One
I may have been a little delusional—or just plain crazy—when I married a man I had known for less than seventy-two hours. Mama screamed so hard, she lost her voice. But I never imagined this level of chaotic eccentricity. Let me set the scene for you: Thanksgiving Day, middle of nowhere Montana, there is snow on the ground, and a chill (and possibly the common cold) is in the air. Max and I have been married less than a week, and this is my first official time meeting all of the Montana-based Jacobsons. All twelve of us are crowded around a table that’s ideally built for six, attempting to bond over a badly seasoned five-course meal—whatever happened to turkey and then pie?
It’s awkward and tense; I saw most of these people filling the pews on Max’s side of the church as I stumbled my way down the aisle to marry Max.
Some introductions are easier than others; Max’s dad, for instance, Pastor David, holds the unique title of being the nicest man alive. I think it helps that I had already met him at Uncle Jay’s birthday party. He was the one who married Max and me the following day—no shouting, no judging, just pure understanding and advice. He was built to be a preacher; he was just an overall great guy. Max was lucky to have him. I guess that makes me lucky to have him; he’s my father-in-law… Heck yeah! My luck is finally changing! Thank the LORD! It’s about damned time.
His mother, Jo, What can I say about her? Well, for one thing, she no longer calls me Miss Baxter, but between you and me, I think that’s more down to Aunt Michelle threatening her very existence than it is to do with Max and I getting married—or her feeling bad about my reaction at Uncle Jay’s party. I definitely wasn’t supposed to hear Aunt Mi-mi, but I cannot deny the ounce of joy it brought me to know she’s still in my corner after all these years. I’d say there’s a definite improvement in the minimal relationship I share with my new mother-in-law. The rest of his family are funny and eccentric.
Against all odds and in spite of the median age of death in the state of Montana, Max’s grandparents are ALL alive. David’s parents are just like him. They are the nicest blue-collar family. All ranchers by trade, like ALL ranchers and ALL veterans. I’m pretty sure they rode across the prairies in caravans and settled in the west of Montana with the sole intention of being ranchers and soldiers. Hank, or Grand-Pops, as Max refers to him, fought in the Vietnam War. He was, is? A Marine like Max, his grandmother Irene, affectionately termed Nana, was a nurse during Vietnam War where the two had met. There was a historical hallmark story waiting for me; I just had to coax it out of one of them.
His mother’s side are still eccentric but in a different way; they’re all very proper. Max refers to them as Grandmother and Grandfather—I should really ask their names sometime. They’re the kind of fancy that could probably trace their ancestors back to the Mayflower—or a narrow escape from the trials at Salem.
Then there was Max’s older brother Eric, a former Army man like his father and most notably the chief of the Mercy Fire Department, and if you listen to him, his parents favourite child... He looked nothing like Max; his father’s genes didn’t even fight. Dark hair, dark eyes; he did get his father’s height, though. From what I had seen so far, all of the Jacobson men were at least six feet tall; thankfully, the women were all average height. If it weren’t for his fancy grandparents and general old-age shrinking, I’d be a daisy in a forest of redwoods.
Max’s other siblings couldnt make it for thanksgiving for various reasons: his brother, the almost doctor, wanted to spend the holiday with his girlfriend and her family; his sister was spending it with her family and her in-laws, an arrangement that Jo was unhappily vocal about; and his not so baby brother, still stationed in Afghanistan, we were all waiting to find out if his Christmas leave request had been authorised or not.
It was a surprisingly good day, although the real surprise of the day came when I was halfway through the second of that FIVE-course meal. I still think it’s three courses too many.
Harper, Max’s amazing thirteen-year-old niece, was reciting her Christmas list. Just the usual thirteen-year-old necessities: boots, clothes, the newest iPhone, and the latest gaming device.
“I think that all sounds manageable and much easier to carry to the big house for our Christmas celebration.” My new mother-in-law announced all proper-like that Christmas at the big house was a pre-approved plan that I was all for.
“I think that would be lovely.” Max’s grandmother Irene agrees with a grin, her cheeks rosy red and her hair white; she could be Mrs. Claus without even trying.
“Oh yes! Let us reignite the family tradition.” Grandmother [fill name once I know it here] insists, her voice proper as she claps daintily before checking the outburst of emotion didn’t upset her perfectly pinned bleach-blonde hair.
I, however, am not clapping daintily or smiling like Santa Claus’ old lady; I can’t. I’m too busy stopping myself from almost falling out of my chair. Thankfully we’re all tucked into the dining room table like sardines in a can, so my plump derrière is saved, if only momentarily, from the cold wooden floors beneath me
Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. WAIT! Big House. Whose Big House? My Big House? My face must have lost all colour as I glanced across the table at Max, suddenly loosing all my appetite—and if you knew me well enough, that would be more than enough reason for major concern
My husband of almost five days—whose face was rightly full of concern at whatever was going on with my face—put down his sharp utensils (always a smart idea at large family gatherings) before interrupting, “Y’all need to hold your horses.” He interjects with not even an inkling of tact.
Finally, the ladies halt, stopping for a moment to look at him.
I was still a little confused, a little lost, and—whether or not it was justified—a little outraged at the audacity of these women, mainly Jo, to make plans for a plan I definitely did not agree to without even talking to me about it first.
“Neither I nor Delilah have invited any of y’all anywhere near the big house this Christmas.” Max continued as the members of the family who weren’t over the age of 50 and female continued to stuff their faces with whatever monstrosity of a stuffed fish was supposed to be on the plates in front of us.
Jo was quick with her retort, “Max? Darling,” Her voice was sweet like candy-laced venom. “It’s a family tradition. I know we haven’t shared it recently, and I know you haven’t had the chance to get away for your honeymoon, but like I said, it’s tradition. Are you really going to throw all of that away for—” Her pointed finger swung towards me as her venom spewed all over me; this was going to hurt.
“Jo!” Pastor David interrupted quickly, and my mother-in-law finally fell silent. Thank God for fathers-in-law.
The interruption was appreciated but two moments too late; I already knew exactly what she was going to say—her finger highlighted all of the blame. She was going to blame me. Like I was a blight on her family, because, of course, I had married Max with the sole intention of ruining her Christmas plans. I couldn’t have possibly considered my own feelings or the idea that Max actually, possibly, might just make me happy.
I felt sick with anxiety; I pushed my chair out from the table as a wave of nausea hit me.
“Are you okay?” Eric, my new brother-in-law’s voice was quiet
“Gotta puke...” I held a hand to my face as another wave of nausea hit
“The fish’ll do that to you; aim for the roses, they’re closer than the bathroom. Left at the mailbox, big ol’ bush, cant miss it.”
“Thanks,” I whispered as I focused all my attention on breathing through my nose. I moved from my seat into the narrow hallway and out to the rose bush where I… Yeah, you get the idea.
When I finally got ahold of myself and made my way back inside, the conversation still hadn’t changed.
“I just dont understand…” Jo moaned as she struggled to comprehend the meaning of the word ‘No.’ Everything about her was screaming ‘only child.’
I returned to my seat and tucked myself back in, pushing away the plate of fish; the last thing I needed was another dead eyeball glaring at me.
“You okay?” Max’s voice full of concern as I force myself to look at him, his face reflecting that same concern. His eyebrows crease as he looks me over.
I nod gently. “The—uh—earlier courses wanted to say a quick hello” I offered with a half smile.
He chuckled softly
“Where did she go?” Grandfather, who was a little hard of hearing, asked at a volume all too loud for the room we were in.
“She went to go puke in the rose bush, Grandpa,” Harper announced loudly to the whole table. Knives and forks clattered onto plates as my face turned a shade of red only found in Stephen King novels.
“Do you need a mint, sweetheart?” Irene offered as her delicate hand reached as far as she could over the expanse of the table with a wrapped hard candy mint. I reached as far as I could, but it was useless; we both had short arms. Eric was the one to reach across and hand it to me.
I look at Max as I unwrap the mint. “I guess you can consider the roses fertilised,” I joked with a shrug of my shoulders.
Max’s laugh filled the room; soon everyone joined in.
I smiled as the tension faded; I hadn’t completely bungled Thanksgiving with my in-laws.
“I’m sorry, Christmas isn’t big for my family.”
“Why?” Harper asks from her seat across the table.
“My daddy, he died at Christmas.”
“How?” Harper asked again. I hadn’t yet determined if her inquisitiveness was annoying, agonising, or just a beautiful example of childhood done well.
“Harper! Rude!” Eric chastised
“No, no, she’s okay to ask. He was shot by a burglar at our home on Christmas Eve.”
“Where were you?” A quiet voice asked from the top of the table, Jo, and I’d never heard her so quiet.
“I was in the next room, with my mom.” I pursed my lips as the pain of the memory flashed before me; after everything I had been put through, it was that moment that still hurt the most.
“How old were you?” Her voice broke as she asked
“I—I was seventeen; my younger brother just turned fourteen, and my older brother was eighteen and a half.”
“You have siblings?” Hank asked loudly
I was more than happy to change the topic, if only slightly. “Two brothers, JJ, he teaches English in Japan with his wife and my two nephews, and Toby, Marine Force Recon out of Camp Pendleton; he’s been radio silent for almost nine weeks, and it is driving my mother crazy.” I laugh a little; my mother was protective, and not hearing from her baby, who was risking his life in active service for the military, was excruciating.
Thankfully the conversation stuck to happier subjects; it all became a game of getting to know the new [Fill in relationship here]-in-law. We all seemed to dance around the elephant in the room: the Christmas tradition. I kind of agreed to it when I said yes to Max; it would be smart to at least understand what I would be signing up for.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I can’t leave without bringing it up; blame Toby, he still owes me twenty bucks. How…” Let me find the right word. “Extensive is the Big House Christmas tradition.”
“It’s our biggest family celebration of the year. Christmas is a 10-day event in which every single living member of the Jacobson family gathers at the Big House on the Ranch.”
“That sounds extensive, but I’m almost certain we have no budget for that this year.”
“Oh no, we all pay. Well, this close to Christmas David and I will take it out of our retirement fund, but normally everyone pays, some over the months, some in lump sums, like a vacation.”
“Can everyone get ten days off for Christmas this late in the year? Don’t you need advanced notice?”
“Vacation may have been the wrong choice; it’s more of a festive slumber party. We share food and merriment, but we locals still attend our work, just from the Ranch, not from our homes.”
“How many people is it?”
“I like to round up to twenty for Christmas Eve and Day: seventeen of us, David’s brother if he’s in town, Beau, and any other Jacobson stragglers.”
“Can I get a couple of days to look over some logistics before I commit myself and Max to anything?”
“Of course, dearie,” Irene is the first to reply
“Certainly, we all understand it’s a lot to ask, especially for someone who isn’t as…festively inclined as the rest of us.” I think that was Jo’s attempt at being nice.
We decided to finish up the day with a slice of pie…or two and lots of hugs. Not so bad, right?
