Surviving Valencia

“I guess,” I said.

“Boy or girl?”

“We want to be surprised,” I said.

I watched Adrian refill his glass. He was drinking for two as well.

“Now why would you want to be surprised? How can you buy what you need if you don’t know wh

at you’re going to have?” said BobbieMae. Her baby was decked out in Green Bay Packer gear. I could not have said whether it was a boy or a girl.

“Sometimes it’s fun to be surprised,” I said. “Oh, look at that,” I added, feigning interest in some squirrels playing in the yard.

Then Adrian made things much worse. “What we are doing,” he said, “is buying clothes for boys and clothes for girls. So no matter which one we have, we’ve got it covered.” This made sense to him, and it had made sense to his family. But mine would see it as worse than wastefulness. They would see it as rampant indulgence.

Quickly I added, “And we will save what we don’t use for next time.”

It was too late.

“You have gotten very spoiled,” sniffed my mother.

“I heard you couldn’t even have babies. No offense,” said BobbieMae.

“I heard that too,” said Aunt Louise. “Did you do in vitro?”

“What ever happened to that car you had with that pro-choice bumper sticker on the back?” asked my dad. “Little foreign car. Was that a Renault?”

“In vitro costs a fortune!” said my mother, checking the turkey and letting the oven door slam shut for the hundredth time.

“Who said we couldn’t have babies?” I asked.

“You’ve been married for years,” said my mother.

“What if your next baby is the same sex?” asked my Uncle Dave. We all blushed when he said “sex.” He was an uncle by marriage and had never quite gotten the rules.

“This really isn’t something for everyone to get all worked up about, please,” I said.

“Who’s getting worked up?” asked my mother.

“Did we mention we have to drive back tonight? Ugh, that cat of Alexa’s needs its diabetes shot,” blabbed Adrian. His story came out of nowhere and everyone knew it was a lie. “Without its shot, it’s toast.”

“Who is this Alexis he’s always talking about?” asked my grandmother in a stage whisper.

I went into the living room and sat down beside my grandfather who was asleep on the couch. It’s a Wonderful Life was playing. Adrian stayed in the kitchen next to the alcohol, telling stories and lies.

Half an hour later my mother yelled, “Dinner is served,” so I pushed myself up and went into the dining room. Adrian was already sitting at the table.

“I saved you a place,” he said, rubbing the pheasant print chair pad beside him.

“Everyone tell what you’re thankful for,” said Aunt Louise. Oh no. The worst part of Thanksgiving. “Patricia, we’re at your house, so you start.”

My mother smiled. She had a remnant of a pickle covering one of her front teeth. I took a sip of ginger ale and looked away.

“I’m thankful that we’re all here today. I’m thankful for this big old bird… I’m thankful I got a two thirty-seven the other night, which put the Lucky Lady Strikes into the statewide bowling tournament in March…” Everyone clapped and cheered when she said that. “And last but not least, I’m thankful that I’m going to be a grandmother. I just hope that baby doesn’t show up when I’m at my tournament,” she added, pretending she was kidding, but clearly serious. Followed by lesser claps and a few chuckles.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said softly.

She ignored me. “Your turn, Dave,” she said to my uncle who was seated beside her. I couldn’t bear a whole table of this. Perhaps God would come through twice in one day, to make up for lost time. Please, God, intervene, I silently begged.