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“I snuck in from the side door. After all, I didn’t want to make you nervous, and I certainly didn’t want anyone in the audience to see your father, ‘the cop.’”
MY FAMILY ANDI walk home from the debate. Of course, I’m sweaty and thirsty and hungry. And I’m looking forward to cracking open a can of cold soda and chowing down on some leftovers.
But I should have known. Nana Mama doesn’t let any occasion go by without some good food. And I guess that—win or lose—she planned on treating the debate as a special event.
And there it is, all laid out on the dining room table, a help-yourself buffet set with cloth napkins and Sunday china. I’ve seen it all before, and I couldn’t be happier about it. This is what Nana Mama calls her “High-Style Wedding, Baptism, and Funeral Spread.” A big bowl of shrimp with mustard-mayo dipping sauce, a platter of ham biscuits, a corn-and-sugar-bean salad. And what would Nana’s High-Style Spread be without Nana’s coconut cream cake?
After I tell Nana Mama how incredible, unbelievable, and really, really appreciated this is, I yell, “Don’t anybody touch anything.”
I take a few pics of the spread, focusing heavily on the big bowl of shrimp. Shrimp is considered a semi-luxury in the Cross house. And it’s nothing for Jannie and me to vacuum up an entire bowl of the little critters like popcorn.
Dad sounds the warning. “Make sure everybody gets their fair share of shrimp. And this advice is especially pertinent to our champion debater.”
Jannie apparently decides to ignore Dad’s message and begins scooping the shrimp onto her plate like… well, like popcorn.
Usually I would yell out something like, “Dad, Jannie’s not obeying. Look at all she took.”
But, for some reason I can’t explain at all, I decide to keep quiet. In fact, there’s something nice about watching Jannie enjoy herself. Let her have fun. Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.
Thing is, I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I don’t think it’s a sudden kind of grown-up maturity from doing a good job at the debate. Really, I don’t feel any emotion other than relief that the damn thing is over. And that feeling is totally not surprising.
But I think I’m also glad that, even though no one technically “won” the debate, a conversation was started. And we all came together.
Whatever. I’d better stop this deep thinking and dive into the shrimp before Jannie goes back for seconds.
We all fill our plates, and before we begin eating, Dad raises his glass of seltzer, no ice (“it breaks up the bubbles”).
“To Ali. Who spoke the truth. And maybe taught some people that the truth can be pretty complicated.”
Then Bree says, “And, in fairness, I say we raise a toast in honor of the young woman who represented the other side of the debate. To…”
Bree stumbles just for a moment, so Jannie chimes in.
“Sienna,” Jannie says.
There is a silence that lasts a few seconds. Of course, Bree and Dad and Nana Mama exchange those obnoxious all-knowing looks that adults often give.
Then Bree speaks directly to me.
“Do you know Sienna well, Ali?” she asks.
Then Jannie goes, “Yeah, Ali, do you know Sienna well?”
I suddenly regret letting her get away with taking all those shrimp.
Here’s how the conversation goes.
“These ham biscuits are really delicious, Nana,” I say.
Pause. Then I turn to Bree and speak.
“I’m sorry, Bree. What was it you were asking?”
The shrimp bowl goes empty. Only two biscuits remain. They’ll be put to bed in Tupperware. The corn salad did well for itself, considering it was a vegetable. And the cake. What we didn’t finish at this meal we’ll eat later on while we’re watching clips from last week’s John Oliver.
We all help clear the table, and I slip on Nana’s baby-blue rubber gloves to start washing the dishes.
“I’ll take care of those dishes and forks, Ali,” Nana says. “You had a big day. Go on up to your room and start your homework.”
