“Yeah, he ate turkey and mashed potatoes and green beans and stuffing and pumpkin pie and everything but the kitchen sink. I can’t believe Uncle Roy is still going at it,” Glenda rolled her eyes in the way that only a catty 13-year-old can.

“It’s no wonder he’s not married. Who would want such a fat pig? Gross!”

“Girls!” I chided. “What if he hears you?”

“Oh, Aunt Steph, don’t be silly. By the time he comes up for air, we’ll all be long gone,” Brenda winked.

“Shoot! It’ll probably be Christmas by then!” laughed Glenda and they both howled.

Glancing through the half-open kitchen door, I peered in at Uncle Roy. The look on his face told me he’d heard every word. He looked up and caught me peeking through the door. He shrugged sadly, and then proceeded to dive into a fresh mound of mashed potatoes.

© 2007 Cheryl Johnson. Original for CCF (Johnson grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).