Dark Night

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning, Grandpa showed up around nine with a Starbucks mocha for me and we got to work in the kitchen. He'd suggested letting Mom sleep in for once, and because dad had his evening shift for the security team, we needed to have an early dinner. So we kept our voices down as we chatted, making the stuffing and the green bean casserole. I'd have been happy to use a can of condensed cream of mushroom soup, but Grandpa loved to cook and had high standards, so we made the sauce from scratch. He showed me how to make the roux and I coarsely chopped the mushrooms, a little onion, and snapped off the ends of the green beans.

"I never would have thought you'd be into skateboarding, punkin," Grandpa said as he stirred milk into the roux.

"Me either, but John's little brother offered to show me, and it's fun."

"Tell me about this John kid."

"We were partners for that earth sciences project," I reminded him, and he nodded. "We got an A. But he's also a skater up at the rink, John Tang. He goes by his middle name, his mom's maiden name, to have peace and quiet at school. He's nice, he comes to our study group for the college boards when he can, his parents expect him to go to college after he's done skating."

"Are you interested in him?"

I flushed. "We're just friends, and I don't know if I would want to be more. He doesn't have a lot of extra time. I don't think I want to get close to a skater, anyway." Grandpa had me bring over the mushrooms, onions, and green beans and add them to the sauce, warming them through before dumping the mixture into a casserole dish and smoothing it out.

 "So tell me what's going on with Stan," Grandpa asked thoughtfully as he checked the consistency of the stuffing and added a little liquid. I put it in a covered baking dish with a pat of butter on top and placed it in the fridge until it was closer to go time.

"I'm the last person to ask,"I said, a little impatiently. "All I know is that he thinks he should have your car, he's apparently doing a lot better with his skating, he's doing more conditioning, working on his artistic expression, he's got his costumes for next season being made, the music's been sent to the studio to be tweaked, he's meeting his grade requirements that Mom and Dad set, and he's really popular."

"So what's really going on here, Delia? Last summer, you were a pretty happy kid. Just a few months later, you've changed, and not in a good way. I can't believe that it's all about the car."

I paused to think, suppressing a flare of anger at Grandpa's comments, like I'm the one at fault, and suppressing my sarcasm. Here was somebody who was willing to listen to me. "The car is a symptom. Starry thinks he's entitled to the best of everything. He loved his car when he got it but your car is newer, has more options, and he feels like he should have it. I'm not opposed to him being able to live his dreams, Grandpa, but Mom and Dad always say that we all have to sacrifice, and everybody does. I usually see Dad only on Wednesday evening when he doesn't have a security shift, and Sunday, when he doesn't have any work. Mom gets home late most days, and usually what they talk about is Starry. I only seem to hear negatives from them. 'Don't skateboard at night,' 'do you really have to take this sixteen dollar writing test?' 'don't fight with your brother,' and that oldie but goodie, 'we all have to sacrifice.' I had to give up everything when we left home, nobody cared that I didn't want to, it was all about Starry, I don't even get an allowance anymore even though I still have to do chores, Starry gets an allowance and he doesn't even have to help out around the condo, there aren't any consequences when Starry doesn't pick me up after work like he's supposed to. Mom gave me a hard time about the skateboard and safety equipment even though I bought it with money I earned myself and it's the one thing I've really enjoyed since I was brought here.  He got a big party for his sixteenth birthday and a car, and I had to make my own cake. I don't see him sacrificing sh-- anything," I said, the anger welling up again as the words poured out. "He gets literally everything he asks for. Special music, more elaborate costumes. There's no end to what he wants."