Writing Challenge: Family Dinner

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

Nurse Watson slammed her hands down upon the counter of Mount St. Mary's Hospital, her eyes sending a skyward plea before settling their ferocious gaze on the man before her. "Mr. Gage! I have said 'No' thirteen ti-"

"Eleven."

Her knuckles turned white as they gripped the edge of the counter, her brow furrowing in frustration and decision. "The answer. Is no." And with that, Nurse Watson trudged off down the hallway, her shoulders squared, her head shaking, and a muttered stream of annoyed expletives flowing from her mouth. Stephen Gage was far from the picture of serenity himself, his lips turned down in a scowl as he tossed Nurse Watson's back a look such that the world had never seen before. His arms were folded across his chest, fingers tapping along the sleeves of the leather jacket his new boyfriend Cedric had bought for him. They were meant to spend Thanksgiving together, the two of them and Cedric's young charge, Zachary.

But Stephen found himself miles away, holed up inside of a hospital in Idaho while the wind whipped outside. He glanced towards the window, nothing but darkness and whistling, rushing wind beyond it. He hated winter. But there was something far more pressing, more dear to his heart than a hatred of the cold, motivating Stephen Gage.

Cranberry sauce.

Or more accurately, the small thanksgiving dinner that he'd spread across Nurse Watson's counter for inspection. Thanksgiving Day, and the young girl he was meant to be recruiting was caught in a hospital, her parents firmly under the belief that she was some machination of the devil. Alone on Thanksgiving was not acceptable, at least not for those Stephen deemed his "kids." It had been an... interesting drive between the hospital and the store, and he was missing a few ingredients, but Stephen had braved wind and terrifying nurses to get this far. He certainly wasn't going to stop simply because somebody had pissed in Nurse Goebbels' cornflakes.

Stephen looked left, down the hall. Nobody. He looked right, scared that the Nurse Fuhrer might still be breathing down his neck. Nope, nobody. He took a deep breath, gathered the tiny, pre-cooked turkey, the canned cranberry sauce, the two rolls, and the pre-packaged mashed potatoes in his arms.

And ran.

Room 387 and he had become well-acquainted by this point, and the route was a familiar one. Left, right, straight, right, right, left, straight, fourth-room-on-the-left. Stephen's long legs carried him with impressive speed down the corridors, slowing to a casual pace only when he'd been spotted and picking up again the very moment he was out of sight. A boyish sort of glee arose on his face as he shot through the halls, a smile holding back laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of how he must have looked. He dropped the mashed potatoes! No, he'd gone too far, the voyage back too dangerous. They had lived a good life.

He slammed the door to 387 shut almost as quickly as he'd exploded through it, sending young Rachael Dawkins shooting up in fright and surprise. The eight-year old's eyes were wide, and she laid back down only when she was certain that the heavily-breathing, giggling figure leaning against her door was the nice man who'd introduced her and Mr. Fuffles, her bear. The bear hung at her side, bearing the injuries of being crushed and loved and hugged by the very young recruits Stephen had met earlier. His name, actually, was not Mr. Fuffles. He never really had one until Rachael had asked after it. Stephen found himself caught by surprise and, in his rush, had simply mispronounced "Mr. Fluff."

But Mr. Fuffles he had said, and Mr. Fuffles it was. Rachael clutched the bear by the leg, ready and raring to chuck it like a ballistic missile at the intruder before realization hit her. "Stephen?"

Just coming down from his giggle fit, Stephen nodded before he could get entire words out. "Hi Rachael. How's Mr. Fuffles?"

She spoke casually, as only small children can, as if this were a situation she encountered on a daily basis. "He's fine. I think you got something on you." she said, jabbing a finger at her cheek and pointing to him. He rubbed the back of his hand along his own. Huh, so he did. Some of the potatoes had made it after all. "What's all that?"

Stephen stepped forward, popping out the tray connected to Rachael's hospital bed. "Well, I figured it's Thanksgiving, yeah?" He shot her a smile, putting the food on the tray before her as she nodded. "You're here, I'm here, Mr... Fuffles?" Another nod. "Fuffles is here. Might as well have our own little feast."

"Do you have any fish?"

Stephen paused, curious. "Any what?"

"Fish."

"You know what? Fresh out. Why?"

"Mr. Fuffles is a bear, obviously. Bears eat fish. I saw it on the Discovery Channel."

Well, she got him there. Stephen offered a quick apology to Mr. Fuffles, and Rachael assured him that his offense was not too grievous to eclipse the possibility of forgiveness. He dragged a chair over to the edge of her bed, jabbing at the can of cranberry sauce with a metal spool until he cracked through the container. "Want some?"

She nodded emphatically, and pulled the can towards her. "Thank you, Stephen."

He shook his head, pointing at the bear. "Thank him, it was his idea."

"Thank you Mr. Fuffles."

Stephen held back another laugh at the sight, instead offering a salute to the bear. He dug the spoon's edge into the turkey, carving out a slice for her. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Fuffles."

The past few months had been strained, ever since that blasted movie and then the Fourth of July barbecue. Sean had dreaded Thanksgiving this year, but Alex was still closeted to his family, and so he couldn’t spend the holiday with him. Their parents were in Ireland as part of their anniversary vacation – a six week tour of Europe – which was almost enough to make Sean miss the holiday with his sister. After all, his parents wouldn’t remark on his absence. Or they would, but they would not have the opportunity to do so until Christmas, and at that point, they would only know from word of mouth.

What made the decision for him was that he couldn’t spend the holiday with Josh and his family, due to logistics. And he did want to see Ryan.

He arrived at Kathleen’s house at noon, carrying the cooler he had filled with pies; he had brought five of them, since Colin’s family was here too. He’d also brought chocolate turkeys for Ryan and his cousins; and he had a flask in his interior jacket pocket for good measure.

In the stereotypes that were his extended family, the women were in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on supper while the men were in the living room watching the football pre-game and talking politics. Thankful that it wasn’t an election year – lest he have to listen to gloating or whining depending on the outcome - he settled into the kitchen to give his greetings and drop off his pies. Everyone waved to him over their pots and cutting boards, and while Kathleen feigned a smile, she didn’t hug him.

Although it hurt, he hadn’t expected her to.

Offering to help, he retreated from the kitchen – a tray in each hand – to join the men in the living room. The children were nowhere to be found, and Sean assumed that since he hadn’t seen them playing in the yard when he’d arrived, that they were up in Ryan’s room playing video games or trading baseball cards, or doing whatever it was children did during these brief get-togethers. As soon as he set the platters down, one of Colin’s brothers handed him a beer and invited him to join the discussion, and he sank into the nearest available armchair.

It could be worse. Even if he inwardly grimaced at some of the predictions for the primaries as they were only a few months away. The usual questions followed about how his job was going and whether it was snowing in Vermont yet – it was, although it had been clear the past couple of days.

At least everyone in the family rooted for the same football team, which meant unification on that front. Hopefully the Giants would win their game. Sean let his thoughts drift as the conversation shifted from politics to the mindless exchange of football stats.

Sometime later, the children came into the living room – they weren’t wearing jackets which fueled Sean’s “they were upstairs” theory – and he handed out chocolate and hugs. At least Ryan and his cousins were genuinely glad to see him. And although he was of no real relation to Colin’s siblings’ children, they called him “Uncle Sean” too. One of them had just lost a tooth and whistled when she spoke, and a couple of the younger ones had been making themed projects: hand-traced turkeys, construction paper feathers and belt buckles and the like. The ones Ryan’s age who, unlike his nephew, were interested in sports settled by their father’s chairs to watch the game.

Ryan bypassed his father – which would make a lesser man feel smug but only made Sean feel relieved – to sit on the edge of Sean’s armchair. They had catching up to do. Ryan began to describe the new year at school and all of the activities he’d been involved with. Then he wanted help with his chemistry homework and while Colin made a half-hearted remark about this not being the appropriate time for schoolwork, the psychiatrist was happy to oblige.

While it had been decades since his practical experience with chemistry, he did work at a school, and high school science had always come to him easily. They retreated upstairs – Sean relinquishing his armchair in the process to one of the late-comers.

Sitting down on the bed, Ryan shut his door and then confessed that he didn’t have chemistry homework. He had a report for history about meta-humans, and he hadn’t told his parents about it because of how strange they’d been the past few months. Sean could add the myriad other moments where his parents had expressed their discomfort with the notion of meta-human abilities, but he wasn’t here to pile on Ryan about his parents; after all, they were the only parents he had and he’d had no role in choosing them or shaping their behaviors.

Ryan had questions about being meta-human, since Sean was the only one he knew. He promised to keep his uncle’s name off the report to keep it anonymous, since his teacher had already said they could do that for their interview.

Sean was happy to oblige. Ryan asked questions and the telepath answered them. The rest of the afternoon involved anecdotes and statistics, in-depth analysis of what it felt like to hear not just one voice in his mind, but everyone’s and reflections on just what power he would choose if he’d had the option, and how his choices changed over the years.

Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin when his mother knocked on the door, to tell them that supper was on the table.

“The table” wasn’t quite accurate, as there were three large tables because of how many people they had. Two for the adults and one for children.

Sean took his customary seat beside Kathleen, who sat across from Colin who led everyone in grace. Sean kept his head bowed out of a desire to get through this without incident rather than an interest in prayer. Then came the tradition of going around all three tables while everyone gave one reason they were thankful; because the children were present, this never became too political or controversial, and Sean added “happiness and loved ones” at his turn.

This was followed by the tradition of the children fighting over drumsticks while the adults fought to make sure that there was enough white meat to go around. Sean preferred dark meat, which was one of the reasons he was usually welcome at any meal where poultry was served.

The meal itself was fine. There was enough food to feed an army, and the beer and wine kept flowing. Sean kept an eye on his intake, since he had to drive later that night, but he didn’t get tipsy. And only a few of the other adults did, which was an accomplishment in this family.

Everything went smoothly – smoothly enough – until supper had ended; the men and the children had returned to the living room, and the women were serving up dessert and coffee. Sean had been sitting with Ryan and his cousins, playing cards for M&Ms, when his sister strolled into the living room, quietly furious. He heard the accusation in her mind and excused himself from the game before she asked to see him. The kitchen was too populated, as almost a dozen people were puttering about making different coffee blends, putting the finishing touches on dessert, and packing away leftovers.

So they found themselves up in Ryan’s room, on a different floor which would muffle the sounds of conversation; the fact that it invaded her son’s privacy didn’t seem to bother her. Then again, she’d been up in Ryan’s room earlier, which had triggered this latest round. Sean didn’t know why she had been snooping around Ryan’s bedroom between supper and dessert; one would think that she had better things to do with a house full of guests on Thanksgiving than to go through her son’s room, but that was yet another difference between Kathleen and her older brother when it came to parenting.

The accusations flew the minute she shut the door. “What do you think you’re doing, filling Ryan’s head with propaganda?”

Sean blinked at her in surprise, and then glanced at the desk where Ryan’s notes were and then back at her. “It isn’t propaganda; it’s my life. And he needed some help for school. For a report.”

“A report?” Her tone betrayed the fact that she found it a lame excuse. “Ryan never mentioned a report like this for school.”

Although the telepath more often than not tried not to make waves, he felt that this time, after they’d had variations on this same argument for months, he couldn’t let it go. “Maybe with your views on metas, he didn’t feel too comfortable bringing it up.”

His sister’s back stiffened, obviously not expecting that and not wanting to hear any critique of her parenting, of her beliefs, or of her relationship with Ryan. “My son wouldn’t go behind my back.”

“Your son a teenager and in high school,” Sean retorted. He’d been in college when Kathleen had been a high school student, and she hadn’t exactly been perfect herself. “He isn’t a little boy anymore, and he has his own opinions and curiosities.”

“You mean you want him to have your opinions.”

It was a strong accusation, one which was uncalled for but expected given her views. It was better to hide from any exposure to other opinions or to contradictory information rather than to engage in critical thinking or be proven wrong. In that context, wanting Ryan to have awareness was the equivalent of destroying his soul.

Sean had tried to keep it to himself, but he couldn’t after these past months. Not when she made these groundless accusations, risking his nephew’s future and perspective and their relationship in the process. He shook his head and retorted, “The world isn’t black and white, and I’ve tried to respect that. I went to his confirmation, remember? Didn’t I keep my mouth shut the whole time? I didn’t bring up politics once tonight; I didn’t bring Alex. We left the barbecue without further complaint. I’m not the one who’s ashamed of her only sibling because his life isn’t what I wanted.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Kathleen told him defensively. And before she could stop herself, the words had left her lips. “I’m horrified.”

He should have seen it coming; the signs had been there: her disgust, her constant distrust of his telepathy, her reluctance to have visits. Yes, just as with every breakup he’d lived through, this came as a complete shock.

It was like she’d struck him; it would have hurt less with her fists. “You’re my baby sister and I’d never hurt you. And you should know that.” He didn’t get angry often, but this was too much. Forty-three years of their sibling relationship meant nothing to her, because he was innately a threat merely for being who he was. “I did so much to protect you.”

“Protect me? People mocked me; you never protected me. I was that weird meta boy’s little sister; my school years were Hell. And then when I finally made a normal life for myself with Colin, you manage to blow it with your activism and scary powers and your…your gay lifestyle. You work for that school and could brainwash us all. And then you help Ryan write this...this awful story about being a meta. I don’t know who you are anymore, but you’re not my brother.”

Sean’s face turned to stone and he turned his back on her. “Then I won’t be.”

He didn’t say goodbye; he merely left the room – calmly, ever calmly – and went downstairs. He grabbed his coat, and as Ryan looked over at him, curious, he said, “I’m going for a drive.” Telepathically, he added, I’m sorry, Buddy. But I’ll be in touch.

Then he was gone.