Chapter 1 - The Small Table By The Window
The napkin was already clean. I unfolded it anyway at the little round table, shook it out once by the corners, and laid it across my lap because I didn't know what else to do with my hands. Behind me, at the big wooden table where I'd eaten for twenty years, the rest of the lunch went on without me. Plates clinked. Someone laughed. The daylight coming through the shuttered window caught the Christmas wreath and threw a thin shadow across the wood floor, and the smell of roast and gravy sat heavy in the air. I had made the potato casserole on that table. I had paid for the ham. And I was sitting by myself at a card table with a tan cloth over it, like an extra guest they hadn't planned for.
My name is Ellen, and I was fifty-two that December.
It was just after noon, a Sunday, two weekends before Christmas. I'd come early to help set up, like always. My brother Mark had moved the small table in from the garage while I was in the kitchen. He said we needed room, that the big table only sat four comfortably now with all the serving dishes. The blonde woman at his elbow — his wife, Karen — had nodded and kept placing silverware at four spots, not five. My niece, Jenny, in the light top, had looked at me and then down fast when I carried my plate over. So I sat down where there was space. My vegetable plate was already there, and a wine glass I hadn't poured. The white cloth napkin had been folded into a tight square at the center. I picked it up because picking it up was quieter than asking why I wasn't at the other table.
I smoothed it with my thumbs, folded it in half, then in half again. I could hear them chewing behind me. Mark said something low about the game. Karen answered. Then their chairs shifted, and I felt them both looking at my back. I turned my head a little to the side. Mark had his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. Karen had her hands folded by her plate, her mouth set in that hostess smile that wasn't a smile.
"You make Christmas tense," she said. "Maybe you should stay home this year."
Mark didn't correct her. He nodded once and added, "Give everybody a break."
May you like
I looked down at the napkin in my lap. I folded it once more, pressed the crease flat with my palm, then lifted it and set it on the table beside my plate. I ran both hands over it until there wasn't a wrinkle left in it. The cotton was warm from my lap. My wine glass sweated a little ring onto the tan cloth. Jenny stared at her plate and didn't look up once, her hair falling forward to cover her face. Nobody moved to clear anything. Nobody laughed now.
I rested my hands on either side of the plate, felt the edge of the table solid under my palms, and turned my eyes toward the window past the wreath. I didn't answer yet.
