The car rolls to a stop and Jared stares at the house in front of us. He looks miserable.
"It's just dinner," I say.
"You don't understand," he says, still staring forward at some point between the steering wheel and the car's hood. "She's fostered this disturbing culture of nasty food and awkward conversation. Dinner at home is like the pinnacle of discomfort for me."
"Still," I say. "It's been six years. I should meet her."
"I guess," he says, and takes a deep breath.
"We can do this," I say. He turns, finally to look at me, an expression on his face I've not seen before.
"She...they...the whole family...they're...unspeakable," he says, looking directly into my eyes. "Really. I know I've told you before, but I really mean it."
I laugh, and he twitches a little. "Don't be so dramatic," I say.
He coughs out a mirthless laugh, and pulls the keys from the ignition.
"Let's just get it over with," he says.
We walk to the front door in silence, stopping just before the front door.
"Just ignore them," he says, whispering now. "That's best. Ignore everything, if you can."
I pat his shoulder reassuringly, and the door opens suddenly in front of us.
I can't help but smile when I see the attractive young woman holding a baby girl standing in the lighted doorway before us. A young boy, about five, stands just behind her leg, peering around it. They are beautiful, all of them, and seem genuinely happy to see us.
"You're here!" the woman chimes, and Jared jumps a little. The oldest child, a boy of about five, darts out to hug Jared's leg. "Daddy!" he says. "You're back! You're back!"
"You must be Jared's mother!" the woman beams, "I'm Melanie!"
She lunges forward, pressing me in a hug between her one free arm and the baby, which coos in my ear.
"Come in, come in," she says, ushering us into the house. In a matter of seconds, I find myself on a sofa that feels like it's made of felt, a baby on my lap and a boy resting his head on my shoulder.
Opposite me is another couch on which Jared and his wife sit. She looks as if she's on the verge of laughter, and Jared has the look of a mouse facing the open mouth of a large snake.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to finally meet you," Melanie says. "Jared says you've been out of the country?"
"Er...yes," I say, trying to shore up my son's obvious lie.
She begins to talk, outlining what sounds like the family's history since their marriage forward. It all sounds perfectly wonderful, and I'm beginning to think that Jared has psychological problems to have presented her to me in the way he has. I look to my son, confused, and his eyes widen in horror as he recognizes my reaction to his family for the pleasant acceptance that it is.
"Dinner will be ready in just a minute," Melanie says. "Jared tells me that you're an animal lover, is that true?"
"Yes," I say. "I have two cats at home."
"Delightful!" she says, clapping her hands. "Two cats! Every night, just for yourself?"
"Well, er...yes," I say, a little off-balance. "Jared's father passed away several years ago, so it's just me and the cats now."
"We'll have to come for dinner sometime," she says, standing.
"We're mostly a dog house here," she continues, winking. "So to speak."
She walks to the kitchen, calling out, "But we love good monkey when we can get it."
I stare at the spot she just left, not sure just what we're talking about. My eyes dart to Jared, who opens his mouth several times before finally rasping, "She's...she's kidding."
After a minute or so, she calls us to dinner, and I file in to find a beatifully set table with six place settings.
"Wherever you want, dear," she says, gesturing to the table, and I sit down beside the high chair.
"Are we expecting anyone else?" I ask, nodding toward the single empy place setting.
"Oh, dear me," Melanie says, and Jared groans. "No, no. Just us. Force of habit, I suppose."
She approaches the table with large bucket of meat and a pair of tongs.
"Guest gets first choice," she says.
"Er..." I start, still not sure what the meat is.
"Would you like the monkey's paw?" she asks, a twinkle in her eye.
I look to Jared, who gives me a subtle head shake and a "don't believe her" look.
"Certainly," I say, and Melanie reaches into the bucket and pulls out a pale steaming mass that looks for all the world like the boiled hand of a monkey.
"It's not a monkey," I hear Jared whisper.
Melanie swats him on the back of the head with the tongs. "You're no fun," she says.
"No, no, it's not a monkey," she continues, dropping oddly shaped pieces of meat on everyone's plate. "But it's still food!"
I wait for Jared to start eating, and then tentatively take a bite of my hand-shaped meal. It has a nervous porky flavor.
Several seconds pass, and then, abruptly, Jared's son shouts, "Megan is yummy!"
Melanie gives her son a disapproving look. "No names, dear. Either 'the meat' or 'little sister,' if you must call it anything."
Chagrined, the boy whispers "little sister is yummy," and Melanie nods.
My eyes widen as I look at the shape of the meat on the table, and then to the empty chair, and then to Jared, who shakes his head.
"It's not our daughter," he says, and Melanie lets out an exasperated sigh.
"No! Fun!" she shouts, slapping him hard on the shoulder with each word.
Jared sighs, sadly cutting another piece of meat and poking it into his mouth.
"We only have two kids, Mom," he mutters as he chews. "This is a neighbor or something."
"And don't talk with your mouth full," Melanie says.
"It's just dinner," I say.
"You don't understand," he says, still staring forward at some point between the steering wheel and the car's hood. "She's fostered this disturbing culture of nasty food and awkward conversation. Dinner at home is like the pinnacle of discomfort for me."
"Still," I say. "It's been six years. I should meet her."
"I guess," he says, and takes a deep breath.
"We can do this," I say. He turns, finally to look at me, an expression on his face I've not seen before.
"She...they...the whole family...they're...unspeakable," he says, looking directly into my eyes. "Really. I know I've told you before, but I really mean it."
I laugh, and he twitches a little. "Don't be so dramatic," I say.
He coughs out a mirthless laugh, and pulls the keys from the ignition.
"Let's just get it over with," he says.
We walk to the front door in silence, stopping just before the front door.
"Just ignore them," he says, whispering now. "That's best. Ignore everything, if you can."
I pat his shoulder reassuringly, and the door opens suddenly in front of us.
I can't help but smile when I see the attractive young woman holding a baby girl standing in the lighted doorway before us. A young boy, about five, stands just behind her leg, peering around it. They are beautiful, all of them, and seem genuinely happy to see us.
"You're here!" the woman chimes, and Jared jumps a little. The oldest child, a boy of about five, darts out to hug Jared's leg. "Daddy!" he says. "You're back! You're back!"
"You must be Jared's mother!" the woman beams, "I'm Melanie!"
She lunges forward, pressing me in a hug between her one free arm and the baby, which coos in my ear.
"Come in, come in," she says, ushering us into the house. In a matter of seconds, I find myself on a sofa that feels like it's made of felt, a baby on my lap and a boy resting his head on my shoulder.
Opposite me is another couch on which Jared and his wife sit. She looks as if she's on the verge of laughter, and Jared has the look of a mouse facing the open mouth of a large snake.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to finally meet you," Melanie says. "Jared says you've been out of the country?"
"Er...yes," I say, trying to shore up my son's obvious lie.
She begins to talk, outlining what sounds like the family's history since their marriage forward. It all sounds perfectly wonderful, and I'm beginning to think that Jared has psychological problems to have presented her to me in the way he has. I look to my son, confused, and his eyes widen in horror as he recognizes my reaction to his family for the pleasant acceptance that it is.
"Dinner will be ready in just a minute," Melanie says. "Jared tells me that you're an animal lover, is that true?"
"Yes," I say. "I have two cats at home."
"Delightful!" she says, clapping her hands. "Two cats! Every night, just for yourself?"
"Well, er...yes," I say, a little off-balance. "Jared's father passed away several years ago, so it's just me and the cats now."
"We'll have to come for dinner sometime," she says, standing.
"We're mostly a dog house here," she continues, winking. "So to speak."
She walks to the kitchen, calling out, "But we love good monkey when we can get it."
I stare at the spot she just left, not sure just what we're talking about. My eyes dart to Jared, who opens his mouth several times before finally rasping, "She's...she's kidding."
After a minute or so, she calls us to dinner, and I file in to find a beatifully set table with six place settings.
"Wherever you want, dear," she says, gesturing to the table, and I sit down beside the high chair.
"Are we expecting anyone else?" I ask, nodding toward the single empy place setting.
"Oh, dear me," Melanie says, and Jared groans. "No, no. Just us. Force of habit, I suppose."
She approaches the table with large bucket of meat and a pair of tongs.
"Guest gets first choice," she says.
"Er..." I start, still not sure what the meat is.
"Would you like the monkey's paw?" she asks, a twinkle in her eye.
I look to Jared, who gives me a subtle head shake and a "don't believe her" look.
"Certainly," I say, and Melanie reaches into the bucket and pulls out a pale steaming mass that looks for all the world like the boiled hand of a monkey.
"It's not a monkey," I hear Jared whisper.
Melanie swats him on the back of the head with the tongs. "You're no fun," she says.
"No, no, it's not a monkey," she continues, dropping oddly shaped pieces of meat on everyone's plate. "But it's still food!"
I wait for Jared to start eating, and then tentatively take a bite of my hand-shaped meal. It has a nervous porky flavor.
Several seconds pass, and then, abruptly, Jared's son shouts, "Megan is yummy!"
Melanie gives her son a disapproving look. "No names, dear. Either 'the meat' or 'little sister,' if you must call it anything."
Chagrined, the boy whispers "little sister is yummy," and Melanie nods.
My eyes widen as I look at the shape of the meat on the table, and then to the empty chair, and then to Jared, who shakes his head.
"It's not our daughter," he says, and Melanie lets out an exasperated sigh.
"No! Fun!" she shouts, slapping him hard on the shoulder with each word.
Jared sighs, sadly cutting another piece of meat and poking it into his mouth.
"We only have two kids, Mom," he mutters as he chews. "This is a neighbor or something."
"And don't talk with your mouth full," Melanie says.
...
Posted by: Katee | March 18, 2008 at 06:55 AM
It really wasn't primate meat. I swear.
Posted by: the wife | March 18, 2008 at 10:28 AM
Can anyone say Soylent Green?
(I've always wondered--is it light meat or dark meat?)
Posted by: Q | March 18, 2008 at 04:20 PM
I feel sick strangely enough.
Posted by: goose-girl | March 19, 2008 at 01:49 AM
("Are we expecting anyone else?" I ask, nodding toward the single empTy place setting.)
I don't know whether to applaud or throw up. Is this some kind of reaction to having an operation?
Posted by: flyyhigh | March 19, 2008 at 07:10 AM
Aah! Lucky mother. Everyone knows hand meat is the best!
I haven't had a good girl roast in ages...
Posted by: Burning | March 20, 2008 at 08:41 AM
Oh. *Is reminded of a chicken feet disaster*
*grimaces*
Posted by: bohae | March 20, 2008 at 05:07 PM
wow. that is sick. very soylent green sounding...
Posted by: clairedelune | March 30, 2008 at 08:07 PM