Alfred returns to the table with a look of concern on his face.
“Is Pamela okay?”
He nods that she is.
But I notice that my brother isn’t eating. I’m not hungry either. Something is going on, something under the surface, looming in the depths. I can see the shadows. I can’t name the beast, but it’s there, lurking. I can feel it. And when I look at my brother, I know that he can too.
“Oh, Val, tell Feen about Buenos Aires. She hasn’t heard any details,” June says.
My mother kicks me under the table.
“It was really nice,” I say.
“That’s all?” Feen says critically. “I get on the bus and go gambling in Atlantic City—now that’s nice. But Argentina? That should be something more. Am I right?” Feen waves her fork around.
“Tell about the river walk, and the cobblestones,” June persists.
“They were lovely.”
Silence settles over the table. “But you have people there, right?”
“Yes, Aunt Feen.”
“I never saw any pictures.”
“I have them. I can show you later.”
“Okay. Nothing like waiting months on end to see your relatives who I never met and probably never will. I’ll be dead, and then maybe you’ll get off your duff and think, Sheesh, should’ve shown Aunt Feen the pictures. You’d think you’d have made a video or something. I’m never gonna get on a plane again. I’d like to see your long-lost cousins before I die.”
“You will, Aunt Feen,” I assure her.
The kids giggle as they poke the glitter pumpkins with their forks. “Don’t destroy the table,” my mother says to them nicely.
“You know, when you get to be my age, it’s a bad idea to withhold anything. That includes mail. I could win the lottery, and if I died, right before I found out, let’s say. You know, none of youse could collect the money? That’ll show you. You know, I could go in a heartbeat. Boom. One minute here, the next, I’m code blue. So, if you wouldn’t mind, get the pictures.”
“Later, Aunt Feen,” Tess pipes up.
My brother-in-law Charlie shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Who wants to go to the park?” my brother-in-law Tom says.
Chiara, Rocco, Alfred, and Charisma leap out of their seats. “The baby is fussy. She needs air.” He kisses Jaclyn on the cheek. The truth is, Tom needs air. These family dinners don’t sustain him—they literally choke him.
Tess helps the girls into their coats. Alfred zips up the boys’ parkas. “You want me to go with?” Alfred asks Tom.
“Nope. We’ll be fine,” he says as he drops baby Teodora into the snuggly. “The big girls and boys will help.”
“We will!” Chiara promises, but that devilish look returns to her face as she narrows her eyes. She probably plans to hail a cab, throw the baby in, and send her on a joyride through the five boroughs.
“And when you guys get back, we’ll go up on the roof for chestnuts and marshmallows, okay?”
The kids shout in delight as they race down the stairs.
“Kids, they are balls of energy,” June laughs.
“That’s why I never had any.” Feen takes the napkin from her lap and tucks it into her collar and spreads it across her chest. “They destroy everything they touch.”
I drain my wineglass. I look down at my food, which I still haven’t tasted. But I’m on my third glass of wine. Not good.
“So get the pictures,” Aunt Feen insists.
“Later.” I force a smile.
“Val’s not done eating, Aunt Feen,” Mom says hurriedly.
“She can eat, and I can look at pictures.”
“We are not looking at pictures!” Charlie bellows.
“Why the hell not?” Feen demands.
“Not while my children are here.”
“Technically, they’re at the park,” Mom offers helpfully.
“What difference does that make?” Aunt Feen looks around, confused. Her eyeballs bounce around in her head like slot machine lemons.
“I don’t want them to walk in and see the pictures,” Charlie says firmly.
“Are they pornos or something?” Feen throws up her hands.
“They are not…pornos.” My mother squeezes the word out, not wanting to allude to pornography at a family meal (or any other time, for that matter).
“Tell your aunt what the problem is, Ma,” Charlie says.
“There isn’t a problem,” I correct him. “At least not to thinking people.”
“What are you saying?” Charlie looks at me.
“Stop squabbling and get the pictures,” Aunt Feen says. “When Tessie and I die, you people are all that’s left. Our blood line will collapse like a tapped vein. So you found some relations on your side and I want to see them. What’s the big deal?”
“Not now,” Mom says.
“But I don’t understand why…,” Aunt Feen persists.
“Because they are black,” Charlie blurts. “That’s right. African American.”
Aunt Feen is confused.
“They can’t be African American—because they are not American. They are Argentinian,” I correct him. “But even that isn’t exactly right—they are a mix of many cultures, Ecuadorian, African, and Italian.”
“No matter how you mix it, there’s still one predominant color—and that would be black,” Charlie corrects me.
“No, it’s a mix.”
“A mix.” Feen is surprised. I guess Gram didn’t paint the fine details about our long-lost relatives. Aunt Feen thinks. Then she says, “Well, what did you expect? They’re south of Mexico.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Mom interjects.
“Huh. Look at a map.” Feen shrugs.
“Okay, look. Before this careens headlong into a stone wall, let me just say that I met our family, I like them, they’re good people, and Alfred and I are in business with them. Yes, they are black, and they are also Italian.”
“Blah blah blah,” Feen mumbles.
“That’s right. They are both. And they’re beautiful people.” I sound like an idiot. But I realize, in the center of this ridiculous argument, I react like one.
“Of course you’d say that.” Charlie taps his fork on the table.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I turn to Charlie.
“You accept anything. You’re a liberal.”
“What does that have to do with our family in Argentina?”
“You’re happy to have black people in the family. Sure, sure, let everybody in.” He waves his arms around. “What’s the difference to you?”
“There is none. Who cares what color they are?”
“I do. I don’t want my girls coming home with black guys. Okay? I’m all for equal rights, and everybody’s one and the same in God’s rainbow. I just don’t want them to marry it.”
“Charlie!” June pushes her chair away from the table. “Are you serious?”
“He’s serious.” Tess shakes her head sadly. Clearly, they’ve been fighting about this for months.
Charlie looks around the table for support. “Dad, back me up on this.”
“Hey, since I got the cancer, nothing bothers me.” Dad holds up his hands. “I love the world and everybody in it.”
“Thanks,” Charlie sneers.
“It’s not my husband’s fault that we have blacks in the family,” Mom says.
“It’s not anybody’s fault, Ma,” I say.
“I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” Mom shakes out her hands as she does whenever she’s nervous. “It’s just that whenever we start talking about race relations, I never say the right thing.”
“You’re fine,” I reassure her. “There’s nothing wrong with having black relatives.”
“Not to you,” Charlie says.
I turn to him. “It’s not like I discovered our cousins are running a drug cartel.”
“How do we know they’re not?”
/> “Oh, Charlie—you’re really sick.” I can’t help it. I haven’t eaten, and I’m losing all perspective. I could bite the ass of a wild bear right now.
Mom defends me. “Look, Charlie. Valentine did not go to Argentina to unearth some family secret—”
“Oh, yes, she did—she found that goddamned drawing, Tess told me, and then she went on a hunt to find Ralph—”
“Rafael,” I correct him.
“Rafael—whatever—and then she gets on a plane and goes down there and gets in business with these people. Come on. What are we doing here?”
I find myself standing, leaning across the table. “Charlie, how dare you! Nobody has asked you for anything—ever. You rolled into this family, and we’ve been damn good to you. When you and Tess needed help buying a house, we all pitched in—”
“Oh, now you throw that up in my face—”
“It’s true. But you’re not grateful. Well, the black side of me loaned you the money, okay?” I yell.
Tess stands up. “Everybody calm down.”
Gabriel hands me a bread stick. He lives with me. He knows a low blood sugar dive when he sees one. “He needs help!” I point to my brother-in-law. I realize that I’m tipsy. I hold the table.
Charlie gets up from the table. “Sit down, Charlie,” my father yells. “Nobody leaves the room.”
Charlie sits down.
“I will not have this.” My father pounds the table. “I will not have a rift. Nobody leaves until we settle this.”
“Well, good luck on that front, nephew.” Aunt Feen picks her teeth with her name-tag flag from the pumpkin.
We sit in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. “I’m leaving,” Pamela announces from the doorway behind us.
We turn to face Pamela, who stands in the entrance to the hallway. She has on her coat.
“Oh, Pam, you’re up, how’s that migraine? Come and eat. The stuffing is as good as my mother’s,” Mom says.
“Don’t condescend to me.”
“I wasn’t condescending.” Mom looks around the table at all of us. “Was I?”
Tess and Jaclyn shake their heads that Mom was not.
“Go ahead. Stick together.” Pamela looks at my sisters.
“Are you all right, Pamela?” June asks. “Am I missing something?”
“This. This is what you’re missing. And what I’ve been missing.” Pamela hurls a piece of paper on the table. I pick it up and smooth it out. From the looks of it, Pamela has had it balled up in her angry fist for hours. It’s a printout of an e-mail.
“Read it,” she barks at me. “I printed it out at home and memorized it on the train. Go on. Read it.”
“Read what?” my father asks. “What’s on the paper, Val?”
Alfred puts his face in his hands. “It’s me. It’s my fault.”
“What is your fault?” My mom asks softly.
“Everything. It’s my fault.”
My mother strokes her turkey brooch and thinks. Then she says, “Did you…did you break the law? Did you steal, Alfred?”
He looks at her like she’s insane.
Mom leans back in her chair, relieved. “He did spend twenty-three years on Wall Street. Every day you pick up the paper and some other muckety-muck is on his way to the slammer for things he was unaware he was doing. The financial world is so complex.”
“Then what in God’s name did you do?” Feen barks at Alfred.
“He had an affair!” Pamela shouts. “An affair. He cheated on me. Happy Holiday, everybody!”
“Pam…,” my sister Tess says quietly.
“Don’t Pam me. I’m Clackety-Cluck—remember?”
“Clickety-Click,” Jaclyn corrects her.
“Whatever. Feel free to call me anything you want because I’m outta here! You made me feel like the outsider all these years, and guess what? It was true. I was different. I was normal—and you, you’re all crazy! I knew you were a pack of loonies before I married him, but it’s only gotten worse. And I only put up with you quirky bastards because I loved your son. But your son has decided he doesn’t love me anymore. He went out whoring around—”
Alfred leaps to his feet. “That’s not true, Pam. I love you.”
“Words! Words! That’s all you got for me? They got a million of those in the dictionary!”
Dad nods. “True, true.”
Pamela runs her hands down the sides of her body, from her bust to her waist and down to her hips. “Alfred. Look at me,” she commands.
Alfred looks down at the table; his head hangs in shame.
Pam lowers her voice to a growl. “I said. Look. At. Me.”
Alfred looks up at Pamela, his eyes filled with tears.
“I kept the deal. I am the girl you married. I didn’t change. I didn’t gain fifteen pounds, then lose five and gain back twenty on that Jenny Craig seesaw your mother’s been on all of her married life.”
My mother gasps.
“That’s right!” Pam shouts. “Lose the damn weight already!”
My mother, horrified, pulls her tummy in and sits up straight.
“Look at me. Size two December 1994 and size two November 2010. How many women can say that at forty-one years of age when they’ve given birth to babies with heads the size of bowling balls?”
“Sweet Jesus,” my father mutters.
“I got you all pegged. Each and every one of you. He cheats, but you all cheat! You all lie! You spread stories, you gossip—”
“We discuss things, yes, but—” my mother tries to defend herself.
“Ma, you’re the worst!” Pamela charges the table. “Everybody knows you tuck tags into dresses you’ve bought and wear them once and return them for a full refund!”
“Only once! I did that once!”
“It’s cheating, okay? It’s against the law!”
“It was a chartreuse gown, and it didn’t do a thing for me. But my back was against the wall, and I had to wear it.”
“And you.” Pamela points to me. “You’re a thief. Your neighbor, Mr. Matera, was dead for two years and you took his newspaper and read it every morning.”
“It was a glitch. I reported it to USA Today eventually.” My face burns hot with embarrassment.
“And you—” Pamela points to Tess. “Telling the ticket guy at Great Adventure that both of your children were under six, when they were seven and nine at the time. You made your own children crawl into the park on their knees to get in for free.”
“They wouldn’t honor my coupon,” Tess says in her own defense.
“It’s still cheating!” Pamela screeches.
“And you—” She points to Jaclyn. “You re-gift! That’s right. I gave you the Estée Lauder makeup kit for your birthday, and it wound up under the Christmas tree for Tess…from …you!”
“It was more her palette, not mine,” Jaclyn stutters. “I’m a winter, and she’s a summer…”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s still cheating!”
“I was with you till the re-gift,” June says generously. “That’s just a skin tone thing.”
“Her point would be that we’re all sinners here,” Dad explains to June.
“Yeah, Dad, that’s my point. And chew on this. I can’t believe I got mixed up with this bunch when I knew better. I saw all the signs, but I loved you so much, Alfred, I sucked it up and joined this lot of losers! Out of all the families in Queens, out of the millions of families, I marry into this one!”
“I take umbrage—” My mother raises her voice.
“Take the umbrage. Take it all. I’m done with you people.” Pamela paces back and forth behind the table like a prosecutor on Law & Order. “And you know what? Charlie and Tom feel the same way. That’s right, when you’re whispering about us, you got it: we’re talking about you! That’s right, the in-laws carp about you! Why do you think Tom is always going out for walks? Nobody likes fresh air that much! He can’t take you people! And Charlie? Tell ’em, Charlie. Tell them how
you make up phony excuses about work so that you’re only forced to attend two major holidays a year!”
Tess turns to her husband. “Is that true?”
Charlie shrugs that it is.
“Well, then—” Tess explodes. “Guess what? Our next vacation destination is Buenos Aires! That’s right! We’re camping out with the South American side of the family!”
Charlie, embarrassed to be outed, reaches to put his arm around Tess. She lurches away from him.
“I’ve listened to you people complain for eighteen years, and I’m over it! If it wasn’t politics, it was religion. If it wasn’t RC Incorporated, it was your almighty gravy.” Pamela holds her hands tightly in fists and shouts. “I don’t care if you use garlic powder or real cloves in your gravy! It’s just sauce! Tomatoes and water! Eat it and shut up already! Stop complaining!”
“Who complains? I don’t hear any complaints,” Feen says.
Pamela ignores her and continues. “Thank God I didn’t let myself go! I wanted to—believe me. I wanted to wear Uggs and eat potato chips and watch The Real Housewives of South Bend, but I didn’t! I kept it all together! I hung on! It’s a damn good thing I kept my figure, because now I’m gonna be on my own—and this body is gonna be my revenge!” Pamela holds her hands high in the air in victory. “It’s my ticket out! You watch me.”
Gabriel is draped over the kitchen counter with his face propped in his hands as though he’s riveted to Night 3 of The Thorn Birds on TCM. Without taking his eyes off the theatrics, he dips a spoon into the bowl of cannoli filling and eats it. Aunt Feen cackles with glee under her breath as our family crumbles like blue cheese on greens before her eyes. My mother weeps into her napkin.
I read the crumpled e-mail silently to myself.
Dearest Alfred,
Our time was not now, our days were not our own, but our feelings were real. Never forget how much I love you. Happy Thanksgiving, dear Fredo, I will always be grateful for the time we had together. My love always, Kathleen
The laptop computer, open on the kitchen counter, rings once. Then again. Then a third time.
“It’s Gram on Skype,” I say.
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