In honor of my sister’s 22nd birthday, the family got together for dinner at my dad’s.
It was Tuesday night, and Dad had a fire going outside his home on Manning Street when Caleb and I pulled in. My stepdad Michael and my dad – who call each other husband-in-laws – were smoking cigars by the fire, wearing the bright Mardi Gras beads Locksley brought back from her recent trip to New Orleans.
It had snowed all day but of course didn’t stick because we’re in Chattanooga. Caleb joined the men by the fire and I went inside to the kitchen to help my mom and sister prepare the food.
“I thought you weren’t going to be here until seven?” I said to Locksley, whose long hair was wet.
“You told me on the phone I needed to come over now and bring the olive oil, so that’s what I did.”
“But you said you needed to blow dry your hair and wouldn’t be here until dinnertime.”
“Does my hair look dry to you?” Locksley snapped back.
“Well, Caleb and I just went to the store to buy olive oil.” I held up the bottle. “Obviously, we had miscommunication.”
“Obviously,” said Locksley.
At this point my mom cut in to tell us to stop bickering because it was Locksley’s birthday and a joyous occasion. Locksley gave me the evil eye and I gave it right back. Then we laughed and went about our business.
Mom chopped up strawberries and a red onion then mixed them in a big bowl of salad with crumbled feta and walnuts, drizzled with raspberry vinaigrette. Locksley stood next to her, marinating the salmon with the olive oil she brought, salt and pepper. I started the asparagus on the stove then checked the chicken in the oven. I had seasoned it earlier with an odd mixture of nearly empty spices I found after rummaging through my dad’s cabinets.
“What can I say, I’m a bachelor,” my dad had said when I pointed out his scant supply of cooking essentials.
As the asparagus started to sizzle in the olive oil I brought, Locksley came up behind me and donned a strand of shiny blue beads around my neck. When it was time for dinner, the beads clanked against the plates as we all assembled our meals at the counter.
Dad and Caleb pulled the dining room table out from the kitchen wall so everyone had a place to sit. Locksley told about her time in New Orleans as we ate. There were people everywhere, parading and throwing beads in the air. She said flower-filled floats strolled the streets and people danced behind. Everyone celebrated, she said, and everyone was happy.
“Did you try the beignets?” Michael asked.
“Jambalaya and King cake,” Locksley said.
At the sound of cake I lit the candles and Dad turned out the lights. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” then Locksley blew out her candles in one breath and served the marble cake my mom had bought from Publix.
“This is important – all of us coming together to celebrate our Locksley,” my dad said after cake.
“The only person missing is Eric,” Mom said, referring to my 25-year-old brother who lives in Colorado.
She remembered the day Locksley was born – how bright-eyed she was and happy to finally be out in the world.
“I do like being out in the world,” Locksley said while we cleaned the dishes.
But, she also acknowledged, there was nothing quite like dining in with the family.