The Easter I want
I dream of having a big family. Of everyone coming over for Easter lunch. It wouldn’t have to be Easter – it could be Christmas, or any other Holiday, or no holiday at all.
Me in the kitchen preparing food. We’d have appetisers (may be the little mushroom things, or perhaps the chicken and asparagus ones, or perhaps I’d try something new) and may be a roast for mains and something delicious for dessert (or a few somethings so everyone could choose their favourite, may be with that nice raspberry cake I make) and then lots of lovely fresh fruit and cheese. Oh, and wine, of course there’d be wine. A crisp white, probably from Margaret River or Marlborough – my favourite wine regions.
The house would be full of flowers, and the sun would stream in the French doors over the dining table. There’d be nice music playing in the background. Something upbeat but relaxing.
We’d all sit around the table and enjoy the fare. Everyone would be happy. No one would be snarky. No criticism veiled as compliments. No clearing of throats as a warning that someone’s getting angry to the point of exploding. No complaints about the food.
After lunch, the kids would all play outside in the last of the summer sun. Or perhaps they’d go to the park down the road; it’s lovely there. The adults would sit around the table, talking and laughing. Enjoying each other’s company. They’d say things like, “I’m sooo full, but I’ll just have one more…”
We’d spend a long afternoon like this. Perhaps lunch would roll into dinner, who knows? When everyone finally went home they’d be sated and happy, having enjoyed a long lazy day together in each other’s company.
The Easter I got
In a world first my father wishes me and my mother a Happy Easter. My mother, god knows why, says “Tsk, not now,” which sends my father into the throat clearing. Eventually there’s an exchange of Easter chocolate. I say chocolate, because for some reason we haven’t given anything even remotely resembling Easter for a long time. Even so, there’s usually a mountain of chocolate to share, though no one’s very interested anyway.
We spend the morning in silence. My mother does the crossword while my father reads the newspaper. I read my book, anxiety biting me in the gut in the hope that they won’t start going at it again. I read. I hope the guy I think I might be interested in will call like he said he would. He doesn’t.
There’s no real “lunch” to speak of. Everyone has some sort of leftovers, sitting in separate areas of the “family” room (now there’s an oxymoron!) My father whinges while my mother tells me off for reading and then gets engrossed in the crossword again.
By 12.30pm I’m in the car on the way home, squinting through tears because my life is so screwed up.