The Casual Rule

by AC Netzel

  “Mr. and Mrs. Conti, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Ben shakes my grandfather’s hand and has already worked out that a handshake does not do for the Conti women. He leans down and kisses my grandmother’s cheek.

  My grandmother grabs his hand and holds it. “Well, aren’t you a handsome young man. I’m surprised Julia let you out of the bedroom.”

  “Grandma!” Oh God.

  “Relax, Julia. I’m not an old fashioned prude.”

  “No one will accuse you of that, Grandma.” I tug Ben’s hand from her grip. “Ben these are my brothers, Frank Jr., Dominic, Mark, and their wives, Gina, Beth and Joanne. That’s Sophie’s husband Jim and Isabelle’s husband Bruce.” Ben makes his rounds to everyone, shaking their hands.

  “Ben, sit down. Have some wine. There are a few open bottles on the table. Unless you’d rather have a beer?” my brother Dominic offers.

  “The merlot is fine. Thank you.” Dominic pours the wine in a glass and hands it to Ben.

  The conversations and the wine are flowing. My mother is busying herself, making sure there are enough plates and forks for everyone. I don’t think my mother has sat down at the dinner table on a holiday in twenty years.

  The table is full of a delicious array of gastronomic treats, a giant tray of antipasto with olives, cheeses, stuffed hot peppers, a large tray of my grandmother’s to-die-for eggplant parmesan, rice balls, broccoli rabe and several stuffed breads. The children are called to the table, which for tonight are three folding tables bucked up to the dining room table with folding chairs and the green resin chairs from the outdoor patio set to sit on.

  Ben seems to be holding his own pretty well, navigating through multiple discussions at the same time. I’m impressed. It took me years to perfect it. He even seems to enjoy the spirited debate my brothers are having about some new scientific find in space. I usually zone out of these conversations. It sounds like the Namibian Bushmen clicking language to me. Click, click, click….I don’t have a clue what the hell they’re talking about. Whoosh…right over my head.

  After we’ve had our fill of noshing, we collect the dirty plates and replace them with dinner plates. The women bring the food to the table. I know it’s sexist, serving the men, but they’re completely useless in the kitchen. Probably because my mother coddled my brothers from the time they were born. Their only job was taking out the trash and mowing the lawn. It bothered me a lot growing up, but as an adult, I don’t mind it as much. Now, we make fun of them out of earshot when we’re in the kitchen.

  “There’s more to eat?” Ben asks as I place a large platter of King crab legs in front of him.

  “That was only the appetizers,” I explain.

  “Jeez.” He leans back in his chair and pats his stomach.

  “At some point you’ll see most of us unbutton our pants. We don’t stop when we’re full; we stop when the food is gone,” I whisper.

  “Interesting mentality,” he whispers back.

  I take my seat next to Ben. He’s staring at the food in front of him.

  “Is there something wrong?” I ask.

  “There’s sushi, fried calamari, octopus, crab legs and coconut shrimp.”

  “And?”

  “I thought it’s traditional for Italians to have the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. Where’s the baccala, the sardines in pasta? ”

  “How do you know about that?” I ask.

  “I researched it.”

  “Why would you research it?”

  “I wanted to understand some of your family traditions,” he explains.

  Why would he do that? Research our traditions, like all this matters to him.

  “Oh. We’ve modernized the seven fishes to our tastes. Besides, baccala is disgusting.” I shudder.

  He rests his hand on my knee; squeezes then briefly caresses the top of my thigh. He’s showing affection? In front of people? We’re always platonic outside of the bedroom. I’m a little confused. It must be the wine.

  We’re eating our dinner, listening to my grandfather tell one of his infamous “Back in My Day” stories, when my youngest niece, Emma, climbs on Ben’s lap.

  “Emma, Ben is eating his dinner,” I scold as sweetly as I can.

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” she says, cocking her head and batting her eyelashes at him. Oh my God, this five-year-old girl is flirting with him. “You’re cute,” she says coyly.

  “Uh, thank you. You’re cute too,” he stammers, his eyes widen in panic. It’s hysterical.

  “Is Aunt Julia your girlfriend?” Okay, now it’s not so hysterical. This kid may look innocent, but there is nothing innocent about this question. I smell a rat. I bet one of my sisters put Emma up to this. Nosey bitches.

  The chatter in the room falls silent. I feel all eyes on the two of us. There are twenty conversations going on at the same time, yet my entire family picks up on this one question and quiets down. I could save Ben and answer the question, but I’m as curious to hear his answer as the rest of my family.

  “Your Aunt and I are very good friends,” he replies.

  “Why isn’t she your girlfriend? Don’t you like her?” She purses her lips and frowns.

  He squirms in his seat. “We like being friends.”

  “Do you kiss her? This boy in my class, Ryan Harper, said he was my friend but he tried to kiss me.”

  He nervously glances at me, then back at Emma. I need to stop this. “That’s enough questions Emma. Go play with your cousins.” I tap on her shoulder, shooing her away. I look across the table and see my sisters huddled together with their hands covering their mouths, laughing. Those witches did put her up to this. I knew it. I purse my lips at them and scowl. They simply shrug, playing the innocents. I’m going to kill them. “Sorry about that,” I whisper to Ben, as Emma jumps off his lap.

  “I suspect that line of questioning was the work of the cackling duo across the table?” His eyes dart across the table toward Isabelle and Sophie.

  “You are very wise, Mr. Martin,” I say as I shake my head looking in my meddlesome sisters’ direction, mouthing “bitches” to both of them.

  Although he roots for the wrong team, my brothers seem to be pretty impressed in Ben’s vast knowledge of baseball. He shares some behind the scenes stories about different baseball teams; nicknames the field crew secretly gave to a few of the team members that get some pretty big laughs. Ben sure knows how to play to his audience. These baseball stories are winning big points with my dad. I think my dad may be as enamored with Ben as most ladies who are graced in his presence.

  Dinner is finally over. Everyone is stuffed. Pants are unbuttoned. Success. My dad rises from his seat and walks over to us.

  “JuJu Bean, perhaps Ben might like to join the men outside. We’re going to light up a few cigars and walk off some of this dinner. Ben…would you like to join us?” my dad asks.

  “Sounds good, Mr. Conti.” Ben stretches in his seat, patting his stomach.

  “It’s Frank.”

  “Frank.” Ben nods.

  “The man walk…it’s quite an honor to get an invite,” I whisper in Ben’s ear.

  “I’ll remember that, JuJu Bean,” he teases.

  Once Ben leaves for his walk with the men, I turn to my sisters and sister-in-laws. “Which one of you put Emma up to that?”

  They look at each other and grin.

  “Oh, Julia, don’t be so paranoid. No one put Emma up to anything,” Sophie answers. Liars.

  “You two do look awfully chummy for just friends,” Isabelle adds.

  “Girls. This is Julia’s business. Drop it,” my mother interrupts, trying to keep the peace as she has all throughout our lives… especially during our teenage years.

  “Fine Mom. So Julia, did you warn Ben about the man walk?” Isabelle asks.

  “Crap. I forgot. Shit.” Oh God, if he thinks my family is crazy now; wait until he’s done with the man walk.

  “I guess you’ll find out how much he really l
ikes you if he sticks around after the walk.”

  Twenty minutes later, the front door opens and the men stroll back into the house, still yakking away.

  Ben walks up to me, looking amused. “You could have warned me,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot. They’re Neanderthals.”

  “Your brothers call it the fart walk.”

  “I know. They’re disgusting.”

  “They’re something all right.” He shakes his head and laughs. At least he finds some humor in this.

  My brother Mark clinks a glass with a knife a few times, getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone, I’d like to congratulate the newest member of the fart walk team, Ben Martin, on his maiden voyage. Impressive job, Ben. I salute you and your formidable flatulence.”

  “Thank you, Mark.” Ben bows.

  “Good God, Ben. You participated?” My jaw drops.

  “When in Rome…” He shrugs.

  ~o0o~

  A few of the adults are sitting around the table playing a not-so-friendly game of poker. Nickel ante and a quarter is the high bet. Luckily, I remembered my plastic bag of change from home and gave it to Ben to play. My dad takes out the Jim Beam and pours out a few glasses.

  “Is everyone sleeping over?” Ben whispers in my ear.

  “No, just us.”

  “How the hell are they going to get home with all the alcohol they’re consuming?”

  “Our family rule is that the in-laws, or outlaws, as they like to call themselves, don’t drink on holidays. This way there’s always a designated driver. When one of my brothers or sisters goes to their spouses’ family’s home, they won’t drink.”

  “I suppose that’s a pretty responsible solution.”

  “Yeah, once in a while we get it right,” I joke.

  The game has a massive pot of probably five dollars. I shake my head at the intensity the players have for winning this windfall. It’s absurd. A few times I caught Ben secretly checking each coin before he bet it. Collecting coins really is ingrained in him.

  Ben and my dad are the last two in the game. My dad bets a whopping quarter with a wry grin. Ben stares at him intently, reading his opponent. My dad is wearing his Frank Conti poker face. He perfected it over many years of playing cards with his Knights of Columbus lodge buddies. The tension in the air is thick.

  “That’s too rich for me, Frank.” He throws down his cards and folds.

  The table erupts in a lively roar when Dad wins the big pot. He looks so damn happy gathering up the coins in the center of the table. It melts my heart. I love to see my dad happy.

  I glance over at Ben. He slyly winks at me and I realize he threw the game. That was so….sweet.

  My mom walks over to my side and leans in close to my ear. “He’s a keeper,” she whispers. I stare down at the floor and smile.

  ~o0o~

  “Why are all the kids still awake? Isn’t it late for them?” Ben asks.

  “Because in two minutes, it’s midnight.”

  “What happens at midnight?”

  “Presents,” I say with a twisted smile, wiggling my brows.

  “You open gifts at midnight?” he asks, rubbing his hand over his dark stubble.

  “Yes, it’s officially Christmas at midnight.”

  “What about Santa?”

  “Santa comes to their homes while they’re sleeping. These are gifts from the family.” I reach across and pat his shoulder. “Trust me, it’s quite an experience.”

  My nephews and nieces count down the two minutes like it’s New Years Eve…once the clock strikes midnight, pandemonium begins. The kids run for the tree. There are piles and piles of gifts. They spent half the night divvying them up. Wrapping paper is flying everywhere. Complete insanity in one small room. The kids are screeching with every gift they open, wrapped up in the excitement of new toys. The adults are making their rounds, welcoming Christmas with hugs, kisses and handshakes.

  “Merry Christmas, Ben.” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek; he quickly turns his head to catch my lips on his, as he pulls me in close to him.

  “Merry Christmas, Julia.” He runs his finger down my cheek, stroking it back and forth under my bottom lip. For a quick moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room. I feel the pull he always has over me, I can’t escape it, even in a room full of people.

  “Come on Aunt Julia, there’s a present for you.” My nephew Nicky grabs my hand and pulls me away from Ben, bringing me back down to earth.

  I shrug apologetically and dash off with Nicky. I sit cross-legged on the floor with a gift box in front of me. Ben furrows his brow, cocking his head to the side.

  “From my parents,” I tell him. He nods.

  I unwrap the box. It’s a pair of flannel pajamas. I knew it would be. My parents have bought all of us flannel pajamas for as long as I can remember.

  “Very sexy. I’d like to see you in those,” he whispers.

  “I don’t think you could handle it. It may be too sexy for your eyes.”

  “Try me.” He winks. “I see the shirt has buttons. I do enjoy unbuttoning your shirt.” My mind flashes back to the other day in Ben’s kitchen when he unbuttoned his white shirt. My breathing hitches. I shake my head as I remember where I am and pull myself back together.

  Ben snatches the small gift box hidden under the tree for my parents. He grabs my hand and helps me off the floor. We walk over to my parents.

  “A little thank you for tonight, for you and Frank.” Ben hands my mom the box.

  She unwraps the gift and her eyes open wide; she nudges my dad, who has the same reaction.

  “We can’t accept this, Ben. It’s too much,” she says.

  “What is it?” I ask. It takes a lot to render my father speechless, now I’m dying to know.

  “It’s passes to the Sterling Luxury suites at Citifield,” my mom explains.

  “Actually, you have the entire suite. Whatever game you’d like to go to, you can invite up to thirty of your nearest and dearest. Let Julia know when and I’ll have it arranged.”

  “Ben…” I look at him, dumbfounded.

  “It’s not a big deal. My father’s company owns the suite. Please, enjoy it.”

  My dad tries unsuccessfully to mask his glee. He’s thrilled and doing a terrible job hiding it. He pulls himself together and puts back on his poker face. “Thank you, Ben.” He nods.

  Ben smiles. “You’re very welcome.”

  ~o0o~

  After all the gifts are opened and the kids are off playing with their new toys, the adults gravitate back to the dining room table. My mom has put out an array of desserts, my cheesecake, various Italian pastries, a fruit platter and a few pies. She places a pot of coffee and a pot of espresso with a bottle of Sambuca, and some lemon peel on the table.

  “Of course, more food.” Ben sighs.

  “Oh, this isn’t it,” I warn. As the words leave my mouth, my dad comes walking out of the kitchen with a tray full of sausage and peppers, and a loaf of Italian bread tucked under his arm.

  “Are you kidding me? Sausage and peppers…now?”

  “It’s after midnight, we can eat meat.”

  My brothers convince Ben to skip the coffee and have another shot of Jim Beam instead. I hope he doesn’t regret it.

  This is what makes Christmas Eve so special to me. It’s these little things: the food, the mayhem, and my family under one roof. It’s my favorite day of the year and somehow having Ben at my side, experiencing this day with me, makes me cherish it even more.

  ~o0o~

  It’s almost two in the morning. The dining room table has been cleared off…enough.

  The night is finally coming to a close. Sophie’s family is driving my grandparents back to their house. I can’t believe they’re still awake. They have more energy than all of us combined. We say our goodbyes to everyone, hugging, kissing, and wishing them a good Christmas Day.

  “I saw that midnight kiss,
Julia. I call bullshit on the ‘just friends’ line you’re both dishing out,” Sophie whispers in my ear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

  “HmmMmm,” she hums skeptically.

  The cars are packed and full of gifts as my brothers and sisters carry their sleeping children to their respective cars and drive off.

  “I’ll make sure Ben is set up in the boys’ old room. Good night, Mom, Dad.”

  “Good night, JuJu Bean, Ben,” my father sleepily replies as my parents walk arm in arm to their bedroom.

  We walk through the dark hallway to my brothers’ old room. I know I’m twenty-four and my parents have probably figured out that Ben and I are more than just platonic friends, but I respect their rules. The only couples that sleep together under this roof are married couples.

  Ben’s a bit wobbly, probably from the late night and the combination of wine and whiskey.

  “The bathroom is across the hall.” I point to the door across from his.

  His eyes are half closed, he looks like he’s about to pass out.

  “Come on, let’s get you in bed.” I hold his hand and guide him to the edge of the bed.

  “Now you’re talking. Let’s get naked,” he mumbles playfully.

  “Not in my parent’s home.”

  “We’ll be quiet.” He grabs my hand and places it on his crotch.

  “Not going to happen, Romeo.” I shake my head.

  He sits down on the bed and I unbutton his shirt. He wraps his hands around me, caressing my backside. “You have one fine ass JuJu Bean,” he sputters.

  “Come on, let’s get your pants off. Can you do it?”

  “I knew it. You do want me naked,” he slurs as he unbuttons his pants and flops down on the bed. I roll my eyes. I slip off his shoes then grab his pant legs and pull his pants off, peeking at the hallway, making sure we aren’t disturbing my parents. Swinging his legs around so he’s lying on the bed, I cover him with a blanket. He looks so peaceful lying on my brother’s bed. I lean down to kiss his forehead; he grabs my hand, holding me down. “Stay with me. I want you with me.”

  “I can’t tonight. Get some rest. We’ll have a sleep over another day.”