Everything's Kosher
What do you do when the first night of Hanukkah and Christmas fall on the same day? You make latkes and hope for a miracle. But sometimes, neither are necessary.
A/N: This was my entry for the Jingle All the Way Contest. It placed second with the judges and the public vote. It was the Validators pick, as well.
Beta'd by my queen, Fran.
BPOV
Edward and I are five years into our blissful marriage. We don't really fight, unless you count playful slaps and tickles that end up in raw sex. We don't talk politics, we don't follow either one of our religions in the formal sense, and we certainly don't attend services at a synagogue or a church. Maybe that's the problem. God doesn't know who we are. Is that punishable by the sect rights? And if so, which one?
We always have a casual lunch with my family and an elegant dinner with Edward's on Thanksgiving. You know, never the twain shall meet. We keep our families separate for a very good reason.
They don't like one another.
My 'Swansky family' are bold, everyday people; rustics, from the salt of the earth, who work hard for their children and to better themselves. My father is the Chief of Police of Forks, a small, rural town in Washington State with the population of three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three. My mother is a stay-at-home-mom who masters the skills of Martha Stewart with great pride … only Jewish-style. What my mother can do to a kosher chicken, there is no comparison. There isn't a temple in Forks, so my parents, younger siblings, and grandfather travel to Port Angeles to partake in their Jewish services and community.
Edward's, 'Cullen Clan' are displaced Chicagoans. For the past three years, Carlisle, Edward's father, continues to convalesce from a severe heart attack. Formally, the head of surgery at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, he is the fourth generation in a line of prestigious physicians. Esme Cullen is the queen of charitable causes. She raises money for disturbed teens, homeless animals, and heads a committee to build a museum. The Great Northwest is in need of culture and refinery, and a good health spa.
However, this year our luck runs out. Hanukkah falls on Christmas, and both families expect to celebrate with us. Why? I run a catering business, and it's my turn to host the dinner. My turn to cook the turkey, baste the ham and bake the pies. Our house will be the battleground.
I don't sleep all night tossing and turning. I have visions of Edward's Grandmother Kathleen, choking my mild-mannered Grandpa Bernie with a large turkey leg down his throat. Our mothers fight to the death over serving forks, poking one another, and our fathers tip their carving knives like sabers, only Carlisle clutches his heart in agony falling to the ground, and my father on his knees searing in guilt.
It's a shit storm waiting to happen.
When I turn to my side, I feel the cold sheets and look up at the clock. Edward is already on his way to the hospital. Yes, he's the fifth generation of the Cullen line. His surgical hands save hearts. He certainly saves mine.
Despite the early hour, I get out of bed, run a quick shower and make coffee.
I slowly sip, tapping my pen on a notepad and agonizing over the menu for tomorrow night. How do I transform blue-collar edibles into affluent snobbery? The two families have taste buds that are worlds apart.
Then, it comes to me. It's not what the dish is, it's how it appears. I can take canapés and turn them into dry toast and chopped liver. What pate?
I smile.
The butterflies actually stop, and I become devious.
My family only needs to see the food. A brisket is a brisket.
But Edward's need pomp and glitz. All I have to do is take the brisket and slice it thinly with gravy on the side with lovely small creamers, carrots and onions decorating the platter. It's eye appeal.
I'm a genius.
So, I spend an hour taking basic 'diner' dishes and magically recreate a vision of loveliness.
Mom will say they're 'hoity-toity,' but the taste will be there. Dad will never pick up on the makeover. If it looks like brisket, tastes like brisket, then it is brisket. He'll eat it.
Standing to place my cup in the sink, I feel a little woozy. The cream I put into my coffee makes its way upward, and I feel the burn rising through my chest and out through my mouth and nose.
After rinsing my mouth, I see it's only six, and I opt to return to my bed. I deserve a second round of slumber. All the stress is a killer.
I fall into a deep sleep and watch our families sit across from one another at my dining room table. Yeah, a little too close for comfort or lack thereof.
The first offense was my father asking if there was butter or chicken fat in the mashed potatoes. The look of repulsion on the faces of Edward's parents told me to say 'butter.' But Dad's resolve needed to hear 'chicken fat.' I went for butter-flavored Crisco. No one said a word. All continued to eat. And I sighed with relief.
Um, too soon.
Esme asked why we didn't have a baked ham.
My mother sat straight up and ruffled her feathers. "We don't eat from the pig."
Esme sat straighter. "Well, that was such a long time ago when the Romans defiled a temple."
"Well, it's tradition and law," my father says standing and throwing his napkin on his plate. "Don't you only eat fish on Friday?"
"Well, it, too, is a law, but we are able to decide for ourselves," Carlisle stands and throws down his napkin.
Oy, the duet.
"My daughter was showing respect to us and our beliefs," Dad raised his voice.
"It wouldn't have been a problem. She could have kept the ham near our side of the table," Carlisle growled.
My mother stood with her hands on her hips. "Trafe is trafe."
"I beg your pardon, Renee." Esme stood in battle.
"Trafe is food that in non-kosher," Mother angrily explained.
"Why would it be kosher if you don't eat it?" Esme threw back.
While the heated discussion elevated to blaring screams, we, the children of the four assailants, have kept a low profile until the food began to catapult into the air.
"We put up with the potato pancakes," Carlisle says waving one around his head and tossing it at my father.
"Hey, don't waste that latke," Dad demanded picking up the pancake and throwing it square-center into Carlisle's face.
"Esme shouted, "Well, I never."
Mom retaliated, "You never, never." And threw a roll at her.
Esme bombarded Mom with two.
Carlisle raised the carving knife and announced, "I'm going to carve the turkey!"
"Oh, no you don't," Dad yelled and lunged across the table at Carlisle, with food falling everywhere.
I cried and woke up.
I call my office and make a few changes. Rather than having a fight over who's going to carve the turkey, I have my staff prepare and pre-slice the white and dark meat. It's a done-deal, no fighting.
I replace the idea of ham with a few beef roasts, one a lovely pink, the other like shoe leather.
I ask for little creamers, carrot rounds and onion rings lining the serving plate around the thinly-sliced brisket with a gravy boat to one side.
No mashed potatoes and a buffet would be conducive with nothing else on the table.
Simple.
Safe.
Smart.
When Edward returns home, I tell him of my dream.
"Bella, you really think they would do that?" Edward boldly laughs.
"I wouldn't put anything past either family, Edward. They're both still angry we got married. Your only saving grace is that you're a doctor."
"Your beauty, style sense, and education are yours," he adds.
"There has to be something they can agree upon."
"Baby, it's only for a few hours, and our sibling will be our safeguards."
I sigh. "You're right. I'm being silly."
It's almost time for the families to arrive.
The table is ready, set with my grandmother's Depression glass settings, her gold silverware, and goblets.
Sternos are ablaze under sliced turkey, briskets, and beef roasts on one side, green bean casserole, yams, asparagus, potato pancakes, and gravies on the other.
Alice and Jasper arrive first.
Thank God.
Jasper and Edward fix themselves a drink, while I pull Alice into the kitchen.
"How are you holding up?" she asks.
"A little jittery." I sigh. "I threw up twice this morning."
"Really?" She smirks with a raised eyebrow. She pulls a small bag out of her purse.
"What do you have there?" I stare at the brown bag.
She giggles and pulls me into the hallway. "Something I think we both need."
As we exit my room, we can hear the rest of the family walking through the front door. Alice grabs my hand. "We can do this."
Everyone sits at the table; Edward and I are at the heads. My mother and father are across from one another near me, as Esme and Carlisle are near Edward. Between my mother and Esme are my sister, Kate, Grandma Kathleen, Rose, and Alice. Across from them are Kate's boyfriend, Garrett, Grandpa Bernie, Emmett, and Jasper.
After a simple prayer of thanks, everyone digs into their meal. The only sounds are forks and knives scraping plates.
My sweet, Grandpa Bernice comments that the food is delicious, but he would have loved to sit near the lovely ladies. He raises his glass to Grandma Kathleen, and she blushes.
She blushes?
I look at Edward, and he shrugs.
Alice's wide eyes hold back a giggle.
Esme's death stare bores a hole through Carlisle's forehead.
Silence.
Finally, Edward speaks after glancing at my pleading eyes. "Well, I'd like to make a toast to my beautiful wife and this amazing dinner." He raises his glass. "It's wonderful we can all share in this holiday together to give thanks. And I'm thankful for her. Dad, would you like to continue" Then, we'll go around the table."
Carlisle clears his throat with his sparkling water in his hands. "I'm very thankful to be alive. Three years ago, a team of doctors didn't give me much of a chance … yet, here I am."
Charlie mumbles, "L'chaim."
Esme grumbles, "Did he just wish Carlisle harm?"
Charlie softly answers, "I wished him good health and well-being, Esme."
She snootily says, "Oh."
Jasper smiles. "I'm thankful for my girl. Alice is a loving wife and my best friend. Thank you, Baby."
Alice coos, "Aww."
Emmett stands. "I'd like to thank my wife, Rose, for putting up with me."
Rose sings, "I sure do."
She can kick my ass better than any other man."
Rose sings again. "I sure do."
Uncle Bernie adds, "I'd let her kick me, too."
Everyone laughs, but Grandma Kathleen.
Uncle Bernie continues, "But I don't think anyone could hold a candle to Kathleen with those beautiful emerald eyes and her gorgeous, red hair."
Grandma Kathleen waves him off, blushing. "You old codger."
Did she bat her eyes at Grandpa Bernie?
I shift my glare at the two of them. What the?
Garrett thanks Kate for taking him back. I didn't know they were apart.
Dad is grateful for a safe community. Being a sheriff, he wonders every day if it will remain that way. And he's thankful Renee is his one and only.
I thank Edward for being my rock and supporting my decisions.
Esme bows her head.
Mom says she is proud of her girls, loves Dad, and hopes we can do this again.
Esme doesn't look up.
Kate says she's glad Garrett and she are together. Ya. Ya.
And Grandma Kathleen spills her beans. "I have sat with all of you for the last five years, and we have had our differences. Now, I'd like to make amends. Bernie has helped me to see all the good that is here. We need to celebrate our kids and be joyful with them. So, thank you, Bernie." She smiles. "I love you."
He smiles at her and says, "I love you, too."
Esme frowns, "When did this happen?"
Grandpa Bernie softly answers, "It always was. We just needed a right time."
Grandma Kathleen giggles. "We're not getting any younger."
"O-M-G, she giggles?" I mouth to Edward.
Rose raises her hands, "I can't compete with that, Emmie, but you know I love you. Thank you."
Alice sparkles. "I can. Jasper, you are the love of my life, and you'll make the best daddy." She screams, "We're pregnant."
Jasper runs to her side, picks her up and spins her around. "You certainly did top that." He puts her down and places a hand on her stomach. He kneels. "Hi, baby. I'm your daddy."
There's not a dry eye in the room. Even Esme sheds a tear and whispers, "A baby."
And I say without thinking, "Two." I look at Edward and nod.
We meet one another halfway, and he holds me tight. "A baby."
"Alice thought she was pregnant and bought a pregnancy kit. There were two. So, I used the other one."
Everyone gathers around us, all speaking at once. Except for Grandpa Bernie who takes his plate and sits next to Grandma Kathleen.
No one fights.
The food gets cold.
And when we sit to eat, no one cares.
We all have smiles … even Esme.
Love and babies can do that to any family …
A/N: 'She Rocks My World' will post next Friday. Sorry for the delay … RL.
Wishing all of you a safe and Merry Christmas.