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okay. And we’re not even all here.
Micah, not Michael. Good name.
But why is he being so nice?
“Funny. Our family is all here.”
Not exactly accurate. But close
enough to the truth, I guess.
Family is about connection.
Nothing wrong with a, uh,
compact family. Long as
you’re good to each other.
Are we good to each other?
Not bad, I suppose. But all
I can do in response is nod.
Silence closes in, squeezes.
Micah releases its grip. You do
look pretty in that skirt, you know.
Cheeks flaming, I stutter
something like, “Thanks,” just
as someone inside calls out,
Dinner!
A GIANT FEAST
Is laid out, buffet-style, on the long kitchen counters.
We form a line, help ourselves, then find places to sit.
The older adults claim the formal dining room, leaving
us younger people to choose our seats at folding
tables in the kitchen. I fill my plate sparingly, pick
a chair, wait to see if Aunt Cora will join me. She doesn’t.
But Micah does, sitting beside me. Do you mind?
I shake my head, making his recent compliment rattle
around inside my brain: Pretty in that skirt … pretty …
