“So, Walker, what’s your major?” I’m mid bite on this dry as fuck turkey, when Salem’s Uncle Greg asks me this question. After being grilled by Salem’s grandmother this afternoon, I’ve had it with having to be personable, but the last thing I want is to make this dinner even more difficult for Salem. So, I smile, swallow my piece of turkey and answer, “Business.”
He’s a stout man in his mid-forties. He’s clearly in the beginning stages of balding but trying to cover it up by styling his hair over the bald patch I can see peeking through every time he moves his head.
“Solid. That’s a solid choice.” He says, giving me approval, I didn’t ask for.
“Isn’t that your major, Salem?” His wife, I think her name is Tilda, or Tina, maybe Tiffany, asks. She’s a slight woman whose face looks like she’s spent her whole life sucking on a lemon.
“Yep. Business.” Salem answers, voice clipped, as she pulls at the hem of her black and white striped dress. I pull her hand into mine, placing it on my thigh. She gives me a grateful smile.
I know she’s strong. I’ve seen her hold her own more times than anyone I’ve ever met, but it unnerves me to see how unsettled she is here with these people.
“It’s so nice to see you finally on the right path. And it looks like you’ve lost some weight. Health is so important.” Her Aunt Taffy, or Tabitha says.
“Thanks Aunt Trinidad. Although, I don’t know why you think it’s appropriate to comment on my body.” Oh right, Trinidad. I knew it started with a ‘T.’
“Salem, please. Not now.” Her grandmother says, wiping her face with a napkin.
“I was just giving you a compliment, Salem. No need to get so defensive.”
“No, you weren’t. It sounds nice, but really, it’s a dig at me, as usual.”
“Salem, it’s Thanksgiving. Could we not do this?” Her grandmother says, taking a swig of her red wine.
“Walker, you see what you’re getting into?” Uncle Greg asks me with a wink, like we’re in cahoots.
“Yeah, I see. I see how you all think you can talk to Salem however you want, expecting her to take it. I see how much you hate that she has a backbone to stand up for herself.” I say and watch his mouth open and close like a fish out of water.
“There’s nothing wrong with pointing out how far she’s come. Finally, something to be proud of.” Her aunt snaps.
“There was plenty to be proud of before. I’m not sure why you all act like I’m not worth anything unless I’m meeting your expectations. You guys never talk like this to each other, only me. Why?”
“Salem, really. You act like the world revolves around you.” Her grandmother says, shoving a piece of stuffing in her mouth.
“That’s not even remotely true. You’ve all hurt me for years, cutting me down, making me feel like I was never good enough. And when I point out how your words are hurting me, you turn it around and make me into the villain. You never take accountability for the way you talk to me.”
“Greg, I think it’s time we take the kids and head home.” Aunt Trinidad says, throwing down her napkin in a huff.
“I think you’re right.” Uncle Greg says, pushing back his chair.
“No, please. Greg, Trinidad. It’s Thanksgiving.” Salem’s grandmother says. “Please, stay. We haven’t even had pie yet.”
Salem and I exchange a worried look at the mention of pie.
“The food was excellent. We’ll be back in a few weeks when present company isn’t around.” Aunt Trinidad says cutting a stern look over at us before they hightail it out the door.
“I hope you’re happy.” Grandma Clementine says taking another swig of her drink.
After a few tense moments, the rest of the family decide to head out, leaving just the three of us and our empty plates.
“Grandma, can I ask you something since it’s just us here now?” Salem asks.
“If you must.” She says, leaning back in her chair that sits at the head of the table.
“Are we witches?”
Her grandma looks over at me. “What a thing to ask.”
“Grandma, it’s fine. He knows.” Salem says.
