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“Indie hasn’t had a serious partner since undergrad. You’re the first person she’s brought home to us in years,” Mrs. Watson shares, and my heart throbs.
First person she brings home, and it’s not even real. Well, it’s real to me, just maybe not to her.
“Iris has never really had an interest in anyone.” Mr. Watson frowns. “At least not anyone real.”
“Why would I set myself up to be disappointed? Fictional men are better anyways,” Iris jokes, but I get the sense that she’s not exactly kidding.
“As you can see, they’re both worrisome,” Mrs. Watson says and takes a big bite of turkey.
I think the problem I have with people like Mrs. Watson is that Indigo and Iris don’t need to find love. I want them to, especially Indigo, if that’s what they want, but it’s not required. You can live a full life without romance. Without sex. Everyone’s needs and desires are different, and it’s weird of her to push her personal expectations onto her daughters.
Mrs. Watson flicks her wrist, and Christmas music starts to play. Some recently released popular Christmas melody comes on, and the singers take it away. Indigo stares at me, completely frozen, until I snap my fingers in front of her eyes.
Coming out of it, she shakes her head. “Sorry, I was thinking about those Christmas carolers.”
“Christmas carolers, are you talking about the group that walks around Main Street? I’ve been thinking about joining them. Maybe next year,” Mrs. Watson shares, and I take a bite of lasagne. The flavors are rich, and I’m glad, because I was about to open my mouth when I shouldn’t.
“Of course,” Indigo says. “You would join the most annoying group known to man.”
“C’mon, Indie, you and I both know the most annoying group ever was that craft club Mom ran when I was in middle school,” Iris shares.
“Craft club?” I ask.
“It was an arts club.” Mrs. Watson crosses her arms, appearing humorless.
“They really created art. One time, Mom cut our sandwiches to look like dinosaurs.” Iris laughed. “Except mine fell apart—”
“And mine looked like a dick. Everyone made fun of me, and I had a panic attack and went home crying.” Though Indigo is sharing something that sounds awful, her smile and laughter is genuine, which warms my heart. I’ve been a little afraid to joke about trauma with her, but she seems to be opening up to it.
Mr. Watson scratches the back of his neck. “I had to pick her up early from school that day. I couldn’t understand why she was crying until she showed me my wife’s dick sandwiches.”
“Alright, alright. Thanks a lot, Emilio. I get it; I’m terrible at arts and crafts,” Mrs. Watson says, her tone defeated.
This is a normal amount of family drama. A healthy amount. I hope all of Indigo’s future Gratefulness Dinner’s are like this, and I hope I get to see them….
“Did you guys know that although Gratefulness Week is a tradition the satyrs brought over from their planet, humans used to celebrate a similar holiday called Thanksgiving Day?” Mr. Watson shares.
“Yeah, but wasn’t it like… a colonizer holiday? Or like, it had some kind of awful origin story,” Iris says.
I shrug. I actually don’t know. I’ve never heard of ‘Thanksgiving.’
“Yeah, the origins were definitely not favorable. The holiday, alongside the Fourth of July, were pretty much wiped away with The Convergence, especially since Turtle Island and Abya Yalla came together to form The Americas,” Indigo explains. I love her brain.
“Well, then I’m glad the satyr holiday took over. It's a whole week long too! Which is great. A nice break from school and work for everyone,” Mr. Watson says. Indigo makes a funny face, but I think she decides to let it go once her mom gets up.
“Who wants apple pie?” Mrs. Watson offers, and I just about leap out of my seat.
“Before dessert, let’s all share something we’re grateful for.” Mr. Watson looks around the room, and there’s a plethora of reactions. I probably look like I want to strangle the man, Indigo is a polite-neutral, and Iris is beaming.
“I’ll start,” he says. “I’m grateful for my beautiful wife and our two lovely daughters.”
There’s a pang in my chest. I wonder if my father is thinking of me.
“I’m grateful for fanfiction, chocolate peanut butter cups, and wifi,” Iris says. “Oh, and my… magical discovery.”
Mrs. Watson looks full of pride. “I’m grateful for Iris, who has stopped cancer from coming back after it goes into remission.” She takes a deep breath. “And for Indigo, who is making her own discoveries at her own pace.”
Can this woman say one nice thing without making it a slight against her poor daughter?
