Filius Ch. 04

"He's a family friend, Jacob. And a very dear friend of my son ... and me." My mother asserted.

My friend? Since when?

Grandpa didn't say anything, but continued to stare at Marcus, while moving his knife across his plate, cutting a piece from his slice of roast beef.

"Well, anyway. How's my brother? How are he and Mary doing?" Dad asked, changing the topic.

"They're doing alright in Australia. Last I heard, Fred was promoted and he and his wife are having another kid," Grandma gleefully relayed.

"Good to know Freddy is doing well," was Dad's polite reply.

"How about you, my munchkin? When are you and Eva going to give me another grandchild?" she inquired in return.

"Well, it's not in our—" Before Mom was able finish her sentence she was rudely cut short by Grandpa.

"No one is asking you, honey."

She seemed unsure how to react and instead just looked down at her plate to try and choose between another bite of asparagus or roast beef. I tried to imagine how she was feeling. Maybe embarrassment? Humiliation? Anger? I couldn't decide.

"What the fuck is your problem, old fool?!" Marcus suddenly barked. It was crude of him to curse at my grandfather, yet at the same time I was impressed that he berated him for the sake of my mother.

"Who the hell are you to speak to me like that, nigger?"

"Nigga? Can you repeat that again, old man? My ears didn't hear them properly."

I could see things were getting ugly very quickly, as Marcus and Grandpa grimaced and growled at each other.

"Everyone, why don't we just calm down, alright? It's Thanksgiving, for crying out loud," Dad said, trying to ease the situation.

"Jacob, please listen to your son. We're all friends and family here," Grandmother joined in. Mom even placed a hand on Marcus' chest to restrain him, in case he decided to make their altercation into something physical.

The calming words sort of worked, and things quieted down....

Too quiet.

No one spoke for the next few minutes. Mom served everyone ice cream parfaits with scoops of vanilla ice cream, topped with strawberries. We silently consumed our desserts, eyes averted, probably in fear of starting another argument.

"Ahem," I coughed to clear my throat. The ice-cold parfait had slid down too fast, when I'd swallowed an especially big spoonful.

"Ahem." I heard someone copy me, followed by another.

"Ahem."

And another, "Ahem."

Things were getting ridiculous. "Ummm...." I tried to think of something to say in order to get rid of the awkwardness, but I couldn't. I looked up and saw Dad winking at me.

"So Pops, how are the horses? Last time Momsie called, she said that Silver won Third Place," he addressed Grandpa. He'd understood what I was trying to do.

"Yes sir, well, let me tell you. It would've been first if that bastard Leroy from the next form hadn't cheated, I'm telling you. He cheated!"

"Ha! Ha! Yeah, how so?" Dad chortled.

"I'll tell the whole sordid tale, son. But first, I have to ask: have you got any good whiskey? I could use one while I tell it." Grandpa smiled. It was the first time he had done so since they'd arrived.

"How about red wine, instead?" Mom offered, but her suggestion was soundly rejected.

"None of that fancy-shmancy crap. Gimme some whiskey ... if you have it." He leveled a glare at his son, daring him not to, threatening to turn grumpy again.

For the next minutes, Mom didn't say anything and just drank her wine. I watched Dad glance at her from time to time, worryingly, as he continued to engagingly chat and drink whiskey with my grandparents. I quietly observed them all while eating a slice of Josh's mom's pumpkin pie.

"So you're saying that this Leroy did something to Silver during the race?" Dad queried.

"Silver is not the type of horse to slow down when close to the finish line," Grandpa emphatically defended.

"But Jacob dear, he still won Third Place, now didn't he? That's still really good," Grandma wheedled.

"Third Place, hunh ... what a load of crap. It's either First Place or No Place at all as far as I'm concerned. Nothing in between, woman."

Whilst they were busy conversing, Mom was busying herself elsewise: I watched her gulp down her third glass of wine, and pour herself a fourth. Her face was now flushed, and her eyes looked a bit glassy. I, too, began to worry.

"So where are you planning to spend Christmas, munchkin?" Grandma enquired.

"I have no idea yet, Mama. Probably just stay here."

"Well, you can stay with us on the farm. I'll invite Freddie and his family, too."

"I don't know. I'm tied up with work and—"

"Come on, munchkin. And it's time for us to have a reunion, don't you think?"

I shifted my attention back to Mom, and was confounded by the change in her: she now sat with her eyes closed, biting her lower lip. Marcus, seated next to her, was grinning ... for what reason, I couldn't immediately fathom. That's weird.

"Yes, son. Been too long since I've seen you and Freddie together."

I half-listened to their conversation as I focused on Mom. I watched her mouth open slightly, and her head tilt a bit to the left. Marcus again beamed, and it was making me nervous. I watched them both as closely as I could without staring, and suddenly I noticed how closely his right arm was placed, close to her ... how close, I couldn't be sure because his large frame and the dining table obstructed my view. Please God, make me wrong, just this once, I thought.

Since I could not ask them outright what they were up to, I came up with the next-best solution: I dropped my fork, and ducked under the table ostensibly to retrieve it. After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted to the gloom. There were my mother's legs, spread wide open, and as I watched more closely, I saw her knees move slowly from side to side on the chair seat. I couldn't get an up-skirt view however, because the tablecloth draped down in front. As I was about to reach over and pull it up, I heard my father call –

"Son, what are you doing there?" His head suddenly came into view under the table.

I panicked and made a sudden move to get up, but instead hit my head on the wooden underside of the table. "Ouch!" Something broke; I heard it fall from the table and land, pieces scattering across the floor.

"What the fuck?!" I heard Marcus curse. When I emerged from under the table, the first thing I noticed was Marcus' white suit, covered in red liquid. There was broken glass on the ground, and I realized the liquid was Mom's red wine.

"Sorry..." I muttered.

He stared at me angrily, and stood up. "I'm outta here. Happy Thanksgiving, fuckers!"

"What did you just say, you big black rooster?" Grandpa fumed. He too, stood up; but Marcus ignored him, and headed toward the door.

"Yes sir, that's right. Just leave. We don't want your kind around here!" He shouted at Marcus' large, swiftly-retreating figure.

Mom also stood up.

"Where are you going, Eva?" Dad probed.

She answered him with a smirk, her eyes half-closed.

"To say goodbye to my kind. Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak!" She strutted unsteadily through the doorway and out into the hall, her hands on her waist, clucking like a chicken. As she stepped through the door, she shook her hips and ass at us in an exaggerated manner. It was both sexy and comical at the same time.

"See how that harlot acted? I told you, you should never have married that whore!" Grandpa reprimanded.

Dad didn't respond, except to avert his gaze.

"Jacob, you know we're still guests here. And we were kind of rude." Grandma countered quietly.

Grandpa just continued to spout off. "Guests, my ass. I'm in my son's house ..." he pointed at me. "and there's my grandson. We're family, not guests."

The old man is drunk. I thought. And it seemed that I was proven right, as the next thing we knew, he had slumped down and fallen from his chair.

Dad and Grandma helped him back to his seat. "I'm really sorry for this, munchkin." Grandma wheezed from the effort of lifting Grandpa, as she apologized. Again Dad chose not to say anything in response, but instead called over to me.

"Son, would you go check on your mother?"

"Sure," I replied, and headed for the door. On my way out, I paused just long enough before closing the door, to hear my grandfather wake up and shout, "Just leave her! That hen is probably getting fucked by that rooster by now."

"Jacob!" my grandmother scolded.

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Inside the elevator, on the way to the ground floor, I suddenly realized how tired I was, and let out a big "Yaawwwnn...." It had been a crazy night, and I was getting sleepier by the second. It must be close to midnight by now. "Yaawwwn..." At last, the elevator bell chimed and I arrived at the ground floor.

When the doors opened, I was greeted by an astounding sight: there stood my Mom, with smudged lipstick. "Hi, honey. Now that was a great Thanksgiving!" she said as she swayed on her feet. I had just enough time to hold out my arms to catch her as she fell toward me, passed out cold.