Sunday Dinner

There had been a christening at St. Mary’s that morning, and Susan and her cousin were going on and on about babies. Blair said she would name her daughters Ellen and Beverly, and her first son would carry his father’s name with a Roman numeral following.

“What if his dad’s the first of his name?” Seth asked, breaking the bubble of bliss.

Blair laughed. “I’m not even going to date anyone who’s the first of his name, much less marry one.”

“Robby’s the first of his name,” Susan commented before she could stop herself.

Blair looked at her like she had turned into Masie Adams. “I’m not going to marry Robby! He’s just someone to keep me company until I’m ready to get serious. What's Trey's real name?"

"What do you mean? He's just Trey." Susan looked down at her fingernails and wished she had a nail file.

“Trip and Trey are always Somebody the Third." Her face said everyone knew that.

"We've only been on one date. I don't even know his last name yet, but he works at The Dunhill."

"He works at a hotel? Is he a bartender?"

"No, he works maintenance."

Blair raised her eyebrows ever so slightly but didn't say anything.

Iris came out of the kitchen and said, "Girls, Aunt Betty will be here in a little while. Why don't you straighten up in here? Seth, please take the kitchen garbage out. And the hall bathroom. Spray the cleaner under the sink on the sink and toilet, and one of the girls will wipe it all down. Don't forget to check that the mirror is clean. I'll be in the kitchen."

Blair’s Lhasa Apso and Susan's Yorkie came tearing through the living room as the girls began straightening cushions and clearing away books and magazines from the mahogany end tables and coffee table, arranging Clifford Roberts's The Story of The Augusta National Golf Club and Ed Cashin's The Story of Augusta on either side of the sterling bowl of tea roses. Iris was from Augusta and wouldn't let anyone forget it. Garden City was almost as genealogy crazy as Augusta, but not quite to the "What was your grandmother's maiden name?" degree.

A fly buzzed in behind Seth when he came back from taking out the trash, lighting on a monogrammed tray Iris was arranging with deviled eggs. She whipped a sheet of plastic wrap over it before you could say Jack Robinson. Without missing a beat, she said, "Seth, grab the flyswatter and run that fly out of here before Aunt Betty arrives." She glanced up as she dumped half a jar of pepper jelly over a brick of cream cheese on another monogrammed dish and sprinkled chopped chives over the top of it.

When Seth returned, Iris handed him a stack of linen napkins and told him to set the table with the good china and the good silver. Dumping a saucepan of simmering tea into a crystal pitcher with a cup of sugar waiting in the bottom, she pulled a whisk from a drawer and began stirring.

Blair entered the kitchen with a stack of books and magazines. "Where should I put these, Aunt Iris?"

"Throw the magazines in the recycle bin and take the books to the sunroom."

"Mama, where's the Windex? The mirror has spots." Susan grabbed a couple of paper towels off the spindle.

"Under the sink. When you finish, make sure the towels are fresh. Seth, tuck your shirttail in before Aunt Betty arrives, and make sure you go out front and help her up the porch steps but not out of the car." Iris tucked a stray lock of her ash blonde hair behind her ear and added a scoop of ice to the tea.

When Aunt Betty's Buick pulled into the driveway, Seth dutifully made his way to the porch and ambled down the steps with a big smile on his face.

"My goodness, you're a sight for sore eyes. Such a handsome young man. If you'd get yourself to the gym once in a while, you'd be fighting the women off with a stick." Aunt Betty’s eyes scanned Seth from head to toe. Satisfied with his appearance, she continued, “Be a good boy and get those tupperwares off the front seat and put them in your mother’s refrigerator so they don’t spoil. I didn’t have time to run home between the Johnsons’ and here. I didn’t want to be late and ruin dinner.”

Seth did as he was told, wondering where he would find space in his mother’s refrigerator for the containers.

“Well, don’t you girls look pretty as a picture!” Aunt Betty smiled at her great nieces, and they flew down the steps to help her ascend them, flattering her jewelry and handbag along the way.

“Aunt Betty, I don’t know how you do it!” Blair exclaimed.

"Do what?" Aunt Betty replied.

"Go out there to the Johnsons. Robby says Billy Johnson runs a still down the creek. I don't think I could be around those people."

"Young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself talking about my family that way, especially with all that Shirley and Emily do for me." Aunt Betty continued, "Furthermore, the Johnsons have owned land in this county for at least three generations, and I don't mean mortgaged--they own everything they have outright. You can get yourself down off that high horse you didn't earn."

She turned her head to Susan. "Your mother said you had a date with a new young man last night. Will you be seeing him again?"

Susan started gushing as they crossed the threshold into the house from the porch while Blair vanished to the kitchen, presumably to bring drinks and hors d'ouvres.

“Aunt Betty was mean to me,” Blair told Iris as she picked up the silver tray with a script B engraved in it. “Why aren’t we using mama’s tray?”

Iris replied, “Your mother’s tray was a wedding gift to her. This one was a gift to your great-great grandmother. The more historical artifact is the more appropriate one when entertaining family, regardless of how it would be priced at Windsor today.”

“I guess I’ll never dig myself out of this hole!” Tears sprang to Blair’s eyes.

“Enough of this foolishness. No ma’am, you will not ever dig yourself out of a hole. Digging is what creates holes. Further digging only takes you deeper. And stop acting like a child. You’re twenty-two years old, not two years old. Be convincing on that point.” Iris put the tray in Blair’s hands and gave her a little hurry-up pat on the back toward the living room.

*author note: This is a work in progress, and when I saw the word count, I decided to break here to keep it from being too long of a read for you, my readers. Thank you for supporting me in this.💖