Francis fingered the scrollwork above the fireplace in her grandmother's stately Victorian home. She placed her wine glass on the mantle and sat down by the dying fire. Scattered flames flickered from the warm embers. Holidays at her grandmother's house were always dull. This year, her husband's absence made the time pass even more slowly. She hoped that his trip to a New York City fertility clinic would be worth the separation. Footsteps announced company.
"My, you look pensive," said a strapping young man as he sat down besides her.
"Hey Van. I was just wondering when I would get pregnant. It is difficult enough thinking about it at home. Here, I have to put up with grandma's questions on top of everything."
"Yeah, knowing grandma, she'll probably blame it on Patrick and say you should have married a Quebecois instead," Van responded. He placed a comforting hand on his cousin's shoulder.
Francis placed her hand over his and brightened. "At least you brought a friend home for Thanksgiving. That will divert from of her vitriol from me."
"Oh, that old bird has plenty of spite to go around. Come on. They are setting the table for diner."
They entered the formal dining room to see 16 place settings laid out on the cherry wood table. Delicate curved chairs, 7 per side, were tucked under the table. Uneasy guests stood by them, waiting to hear where they should sit. An elderly matron sat at the head of the table in a sturdy armchair. The chair's twin at the other end of the table remained empty. The unnecessary place setting in front of it added a chilly shadow to the room.
The matron patted the seat to her right. "Phillip, you were grandpa's favorite when he was alive. Have a seat next to me." The middle aged man hastily sat in his place. Relative by relative, the family matriarch assigned a seat for each guest. Soon, only three remained standing. "Francis, make yourself comfortable over there. It's a shame Patrick could not make it. I suppose family is not that important to Anglos." Francis bit her tongue as she sat down three seats to the woman's left. Her grandmother pointed to the next seat in line. "Van, that spot is yours."
Van joined he others at the table. His jaw hurt a bit from gritting his teeth. Half a minute of awkward silence hung over the proceedings. Van coughed loudly.
"Oh," said the matron as if she just noticed the lone standing guest. "Your classmate from college can sit next to me on my left."
"My friend's name is Bo," Van responded. Bo quietly assumed his position at the table.
The salad course could have been a meal on its own. Multiple types of rolls were piled high in each bread basket. The din of polite conversation mixed with the clang of silverware on china.
"Bo here is from Sweden," Van said to his companion. "He is double majoring in finance and English. He's a wiz at both."
"Thanks," Bo replied. "I hope to work in New York or London after I graduate in May."