I am not a fan of family gatherings. It’s just another excuse for people I frankly do not care for to invade my house for a few hours.
They come in with their fake smiles and their bullshit small talk.
“How have you been?” “Oh my god, you’ve grown up so much.”
Like they haven’t ignored my existence for the other 364 days of the year.
I usually just smile and nod, because starting an argument at the dinner table apparently makes me the problem.
This Thanksgiving was different, though…
It started out pretty normal, my dad’s extended family all parasitising their way into the kitchen.
Aunt Geraldine arrived first with Fergus shuffling behind her like a man who’d lost every argument he’d ever had. They were followed shortly after by their brat Charlie, hood up, face glued to his phone like the rest of us stopped existing the moment TikTok was invented.
Soon after came my dad’s brother Gordon - Pillock. Have you ever met those arsehole 40-something-year-olds who think they are cool because they have a leather jacket and smoke? I have avoided conversation with him for nigh on five years now, unsure how to tell him that he reminds me more of a paedophile than the rebel he seems to think he is.
There were some other irrelevant people who swanned in, the table taking up around ten seats all in all.
I sat down in my chair and questioned in my head why we, a British family, were celebrating Thanksgiving. I won’t act like the food didn’t smell great. Mum, despite everything, was a good cook.
I ended up squashed between Charlie and Jade. I hadn’t spoken three words to her in just as many years. She caught me smoking last year while everyone was doing karaoke in the back room. She just turned around and walked straight back inside.
I knew she was out there to do the same.
Who do you think I stole the fags off?
Plates started to circulate the table, and people were arguing about who got the drumsticks off the bird, like it even remotely mattered.
I only noticed the guy at the end of the table when he passed the cranberry sauce.
I will be honest, I did not pay him much attention at first - so many fucking relatives have wandered in and out of my life due to family squabbles, it’s hard to keep track. I figured he was one of my dad’s cousins or something, one of those unimportant family relations that appear every few years and expect you to remember their name.
Things went on as normal. I stayed quiet and got lost in thought, waiting for it to end.
About half an hour in, Jade nudged me and leaned over.
“Got a fag?”
I raised an eyebrow, I did… I thought maybe I could be nice for once. I slipped my hand into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Pall Mall and held it just out of reach.
As she went in to grab it, I decided to fuck with her a bit.
“Who’s that guy over there?” I said with a sly grin.
She frowned.
“What?”
“The guy at the end of the table. Who is he?”
She looked straight past him and said, “Gordon? Mum’s pervert brother?” She shot her hand forward to grab the pack, and I pulled back.
“No moron, the guy next to him.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck are you talking about? If you don’t want to give me one, then don’t.”
I scowled and gave her the pack, trying not to cause a scene. If either one of our parents saw the pack, there would be hell to pay for us both.
“Are you going to answer?” I said.
“Shut the fuck up, go back to brooding or something.”
I remembered in that moment why we hadn’t spoken in three years… and why I intended to keep that pattern up for the next three as well.
I looked down the table at the guy who had just passed Gordon the bowl of potatoes.
Our eyes met.
I looked away.
Why did I fucking care?
Why did I fucking ask?
I glanced back, and he was still there… quietly cutting into his turkey like any other guest.
I tried to go back to ignoring everyone.
This lasted all but thirty seconds.
I glanced down the table again.
He was still there. Still eating. Still quiet. Just another relative at the time.
Except I still had no idea who the fuck he was.
I got up to get a drink from the kitchen - I was allowed one alcoholic drink per event like this, it might as well be now.
Mum was in the kitchen pouring herself a massive glass of wine. She looked exhausted.
I looked in Dad’s beer fridge and pulled a can of Stella out.
“When did girls start drinking beer? Your generation gets weirder and weirder,” mum chuckled.
I laughed nervously, opening the can.
I leaned against the counter and said, “Who’s the guy at the end of the table?” cautiously.
“Which one?”
“The one next to Gordon?”
“I don’t know, there are so many people who turn up to these things - I just cook the food, and get no god damn thanks for it from any of them.”
She sighed and took a swig of her wine.
“Okay… but… surely you know wh-”
“Charlotte, just sit down and try not to cause a scene,” she groaned, turning round to the stove.
I stood there for a moment, beer in hand… I pushed down the urge to kick off. If I did that now, I would only be proving her point.
- From the dining room, I heard Gordon laughing at something, loud and obnoxious as ever. Someone dragged a chair across the floor.
I sipped the Stella and walked back in.
He was still there.
Still sitting beside Gordon.
Still eating.
I sat down in my chair, placing the can in front of me. Tapping it slowly. I could hear Charlie’s obnoxious music blaring through his headphones.
I looked up again.
He was looking at me this time.
Not angry. Not confused.
Just watching.
I felt my heart pound in my chest, unsure what to do with this. I mouthed at him, “What?” trying to front confidence, but his face remained unmoved.
Gordon reached for the salt.
The guy slid it toward him before Gordon even finished reaching.
Gordon took it without looking up.
Didn’t say thank you.
Didn’t even glance at him.
Just salted his potatoes and carried on talking to Fergus about whatever 40-year-old men discuss.
I picked up the stella and slipped out of the back door into the side alley. The cold air hit me like a slap… but at least I could finally breathe.
I pulled a pack of Amber Leaf from my other pocket, being forced to roll my own now that Jade stole my last tailored. Before it even hit my mouth, I heard it behind me.
“You know your dad would kill you for that.”
Gordon stood in the doorway, lighting one of his own.
We stared at one another, him with a foul-smelling fag hanging from his gob and me with an unlit one. He chucked me a lighter and said, “Relax, I’m not going to grass you up.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Wow. Thanks for the life-changing act of mercy.”
I remember looking away… trying to mind my own business, but it was eating at me. I asked, “Who’s the guy next to you?”
He frowned as if I’d just asked him the time in Chinese.
“What guy?”
“The one next to you at the table.”
Gordon exhaled a cloud of smoke and squinted at me.
“You been drinking more than that Nelson already?”
“I’m serious.”
He stared at me for a second longer.
Then he laughed.
A proper belly laugh.
“You always were a weird kid.”
I felt my stomach tighten as I responded, “You were literally sitting next to him.”
Gordon shrugged.
“Was I?”
He flicked it onto the pavement.
“Christ, Charlotte. Your generation spends too much time online.”
He took another drag and leaned against the wall beside me. Closer than he needed.
“You’ve grown up, though,” he leered.
I didn’t respond.
“You used to run around here in pigtails.”
He looked me up and down, lingering, making what was already uncomfortable that much worse.
“Different story now.”
“Back the fuck up,” I said angrily, the smell of cheap beer lingering on his breath.
He laughed again, but this one was different… One of those slow, smug ones people do when they think they’re being charming.
“Relax,” he said, “I’m just saying.”
His hand lifted slightly, as if it was about to touch my arm.
That was enough.
I shoved him. Harder than I intended. He stumbled backwards into the bins with a loud crash.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” he snapped.
“Do not fucking touch me,” I growled back.
The back door flew open.
Dad.
Shit.
“What the hell is going on here!”
“Your daughter has lost the fucking plot, is what has fucking happened!” Gordon blurted, dusting himself off.
I felt my face burning.
“He tried t-”
“INSIDE,” Dad said sharply - not to Gordon. To me.
Before I could say another word, he had grabbed my arm and dragged me back inside. The room was quiet, not silent but quiet. The kind of quiet where everyone is pretending not to stare, but you can tell everyone is.
Geraldine had the tight little smile she always wore when someone she thought was embarrassing themselves. Fergus suddenly found the plate very interesting. Charlie hadn’t even looked up.
“Sit,” commanded Dad.
“Not next to him, I’m fucking not,” I said as I pulled my arm away.
“Next to who?” he responded.
I pointed straight at the guy at the end of the table.
“That creep right there.”
Nobody turned. Not a single head moved.
Mum sighed, “Charlotte… please,” like I’d just knocked over a glass.
I felt blood rushing to my ears.
“He has been sitting there all fucking night, you have been interacting with him!”
Still nothing.
Still, no one looked.
“Little slag is losing it,” Gordon muttered as he pushed past me, slouching into his chair.
Everyone started moving again, slowly.
Chairs scraped. People sat.
Conversations restarted, like someone had just unpaused a video.
‘Just another one of Charlotte’s outbursts,’ I thought, because that is what they will call it when I’m not there.
I looked up as everyone sat down, everyone except for him. He never stood up.
He was still sitting, exactly where he had been before.
Knife in one hand.
Fork in the other.
Watching.
“WHO THE FUCK IS THAT!?” I yelled, anger boiling, no longer holding back.
My dad shot up and yelled, “GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
“B-”
“THERE IS NO ONE THERE. YOU HAVE GOTTEN YOUR ATTENTION, NOW GO.”
I looked back, and now the chair was empty… plate gone… cutlery gone… nothing…
I stormed off and sat in my room in the darkness, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him sitting there.
Watching.
The worst part… No one even set a place for him…
I thought about going back downstairs.
I never did.
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