Fathermothergod: My Journey Out of Christian Science Read Online Free PDF Page B

Brad grumbles to no one in particular. In appearance, he reminds me of Oscar Madison on
The Odd Couple
. He is a bit of a curmudgeon. Aunt Mary, by contrast, is warm and cheerful.
    “It was standing room only, but,” Aunt Mary adds gleefully, “we got there in time to see those
adorable
cherubs.”
    During dinner
, the adults are at one table, the thirteen cousins are at the other two. Mimi and I always sit together; so do Olivia and Sarah (Mimi’s older sister) and Sherman and Bradley (Mimi’s younger brother). We are
twuzzins
, a word I made up in second grade that means “cousins of the same age and sex.”
    Judging from the noise level, the adults are having more fun than we are, growing increasingly boisterous as the dinner goes on. Every few minutes I hear Aunt Mary’s high-pitched
whooooh!
at whatever outrageous thing Aunt Kay is saying at their table. Mom and Dad are laughing along, but it looks to me like maybe they’re missing something by not drinking wine. A pretty stemmed glass must be more fun to drink from than a boring old water glass. Some of the grown-ups are holding lit cigarettes. Observing the smokers as they elegantly inhale—making their embers glow, delicately flicking their ashes into the silver ashtrays, and releasing puffy, fleeting clouds—makes me think one day I’ll smoke too. And maybe I’ll be Episcopalian.
E-pis-co-pa-li-an
. I love how the six syllables skip over my lips.
    Dessert is finished, and the seven boys are getting restless. Their ties are pulled loose or missing altogether, and they are sitting on their calves or ankles instead of their butts, playing finger football. Their table has a Coke spilled all over it and eight barely touched plates of Aunt Helen’s cranberry pudding, but on the cookie tray, only crumbs are left. At the girls’ table, almost everyone has eaten the cranberry pudding and the tablecloth is spotless.
    Uncle Brad gets up from his seat and stands with his pipe in hismouth, ponderously puffing. He is the oldest of the uncles, and his stony face could belong to an army general. The room turns quiet.
    “Did you hear something?” he says, again to nobody in particular, but everyone is listening now. “I—I could have sworn I heard bells.” He squints slightly and gazes off into the distance, his tiny, straight mouth widening ever so slightly into a grin. Little Annie squeals and bounces up and down on Mimi’s lap, and Mimi gives her a hug around the waist.
    Everyone moves over to the sliding glass doors that face the frozen lake, Annie and Teddy with their noses and hands pressed to the glass. After a minute or two, Santa comes trudging in with a heavy-laden burlap sack, stomping the snow off his boots.
    Santa settles into a wingback chair that Uncle Bear and Dad have placed prominently near the fireplace and, one by one, calls the grandchildren up. This year I can tell right away who Santa really is: the tennis pro at Woodhill. Grandma is seated on her own throne off to his right, where she has a good view of everything. There are several cameras with flashbulbs going off (or not going off, accompanied by some audible cursing). Dad fiddles with his light meter, and several minutes pass before he takes a single picture.
    After Annie, Teddy, Jerry, Sherman, Brad, Steven, Sargent, and Harry have their mandatory chats with Santa, it’s our turn. “Mimi and Lucia!” Santa says. Everyone starts clapping when Santa gestures to his lap. Mimi and I are both thinking we are too old for this, but we walk sheepishly up and take a seat. He hands us each a present, which we rip open: new Lilly Pulitzer bikinis.
    It is almost
midnight. I am lying in my bed, under the white eyelet canopy, reflecting on the wonderful Christmas Eve we have just had. After Santa left, all the cousins went swimming (except for Olivia, Sarah, and Tristin, who didn’t want to put on their new bathing suits) while the grown-ups exchanged family gifts. The boys played Perry