By Sonja McGiboney, 11/22/2020
Grown-up food is scary. Why did I have to sit here this time? I turned twelve five days ago. You’d think they’d wait at least a year. Don’t I need to experience being twelve before they plop me at the grown-up table? I stared at the plate of lettuce. A light brown, slimy sauce oozed off the pile onto the plate.
My grandparents sat stiffly at the ends of a really long table, nodding their heads in response to something my Mom was saying. My four aunts, my mom and I glittered with our festive red dresses. My dad and his brothers wore suits and ties. I picked up a fork.
Aunt Beth, who was sitting to my right, nudged me with her elbow. “Hey, that’s the wrong one. Remember, start from the outside and work your way in.”
“Sorry, thanks.” I whispered.
“No problem.”
I longingly glanced at the den. Why did I have to be the first one at the grown up table? My younger cousins watched TV, laughed and talked with mouths full of food.
With the pangs of hunger gnawing at my tummy, I tasted a small piece of lettuce. Fearing the worst, I held my breath, but then the sweet, yet tangy taste filtered through. It was good. I filled my fork for the next bite. As my fork approached my mouth, Aunt Georgia, who was sitting across from me, kicked my feet under the table and mouthed, “Too much.” She held her fork with just two little pieces of lettuce on it, like one of those commercials demonstrating how something works, and slowly lifted it to her mouth. I counted nine pieces of lettuce crammed onto my fork and sighed. I shook the lettuce off my fork and picked up only three pieces. Aunt Georgia smiled and nodded.
Mom came to take my plate even though it still had lettuce piled on it. She touched my shoulder and whispered, “You’re doing great. Keep listening to Georgia and Beth.”
Candlelight sparkled off the many glass and silver bowls. A cup of red stuff sat on my red placemat. I was about to dip my spoon into it when Uncle Joe, who sat on my left, cleared his throat and shook his head.
A plate landed in front of me with food already on it. That’s the way we did it when Grandmother came. Nobody reached across the table for bowls and platters when Grandmother was here. The small serving of turkey, mashed potatoes and carrots looked yummy, but where was the rest of it? I waited and watched. That’s what Mom told me to do anyway, wait and watch. Once we all had a plate, the dainty eating began again. I was so hungry. I whispered to Aunt Beth, “Is this it?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” She smiled then added, “That’s why we have the after-party. Once Grandmother and Grandfather go home, we will dig into the leftovers. You get to join us now! But I think you’re still too young for the wine.”
“Oh, goody.”
Talk about market shares, stocks, consumer and employee health care plans filled the air. I tuned it all out. I didn’t think anybody noticed me so I filled a fork full of turkey and pushed it into my greedy mouth. So busy churning that wad of meat, it took a minute for my ears to note the quiet and my blue eyes to see the 22 eyes staring at me. I swallowed the huge ball of turkey and asked, “What?”
Grandmother smiled, “Molly, how is your school going? Do you like the Academy?”
I gulped some water and said, “Wonderfully, Grandmother, thank you.”
“I knew you would like it. All Worthingtons do well there.”
Silence rose for a second, then stories from days at the Academy flooded the table. All my relatives had gone to the Academy, and Grandmother made sure the rest of us would, too. I was free again to be invisible. I liked it better that way. I guess I passed the test since Grandmother didn’t address me anymore that dinner.
When the dessert plate glided in front of me, my face fell. The slice of apple pie was no bigger than my thumb and the dot of whipped cream the size of a quarter. Where was the ice cream? At least there was only one fork left, so I didn’t have to worry about that.
I took two bites to their ten; how they made that pie last for so long, I’ll never know. When mom said, “Molly, you may be excused.” I jumped. Before I could run away, Aunt Beth grabbed me and mouthed, “Say it properly.”
“Dinner was lovely mom, thank you. Please excuse me.”
I ran to the den. I reached into the huge bowl of popcorn and squeezed onto the couch between my ten-year-old cousin Billy and my three little cousins, Josie, Brad and Peter. “I’m so hungry!”
“Didn’t you just eat?”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t much food.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Don’t be in a hurry to be a grown up. They don’t eat anything.”
My five other cousins, ranging in age from two years old to nine years old, all yelled, “Be quiet!”
With a mouth full of popcorn, I settled in to watch the movie and eat all the popcorn I wanted.
Comments