By A.L.
Marie and I walked up the cement porch stairs to my ex-husband’s house. I could hear the laughter and clinks of glass cups from within. Before I rang the doorbell, I gave Marie’s small, soft hand a squeeze. She giggled and asked if she could press the button.
“You can press it, but only once,” I warned. Marie gleefully smashed her finger into the doorbell. The laughter and merriment from inside ceased. We stood, immobile, in the chilled winter air for a moment, the faint glow from the covered windows igniting rotten pumpkins at the base of the door. I smiled anxiously at Marie, and before I could tell her to be patient the door opened slowly. It was my oldest daughter, Eleanor.
I turned my body and attempted to give her a brief sideways hug, like most women do.
“Ellie! It’s been so long. How are you?”
She stiffened when I hugged her and leaned away from my touch.
“It’s been fine. Come on in,” Eleanor said coldly, an unreadable look in her eyes when Marie came into her view.
Every year at Thanksgiving, I visited my ex-husband and our children for holiday dinner, and every year, the gap between us grew. My ex-husband and I had a messy divorce, but we were adults and could handle sticky situations like that. He was abusive and a completely miserable human being, and I would have abandoned him completely had it not been for my children.
Eventually I remarried and had one beautiful daughter, Marie, with my now-deceased second husband, and while my daughter and I were always invited to the big family gathering in November, a thick, uncomfortable air descended upon the party when we arrived. This year was the worst yet.
My youngest daughter and I cautiously strolled through the doorway and into the living room, where everyone was gathered. The conversations stopped; the room’s eyes turned toward me, then shifted elsewhere. No hugs, no hello’s. It was like we weren’t even there.
I smiled awkwardly.
“How has everyone been?”
Ignored.
Marie tugged at my sweater.
“Mom, I have to go potty.”
Before Eleanor could reclaim her seat in the circle, I asked her to show me where the restroom was.
“Down the hall,” she said, refusing to face me.
“Thank you.”
I took a trip down the dimly-lit hallway with Marie, searching for the bathroom. As we walked, I could see uncovered, authentic-looking oil paintings with gold-leaf frames. Fancy antiques lined the corridor, and even fancier vases held fresh hydrangeas—in November. He always did have more money; he was a pharmaceutical researcher, after all.
I was surprised by how elaborate the layout of the house was. While Marie and I had spent Thanksgiving with my family before, my ex-husband moved last year; I’m surprised they gave me the address at all.
After peeking through many different doors, we reached the bathroom.
“Can you go by yourself?” I asked.
“Yeah!” Marie replied confidently.
She entered the restroom and closed the door. She forgot to lock it. Classic Marie.
While I waited, my nosey instincts kicked in. This house was so lavish, I just had to see what else this man wasted his money on. I continued down the hall, gawking at the expensive-looking trinkets and artwork. I strolled into the downstairs office, careful of the noise in my steps. I stopped, listening for noise down the hall. Everyone else was still chatting, and Marie hadn’t left the bathroom.
My eyes scattered around the dim office. It was a little messy; my ex-husband wasn’t an organized man. In the center of the back wall was a mahogany case with shining glass windows, sets of china and glazed sculptures collecting dust on the shelves. I noticed a few spots on each shelf that looked rather empty.
“Oh, those are so pretty,” I whispered. My prying nature commanded me to look inside. Turning the knob of the door, I slowly opened the case, careful not to let the door screech. Unbeknownst to me, a small box rested unbalanced on the top of the shelf. It fell and spilled onto the floor.
“Crap,” I whispered harshly. I heard voices coming closer from down the hall. Rushing to pick up the documents, I tried to stuff the papers back into the box. But before I put it all away, one line of the page on top caught my eye.
Psychological Alteration Test - Male v.s. Female Comparison
I was confused. I knew my ex-husband worked with prototype medicines, but he wasn’t the type to meddle with antidepressants or calming agents. Maybe he had an odd side effect tied to one of his research projects.
Why I was so curious, though, I didn’t know. For as much as I cared about their lives, they wouldn’t bat an eye if something happened in mine. It wasn’t clear why I went to such lengths to be with them when they wanted nothing to do with me. However, I was there, and I was bored, so I thought I’d entertain myself with a little private gossip.
I heard the voices again, even closer than before. I shook away my slight frustration and my weird findings, put the box back, and went back down the hall to find Marie.
“What were you doing?” a shadow questioned.
I spun around, looking for the voice’s source. It was my oldest son, Allen, and next to him, his twin, Cameron. I smiled.
“Oh, I took Marie to the bathroom and got lost,” I lied, “could you show me the way back?”
Allen stepped forward.
“Eleanor found her and brought her to the dining room. Dinner’s ready, so we should head over.”
Allen finished speaking and walked down the hallway. Cameron followed after him, stopping to look back at me.
“Come on,” he said.
Something wasn’t right. The pit of my stomach told me to wait, to stay behind, but Marie was in there. I didn’t feel well and wanted to leave, but that would be rude; we would stay for dinner, then go home. It wasn’t like they would notice, anyway.
I followed after my two older boys. When I entered the dining room, everyone’s eyes turned toward me, just like when I arrived. Except their eyes didn’t leave, and Marie wasn’t in the room like my twins said she was. My ex-husband was gone, too. I smiled, uncomfortable.
“It smells good. Where’s Marie?”
Cameron looked at me. “She’s with Dad. He asked her to help him with the plates. You want some wine?”
I was shocked. Cameron had barely spoken to me since the divorce, and now he’s asking me to join him for a drink? I couldn’t ignore it.
“Of course! Do you have white, or just red?”
“White. That’s what you like, right?”
“Right.”
I was delighted. I was dreading Thanksgiving this year, but this might have been my chance to reconnect with my kids. Cameron poured me a glass of white wine. The liquid bubbled and swished, like a loose, sheer dress. I couldn’t control the grin on my face.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, somewhat detached. That was just how Cameron was: shy and aloof, but he meant well. I drank my wine a little too quickly, and I felt the heat flow into my head. Eleanor and Cameron chatted with me while I drank more and more, but Allen slipped out of the dining room before I had the chance to ask him about how he was doing.
The conversation reached a smooth stop. I leaned back and sighed happily. Cameron and Eleanor watched me slouch back into my chair.
“You think it’s time?” Cameron said to Eleanor.
“Yeah,” she replied. The volume of her voice increased dramatically “Allen?”
Allen came into the dining room, gloves and rope in his hands. I sat up, but my limbs felt like lead.
“What’s going on?” I breathed.
The three of them surrounded me, and my vision went dark, soft fabric blocking my sight.
********
I awoke in a damp room. My head was foggy; I could barely move.
“Where…?” I mumbled.
My ex-husband entered my sight. He was wearing a face mask and a white coat.
“Good morning, June,” he greeted.
“Devan, what’s happening? Where’s Marie?” I slurred.
“I just have to finish running a few tests, June, so hang tight.”
He stared at a glowing screen in the dimness of the room. The light illuminated his glasses; I couldn’t see his eyes. I struggled against the force that bound me.
“What’s going on?” I panicked.
“You know,” he started, ignoring my question, “it’s a good thing you still came this year. I would have had to hunt you down if you didn’t.”
“What do you mean? Devan, what is—”
He slammed his fist onto a metal table near my head. I flinched.
“If you would let me finish, you would know.” He cleared his throat. “See, business hasn’t been great, June, and I need a quick route to a jump in income. I mean, look at this: I’ve had to move and sell some of my antiques just to live the way I like to.”
He moved back to his computer, the clicks of his fingers skittering across the keys lulling me into a daze. He swiveled in his chair with his back to me, and without looking back, he continued.
“The best way to move up in the scientific community is to publish something interesting, and that something has to be a pretty big breakthrough to be worth anyone’s time.”
In my foggy state of mind, I thought back to the paper I found in his office.
“Psychological work— that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Why?”
He turned his chair back to me.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Eleanor told me,” I lied.
“No, she didn’t. I didn’t tell her to do that. Were you snooping, June?”
He stood, walking toward me. He grabbed my face.
“I don’t like it, June, when people go through my things. Don’t do it again.”
He released my face and straightened his face mask. I still felt the pressure of his thumbs digging into my cheeks. It ached.
Taking a full syringe in his hands, my ex-husband punched a few numbers into his computer and came back toward me.
“I don’t like to call it brainwashing. It’s more of an obedience encourager. I thought the military might be interested in it, so I started my research. I just needed some people to test it on.”
He lowered the syringe to the middle of my arm, the green liquid almost glowing in the darkness. He stroked my cheek, an unnatural change in his expression melting across his face. It almost looked like affection.
“It’s nice to see you, June. I won’t let you leave me again.”
I felt the syringe pierce my flesh; the liquid pulsed through my veins. My back arched, my fingers and toes curled. Painful.
Within about a minute everything had turned peaceful. The rage within my body had calmed. I sat, barely conscious, and felt the drool drip down my chin. My ex-husband put the now empty syringe on the metal table next to me and patted my head with a purple latex glove.
“See? Not so bad.” He looked to his side, maybe toward a doorway. I heard the creak of hinges, then Allen entered my sight.
“Cameron?” I dribbled, as though I were intoxicated, “no, wait, Allen?”
The young man stared down at me, grunted, then turned to his father.
“Is she ready?” he asked briskly.
“Yeah, she should be docile enough.” He scowled slightly at Allen, then moved his eyes to me. “June, I’m sorry they’ve been so rude to you, but my research hasn’t come so far that I can control emotions.” He patted my forehead again. “They all end up so stoic, but I’m hoping it’s different with you.” I felt his hand on my forehead slide down to my cheek. I was numb.
“It really is nice to have you back.”
I was dragged up the stairs to the dining room. Marie was there, sitting dazed in a wooden chair at the table. I only had the energy to lightly call her name.
An array of dishes were displayed on the table: cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and a green bean casserole. It smelled like the holidays. Glittering glasses of champagne and sparkling cider were foaming and filled to the brim, about to spill over like the tears that begged for an escape. The flames of the candles danced to the tune of my dread; I could further feel the cold sweat that threatened to drip as the wax melted and morphed into an amalgamation I couldn’t register. Everything spun around and around.
Cameron sat beside me, and Allen and my ex-husband took the seats at each end of the table. Eleanor emerged from the kitchen carrying the coveted turkey, cut to bits on a decorative plate.
“Isn’t this nice?” exclaimed my ex-husband. “The family’s back together! Plus one, anyway.”
“Yes,” Allen said flatly. Cameron nodded, and Eleanor’s lips struggled into what looked like a smile. Eleanor took the seat next to Marie, the seat across from me. My youngest daughter and I sat there like zombies. We were slouched over, breathing through our mouths. Neither of us could say a word.
Once Eleanor settled in, Cameron took my hand in his.
“We’re going to pray,” he whispered to me. Eleanor put a pristine napkin on Marie’s lap and clasped her hand. My ex-husband held mine and Marie’s other hand and gave them a squeeze. The prayer began.
“Oh, Heavenly Father,” my ex-husband started, “thank you so much for this beautiful dinner, my children, and my wonderful, wonderful wife. It is a blessing that she should rejoin the family, along with my precious new daughter, Marie.”
He smiled at each of us.
“And we graciously accept these blessings in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
In unison, we all chimed, “Amen.”
I could feel my energy returning, but the mist clouding my thoughts remained thick. Something wasn’t right. Cameron was helping me eat my food. My ex-husband was laughing; he was the only one laughing.
I couldn’t taste the food. I could only sit and listen, watch and feel. This all felt so plastic and surreal. To eat again with my beloved children was like a dream come true. Slowly I felt the feelings of panic and fear drift away, a warm feeling sprouting in my chest. Whatever had happened tonight—to my children, to my husband, to me—at least I was part of the family.
