Thanksgiving in Waremouth
A Seasonal Story
“Does every town in eastern Massachusetts end in -ham or -mouth or -wich?” Sally asked as they passed the exit for Hingham.
“Not at all,” said Sean. “Bourne, Rockport, Roxbury, Dorchester, Wellfleet, Brewster, Orleans, Concord, Lexington, Hyannis…”
“Very funny. On second thought, that question was rhetorical. You could probably name every neighborhood in Boston if I asked you.”
“Well, we spent a lot of time in Southie and the North End growing up – for obvious reasons – but if you want me to name every neighborhood…”
“That’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Sally said, “Remind me again why we have to get there so early.”
“We can’t miss the fireworks.”
“Fireworks on Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. They’re illegal in Massachusetts and Bobby has a yearly tradition of seeing how far he can push it before the cops can’t pretend not to see them. He does it on the Fourth. But he doesn’t have any competition on Thanksgiving, see.”
“Has he ever been arrested?”
“Once or twice. But not for fireworks. One of the sergeants is a friend of his.”
“Remind me again what he does?”
“Drink beer mostly.”
“I meant for a living.”
“Oh. Well, for a long time he said he was holding out for a spot in the bullpen with the Sox, but now he works at a bar in Harvard Yard.”
“Seems to suit him well.”
“It does. And it keeps him away from Fiona, which is good because they never got along even when we were really little. Oh damn, that was the exit.” Sean was driving since he knew the way. “We can get off at the next one and circle back through town. Hey, it’ll be a chance to show you the sights.”
Sally nodded, even though Sean was watching the road and couldn’t see her. “So, you have a pretty big family,” she said.
“Yeah, so Seamus’s the oldest and then Mary. Then me. Bobby and Fiona are twins. Then Michael and Finnegan and Rosie – she’s still in school.”
“A lot of Irish names for a family named Bianchi.”
“Well, Mom’s an O’Rourke from Southie and she took his name when they married and they figured this was a good compromise. By the way, she’s gonna have to ask you who you voted for. She’s gonna do it right when you walk in the door.”
“Wait what?” Sally turned to look at him. “Who I voted for?”
“Yeah, see, it’s a big family and Seamus and Mary’ll bring their spouses and kids, and Grandpa O’Rourke and Grandma Biancha will be there. And my dad’s brothers and my mom’s sister and all their kids. It’s a big house. But…” Sean hesitated. “Well, you see, that many people – and from all over too, a lot of people moved away – there’s a lot of different political allegiances if you know what I’m saying. And politics was always a big thing in my family, what with Dad being involved with a political machine.”
“A political machine?”
“One of the local parties. Used to be more of a machine back in the day. So, Mom needs to know who you voted for so she’ll know where to seat you – to avoid too many fights, you see.”
“What if I tell her I didn’t vote?”
“She’ll want to know whether that’s because you just don’t care, or because you’re waiting for the revolution of the proletariat, or because you think both parties are just the same statist machines and only differ on which way they’ll try to buy your vote: tax cuts or a check.”
“Hmm. What if I tell her I just didn’t like either candidate?”
“She’ll try a two-parter issue question. Like this, see. She might ask how you feel about borders. And if you say one thing she’ll know where to put you but if you said open borders, she’ll have to ask whether you’re against borders because you want world communism or a minimal state.”
“Gosh, I don’t know. Are there people who… never mind, I think I know the answer to that.”
“Yeah, in our family, we run the gamut. Hell, my uncle Tommy’s ready to make divorce illegal and triple every existing tariff and aunt Jessica wants to legalize polyamory and make fossil fuels illegal. Oh, and Finnegan’s an anarchist.”
“An anarchist?”
“Yeah, he wants to abolish the government.”
“Like, everything?”
“Yeah. If you think about it, that makes every issue simple. He’s against every law, because he thinks law is a violation of universal human rights.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in. You’re not a Maoist are you? We don’t have one of those yet, and me and Fiona have a bet about that.”
“I didn’t know there were Maoists in America in 2022.”
“Oh, trust me. Hey, we’re here.”
They parked on the street, behind several other cars, and then walked up the packed driveway. Sean rang the doorbell.
“Feels weird to ring the doorbell on the house I grew up in, but I feel like I probably should.”
A red-headed woman opened the door.
“Sean! And you must be Sally. Hey, Sean and Sally are here! Come in, come in. Sally, so good to meet you. Donny, get down here and introduce yourself! How was the drive?”
During the time she was speaking, she’d ushered them both inside and given Sean a hug. He’d managed to squeeze a, “hi, Mom,” in while she was in midsentence, but Sally hadn’t been able to say a word. When Mrs. Bianchi paused for breath, Sally availed herself of the opportunity.
“The drive was fine, Mrs. Bianchi. It’s great to finally meet you. Thank you for hosting us.”
“You’re very welcome, dear,” she replied. “Please, call me Martha.”
By this time, Mr. Bianchi had made his way downstairs. He gave Sally a handshake and introduced himself as Don and then shook his son’s hand.
“How’s the job going, son?”
“Oh, fine. Five people quit last month.”
“That many?”
“Yeah. I’m used to it by now,” Sean said with a shrug.
Sean went to talk with his father and Martha brought Sally into the dining room to meet the rest of the family.
Later, when they had a private minute together, Sally told Sean, “All your brother Seamus wanted to talk about was the election. I thought he and your Uncle Tommy were going to get in a fight over it.”
“Ah, they’re just having a good time. Wait ‘til they’ve had a few drinks.”
“Your mom kept asking me about what I thought – I guess cause she wanted me to feel included or something – and I just kept having to say I didn’t know or I didn’t really have much of an opinion. She started pressing me, saying, ‘I’m sure you must have an opinion, dear. Don’t worry, we won’t bite,’ or things like that.”
“In case you didn’t know by now, my family likes to talk politics. Especially at Thanksgiving. It’s like a sport for some of them. Sometimes I wonder why they can’t just talk about real sports like normal people, but what’re you going to do?”
“That was why you were trying to warn me in the car.”
“Warn you? No, not exactly. Prepare you? That sounds about right.”
“Ok. Well, so far, your family sounds pretty extreme. Like, they’re all different, radically different, but it’s like, where are the, you know, normal people? Seamus said everyone who voted for Trump was a fascist and your uncle said that he wasn’t, and Seamus said that he’d just drunk the Russian Kool Aid. Then he said that if he was in charge, he’d make it illegal to put anything on social media that was disinformation. And your uncle said he agreed with that! He just had a different idea of what was disinformation. But then he said he’d go so far as to make porn illegal and even Victoria’s Secret ads and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition! Your mom said that both of them were nuts, but she wanted to hear what I thought.”
Sean smiled. “Well,” he asked, “What did you think?”
Sally held her arms up. “C’mon, Sean. What do you think I said? I sort of said I didn’t really know. I mean it’s like, I don’t think about this kind of stuff all the time. I’ve got better things to do. Besides, I think people should be, you know, free to say what they want I guess.”
Sean glanced sideways and grinned. “I’ll bet I know what they asked when you said people should be free to say what they want,” he said.
Nodding, Sally said, “Uh huh, I’ll bet you do. Whether that meant I thought people should be free to advertise heroin to children and distribute nuclear secrets and make deepfake sex tapes of politicians. I mean, come on! Of course, I didn’t mean any of that. I mean, why’s everything got to be so extreme. Why can’t I just be normal, you know, moderate? Why do I have to have hardline political positions on things? What if I’m just, I don’t know, like I said, a moderate?”
“Then you’re boring, Sally,” said Sean.
Sally elbowed him.
“Wait ‘til you meet cousin Marty,” said Sean. “He’s a proud moderate.”
Cousin Marty turned out to be the oldest cousin. At 45, he was unmarried, but he had a longtime girlfriend, Bethany, and she came to Thanksgiving dinner, too.
“It’s called the Extreme Center,” Marty explained to Sally while helping himself to a predinner glass of sherry. Everyone was milling about the house, busy in the dining room and the kitchen, watching football in the living room, or spilling outside to stand around the firepit with some hors d’oeuvres. Marty and Sally were in the hallway that connected the kitchen to the football game. Sally was about to excuse herself to go outside, because two of the cousins were relaying every single play into the kitchen, while several animating political discussions were all attempting to take precedence over the football commentary.
“How can the center of anything be extreme?” asked Sally.
“We’re the real patriots,” said Marty. “Both sides are crazy. It’s going to be up to us extreme centrists to water the tree of liberty with blood when there’s a civil war.”
“Excuse me,” said Sally. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
She took a detour through the kitchen, managed to avoid getting roped into a discussion about immigration, before stopping at the bathroom and making her way outside.
“Beer?” asked Mickey, one of Sean’s cousins, who’d brought a keg he’d brewed.
“Please,” said Sally.
They stood and watched the fire for a bit. “I’m Michael,” said Mickey. “I go by Mickey.”
“I know,” said Sally. “Sean told me.”
“You’re Sally.”
“That’s me.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“They’re a bit much sometimes,” said Mickey.
Sally looked at him.
“The family, I mean.”
“Yeah. Tell me, does it always have to be about arguing politics?”
“What does your family do?”
“I don’t know. Try to talk about anything else, I guess. It’s so painful and contentious.”
“Yeah,” said Mickey. “I guess we kinda like it, to tell you the truth. It’s a bit of a sport almost, arguing about politics.”
“A sport?”
Mickey grinned. “Just wait ‘til dinner,” he said.
It took four tables and three rooms to seat everyone, not including the children – who sat at the children’s table upstairs so that they could hit each other with dinosaurs in peace. First, Sean’s grandmother, Deirdre, said grace. An aunt objected to this on the grounds that they should be able to eat a bloody meal together without thanking a deity, but Aunt Jessica said, “Hush dear. Don’t start anything about religion. It’s taken us years just to get the Protestants and the Catholics to get along.”
Which meant that everyone was cordial until the turkey was cut – along with the ham, the roast beef, the brisket, and the plant-based meatloaf – at which point, one of Sean’s younger cousins – who was still in college – piped up.
“You know if turkeys watched horror movies, this would be like Hannibal Lecter,” she said.
“Oh, don’t start that, Meggie!”
“C’mon! You knew we were going to have turkey, too! And we’ve got a vegan option just for you anyway.”
“Well, it is barbaric. It ought to be illegal.”
“If’n they make meat illegal, they’re going to have to put me in jail.”
“Nobody,” said Sean’s mother icily, “is going to make meat illegal.” She looked around at every face as if daring someone to make a comment.
And everybody was quiet for five minutes until she finished carving the turkey. Then, plates were passed around and everyone stood in line to serve. When she finally sat down, Sally realized she was nowhere near Sean. There was a kid who looked to be about nineteen on one side of her.
“I’m Finlay,” he said.
“A Scottish name.”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. You’re Sally?”
Everyone seemed to know who she was already, Sally thought. Maybe because they already knew who everyone else was already. She nodded and began to cut her ham.
“Tell me,” said Finlay. “What do you think of prohibition?”
“Um, I guess it was a bad idea,” she replied while taking a sip of water.
“So, we’ve got another one in favor of legalizing meth and heroin!” said Finlay loudly.
Sally nearly choked on her water. “I thought you meant alcohol. The 18th amendment,” she said when she got her breath back.
“I, for one, would be in favor of making alcohol illegal again,” said Sean’s Uncle Tommy, who pointedly took a drink of his glass of milk. Sally thought she remembered Tommy having a glass of whiskey earlier, but she thought better of mentioning it.
“Um, so, Finlay, what are you studying in school?” asked Sally, desperate to change the topic of conversation.
“Economics,” he said. “I’m interested in blockchain and crypto markets, really.”
“Well, now we know that was a smart career choice,” said Mortimer, a distant relative whom Sally was unsure how he related back to Sean’s family.
“Oh, come on,” said Brigitte, Sean’s sister’s mother in law, “he’s still young, Mortimer.”
“So was that Friedman-Banks guy,” said Mortimer.
“Bankman-oh, nevermind. And he wasn’t that young. He just dressed like he was fourteen.”
“Same difference, if you ask me. They oughta bring back hats and dresses and suitcoats again. Nobody dresses properly anymore. If you ask me, even businessmen dress like they’re sixteen these days.”
“Yeah, and you probably think children should be beaten with sticks, Mort,” said cousin Lori, cutting in while waving a forkful of stuffing at him.
“Actually, they should bring back corporal punishment! Back in my day, my father used to use the old belt. And his father used to make him go out a cut his own switch down.”
“Is anyone watching the World Cup?” asked Sally hopefully.
The entire table fell silent. Everyone looked at her.
“What?” asked Sean’s grandfather.
“The soccer world cup, Grandpa.”
“That communist sport,” said cousin Joey.
“Football isn’t a communist sport, Joey,” said another cousin.
“Real football isn’t, Marta,” said Joey. “Not sure why they gotta take a good ole American name when they can just call that communist sport soccer.”
“Joey, why do you have to be such a chauvinist?”
“Oh, don’t you start! You’re probably rooting against the United States.”
“So, what if I am? Besides, we kind of suck you know.”
“You know what, Marta?”
So, it went until the plates were cleared for pie. Sally was beginning to wish they’d had that Protestants and Catholics debate after all.
“Who won the football game?” she asked nobody in particular. Several people looked at her. “Oh, I mean, um, the American football… the game on TV earlier. The one that was… playing.”
But before anyone could answer, it was time for the pies. Sally was glad of the reprieve. Before she sat back down with a plate of pecan pie and ice cream, she took a detour to the room where Sean was seated. Two of Sean’s siblings looked like they were about to come to blows, and several of Sean’s aunts and uncles had switched from wine and beer to whiskey and grappa. They were alternately egging on and providing color commentary for the argument.
Sally couldn’t tell what it was over, but she didn’t want to know. She looked at Sean with wide eyes. He looked up at her and grinned.
“What can you do?” he said to her when dinner was all over.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” she replied.
“I got used to it growing up. If you don’t have a dog in the fight, it’s actually quite entertaining.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
After dinner was The Walk, a yearly stroll through the neighborhood in the dark. Given the size of the family gathering, this required forming a long column with five abreast. Several members of the family – whom Sally could not identify in the dark – carried on a lively banter, shouting over the heads of the others, loud enough that all the neighbors could hear.
“Wait ‘til you join us for caroling,” Sean’s father said to Sally.
“Caroling?”
“Mainly ‘Run, Run, Rudolph,’ although Sean convinced us to add a newer song last year. It’s called ‘The Season’s Upon Us.’ Not sure why he picked that, but Bobby and Seamus and Mary’ve all taken to it. The band’s from Boston, I think.”
On Saturday, when they were driving back, Sean asked Sally, “So, how was that?”
“It was, um, interesting…”
“It’s always a lively occasion.”
“I thought my family was crazy.”
Sean laughed.
“Seriously,” Sally said. “I thought there might be a fight. More than one fight, actually.”
“Some of the boys have a tussle now and again out back. But it’s been years since there’s been a real fight.”
“Wait, what? I mean, was everyone okay?”
“Ha, yeah. Of course. Nobody means any harm by it. I mean, we’re all one big family.”
“Okay, but, seriously, how? How has nobody disowned anybody else yet? I mean, it was pretty intense at dinner there. But there was something odd about it. Something I can’t quite place.”
“Disown? No. Nobody’d do that. Honestly, everyone actually gets along, or at the very least tolerates everybody else. Mom’s a good influence, but Grandpa too. He used to tell stories about how when he was a kid the Irish kids and the Italian kids beat each other up on the regular. Used to say that if an Irish girl could marry an Italian guy from the North End and nobody killed anybody else at the wedding, well, then anybody could get along if they tried hard enough.”
“That’s it! You guys – all except maybe some of your younger cousins – you all seemed so laid back about the whole thing. As if everyone knew politics would inevitably come up, but nobody got stressed about it.”
Sean laughed again. “Yeah,” he said. “We don’t worry too much. It’s all in good fun.”
Sally looked at him. “You know, in a lot of other families, people spend the whole month of November worrying about politics at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Some people rehearse their talking points even. You guys – all of you – you just wing it.”
“Yeah. I know other families are like that. At the end of the day, I don’t know. I mean, like you said, my family – they’re crazy. But they’re the only family I’ve got, and there’s something about that. You know, they’re mine and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”
Sally nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I can tell. I can tell.” It felt like the muscles in her mouth disobeyed her brain and curled themselves into a smile against her will. “I can tell.”