I'm Not in Love

Remi

Thanksgiving has turnedout to be something of a wild ride. Grandmother and Grandfather had no idea what they were in for when they invited Tara, Dacia, Tristan, and three young children to share in our typically sedate holiday celebration.

Our guests are overwhelmed by the sheer size of the property, the extravagance of the mansion and its classic decor, and the abundance of servants wandering around, seemingly willing to do anything to increase their enjoyment of the day.

Jared has no problem with the pampering. He eats his fill of fancy appetizers offered to him on silver trays, carried by the somber butler, Henry, and his disciplined staff. After an extended snack time, he boldly asks Henry for a tour of the “mega-huge crib,” likely in search of a television with a game-playing device. Jared doesn’t find exactly what he’s looking for but is still awed by the number and sheer variety of rooms in the building.

“Mom!” he exclaims to Tara. She’s sitting beside Dacia on a velvet loveseat in the parlor, waiting to meet my grandparents who are still preparing for the day in their upstairs suite. “Get this—they got a screening room here. It’s, like, a real movie theater—inside this house! They don’t have a Nintendo, but there’s actually a freaking game room with, like, a pool table and a juke box!”

“Where are Tommy and Wendy?” she asks, clearly uncomfortable with the opulent environment. “I seem to have lost track of them.” She fidgets with her empty mimosa glass. “I should find them.”

“No worries—they’re with Uncle Tris. Them three dropped outta the tour when we hit the library.”

“What caught their attention in the library?” Dacia asks, as entertained as Tara is anxious.

“Wendy started begging ‘Uncle Tis’ to check for storybooks about lambs. If he didn’t say yes, she was seriously gonna start bawling. And Tommy saw this weird sculpture of a dude reading a book, and you know how he is about stuff like that.”

“Your Tommy must be similar in some ways to my grandson.” Grandmother finally makes her appearance in the parlor. She stands stiffly in the doorway beside my beaming grandfather. And as always, Grandmother is the picture of uptight class in her tailored burgundy dress and high-heeled black boots. “Young Julian made that sculpture in high school.”

“Who the heck is young Julian?” Jared never pulls any punches.

“Jared, that is not a polite way to talk to our host.” Tara briefly hides her face in her hands before demanding, “You need to apologize right now.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry yourself… I appreciate the quality of directness in a person.” The severe expression in Grandmother’s eyes and the tightness of her narrow lips soften. “Our young Julian is who I believe you have come to know as Remi.”

“Coach Remi,” Jared corrects her. “And Wendy calls him Emmie.”

“Emmie, is it?” Grandfather chuckles. “Suits you, son.”

Tara and Dacia stand to greet my grandparents. I abandon my spot in the corner of the room, where I’m leaning against the wall as inconspicuously as possible, and step between them.

“Grandmother, Grandfather, please meet my friends, Tara Wilder and Dacia Mondavi.”

“And me—I’m Jared. I’m a striker.”

Grandfather’s smile widens. “I’m so very pleased to meet our grandson’s friends.” He shakes hands with each of them, holding Jared’s hand longer than the others. “And Jared, you have no idea how wonderful it is to see a young man like you in our home. It’s been years since our grandson ran these hallways.”

“You got the coolest house ever. Is there a bowling alley here too?”

“No, but there is an indoor swimming pool—warm enough to swim in all year.”

“Dang. Should’ve brought my swim trunks.”

“Tara, we’d very much like to meet your brother and two other children,” Grandmother says.

“I have a feeling I’m going to need to drag them out of the library,” I tell her.

“No need—we’re here,” says Tristan, who is carrying Wendy and Bah-Bah Lamb Baby. Tommy trails along behind them.

Wendy squirms from Tristan’s arms to show the book she is holding to Grandmother. “See this book—it’s ’bout farm animals.”

“No. It’s about restoring and preserving agricultural soil,” she corrects Wendy with a sour expression.

“It’s about cows… Tell her, Uncle Tis.” Wendy shakes her head and holds up four fingers. “Look—one, two, three, four—four cows.” She points to the cover.

Tristan offers a compromise. “There are cow drawings on the cover of the soil book.”

“Spoken like a true diplomat. You must be Tristan.” Grandmother extends her hand, which Tristan accepts politely.

“I’m Tristan. This young lady is Wendy, and Tommy’s over there in the corner.”

“I can draw a cow better than the ones on that book, Remi’s Grandma. Wanna see?” Tommy asks.

“Please call us Mr. and Mrs. Remington.” Grandmother covers her mouth with her hand, stunned by Tommy’s familiarity.

“Mr. and Mrs. R might be easier for them,” I suggest.

“That will have to do.”

“Want me to draw you a cow, Mrs. R?” Tommy asks, unphased.

“Oh, I suppose so. Henry,” she calls to the butler, “could you please find some colored pencils and printer paper for Tommy? Set him up to draw on the desk in the living room.”

“Miss Emmie-ton, I wanna draw too.”

Grandmother gawks at Wendy.

“Of course, Wendy,” I reply.

Our crowd relocates to the living room where a fire roars in the huge fieldstone fireplace.

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