Ding dong. I open the door.  It’s Jane (husband Ned’s aunt) with Uncle Charlie. Let the games begin.

Jane enters and scans the room haughtily. “Well, hello there! I love this house. It’s a bit small, though. Where will you entertain? You look well. Look, before I forget, I brought an early Christmas gift for your mother-in-law.”

“Er, thank you. Please come in and have a seat. Let me take your coat,” I manage as I gawk at today’s ensemble of a sea-foam green skirt and jacket over a crisp white blouse. Honest to God, she has never shown up to a function not in a business suit. Does she even own pants? Would her legs catch on fire if she wore jeans? This is the same suit I saw her in at the pool party. Yes, you read that correctly. She was hanging poolside in a suit while everyone else was in summer attire.

“Oh, Madge, here is a little gift for you!” Jane says in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, thanks,” says Madge, her eyes wide with apprehension. By the look on her face, she is hoping the gift isn’t ticking.

Ned breaks the ice. “Please everyone, help yourselves to the appetizers. Drinks are over on the buffet table.”

Madge, with the trepidation of someone experienced in the wildness that is Jane, slowly unwraps the gift and opens a box. “Oh, it’s… curlers… Hair curlers.”

All eyes leap to the fat one-inch curlers and back to Madge’s tightly curled, very short perm. She’s always worn her hair that way and has zero use for these. Oh boy. Hahahaha!

“What’s this?” says Madge slowly. There are several dark hairs stuck to the bright white curlers. Jaws around the room drop in horror. No one says a word.

“I was cleaning out my mother’s house and thought you could use them,” blurts Jane.

“Mmmmpppphhhh!” A loud choking sound is heard. Ned coughs, but it sounds suspiciously like laughter smothered. Oh man, this woman is a piece of work. Her husband is the vice-president of a large bank. They have a million-dollar home. Small snickering sounds can be heard from the sofa where the kids are sitting. Ned, aghast, jumps in.

“Hey, it looks like dinner is ready. Why don’t we head into the dining room?”

The party of eight is seated around the table. Dinner is a bit of a fiasco, with Jane deciding it’s a good time to teach the kids etiquette. The turkey gravy was waaayy too salty. The asparagus sat too long and was limp. Ned and I are tense, hoping people behave themselves. Jane is busy asking people where they “summer” and talking about her neighbors, the duPonts. Always the name-dropper, she is. Jane gets in a body blow to Madge about her downsizing to a smaller house, telling her she doesn’t like to visit. “It’s just too small,” she sniffs. Her eyes dart around the room. She looks shifty, like she is plotting.

My mom looks at a picture on the wall. “Oh, where was that picture taken?”

“France,” says Ned. My mom’s eyes widen, her arms freeze at her sides, and the silence speaks volumes. The elephant in the room has made an appearance. Those who shall not be named in company—my birth family—have been referenced. The tension from Mom and James is palpable. I can feel my face flushing bright red.

“Oh look, you made Grandma’s never-fail fudge cake. You’ve inherited my gene for loving chocolate,” exclaims my mom. I paste on my blank mask and smile. For the love of God, I think. Not this stuff again. Another trip into fantasy land. I decide it’s not worth it to correct her.

“You knew I liked that,” said James. “You made it for your favorite brother. I’m your ONLY brother,” he emphasizes. Oooh lucky me, I think. Thanks for the abuse that scarred me for life. I’ve been in contact with the birth family for over a decade and have a half-brother, but whatever.

Desperate for a change in topic, I glance around the table. Just as I am about to ask James about work, Jane chimes in.

“Look, I brought some earrings from Sister Mary, my aunt. It’s in this little box. Aren’t they pretty?” She lifts the lid and takes out a pair of pearl earrings. “Oh wow. That cotton looks kind of yellow. It looks like some man did something in there,” proclaims Jane, aged 60, with a smirk. Charlie, also aged 60, turns beet red. My heart stops beating. “Not now, Jane,” he grinds out tightly. Bless his heart, the poor man tried.

“What? I’m not the one that got excited and jacked-off in that box!” replies Jane loudly.

Red-faced and horrified yet again, I say, “Okay, okay, there are kids here. Let’s keep this rated-G.”

Jane slams down her fork. “Oh, eat shit and die,” she yells. I laugh nervously, hoping she was joking, but she meant it. This cannot be my life, I muse. What contest in hell did I win?

Charlie asks Jane to go out on the porch with him. We can see him taking her by the shoulders and speaking slowly, looking directly into her eyes. We don’t know if it will work, since she is always like this. It’s never a dull moment. They come back inside. Charlie announces that they need to be getting home. I sigh in relief. People depart somewhat hastily. Ned and I contemplate moving to another continent and not leaving any forwarding address. Another holiday in the books.