed. It was just as grotesque and stomach-churning as I remembered. It never got easier to look at. I was about to throw up, but I kept my composure for my own safety, as well as Matthew’s.

There, steaming on the plate, was a browned, roasted, seasoned newborn baby; my cousin’s baby. Just like we had every year. Every other child that was born to a woman in our family became an offering.

I looked at Matthew, expecting to see his face contorted into a silent scream. I expected him to run from the table, or shriek, or cry…but he was smiling.

“I knew it!” He squealed, “When Joey showed me that invitation, and I heard you talking about your love of natural food, and how you work logistics to make sure people get what they want, I just knew you were Feasters. I’ve been a Feaster for years now, but when I joined the lifestyle my family disowned me. They called it a cult. Can you believe that?”

“Well, you are welcome in our family, Matthew,” My dad said, raising a glass to him, “Welcome to the family, son.”

The shock was gone. The horror melted away. I could feel something inside of me just break as I watched Matthew eating the roast. Here I was afraid he would be scared off…but really, it was me who was afraid now. Afraid of my family, and now, afraid of my fiance.

Once again, just like I did in my childhood, I allowed that eerie sense of calm wash over me, and retreated further and further into myself as I accepted the fact that I really was alone here. Always was, and always will be. I was the only sane one. Or was I the crazy one after all?

With that thought, I took Matthew’s hand, and joined in the Feast.