Page 129 of A Captive Situation

That wasn’t going to stop repeating in my head. It was wrong, all wrong.

Aunt Clara began moving around the brownstone, looking in the drawers and not finding whatever she needed so she moved on to the next drawer.

My mom stopped a few feet from me, her eyes worried.

The dogs were barking. Their tails wagging. They kept circling everyone.

Graham and Oliver both beelined for the liquor cabinet. They were pulling out every single bottle they had, along with the mixers. Oliver began cutting limes. Graham took a shot and grabbed some of the lime that wasn’t cut, sinking his teeth into it. He nodded emphatically, giving his husband a thumbs-up that he was cutting more slices. He made a sound, but it was muffled around the lime.

Aunt Maude came in last and stopped just inside the door. She took us all in, and shook her head, harrumphing loudly. Everyone paused in what they were doing to look her way, but she ignored us, trudging to the back door in her yellow clogs, and opened the door for the dogs. Bear and Pooh happily darted outside to do their business.

She returned, taking us all in again and shook her head again. The judgment was just rolling off her.

I snapped, fed up, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Aunt Clara and Bess both whirled my way.

My mom hissed, “Sawyer.”

Oliver and Graham paused in their drinks ministrations. A lime fell out of Graham’s mouth, plopping down on the counter.

I was done dealing with this. “Honestly. I want to know. What the fuck is your problem?” I motioned to the door. “Coming in here, having an opinion that everyone is stressed about what we just left? Who the fuck are you to judge how we should react?” She didn’t reply, but she wanted to. I saw the heat in her eyes. When she only kept that mouth shut, I rolled my eyes. “Of course you’re not going to say a thing. Why would you? It’s easier for you to be passive aggressive and say shit behind everyone else’s backs.”

She sucked in some air and shifted on her feet, her beady eyes somehow becoming beadier. “You need to watch what you say—”

That unleashed something inside of me. I didn’t even know there was still something I was holding back, but at her lecture or whatever it was, I could hear the latch being broken. The gate swung open and Iwas going to let frustration I held at the entire family loose on her, and I was going to enjoy it.

I opened my mouth, drew in a breath—and Graham stole the show.

He said, “She’s not wrong, Mom.”

Aunt Maude shuffled to take her son in better. “You agree with her?”

His eyes flared briefly, a shine of tears there as he grabbed an uncut lime and began to squeeze it in his hand. “She came here to meet me. Because of the rift between all of you. She wanted my help to mend this, but the way you talk to each other, it’s horrible. She didn’t know anything about me except what she learned from social media. Why is that, Mom? Is it that you don’t talk about me or that you just don’t talk to your sisters? Is it me?” He glanced at Oliver, who touched his arm, rubbing it in support. “Is it because I’m gay?”

“I—” Aunt Maude couldn’t talk. She gurgled that word out, paling.

Oliver shared a sad smile with me before looking away.

No. No!

“It had better not be because of that! Is it?”

Aunt Clara made a gargling sound before she drew upright. “It better fucking not be because of that.” She swung accusing eyes around to her sister, pinning her in place. “I mostly like women.”

Maude’s eyes were so heated. The anger was rising.

I held my breath, wanting it to keep rising. Please, please, please. She was a pressure cooker and I wanted to see her blow. Or, hell, if I were being honest, I wanted someone to blow because I had some stress. I was going to join in. A good family brawl where everything came out was the best sort of stress release. We were due. The last good one we had was the Christmas family event of 2013. That one had been a doozy.

“It’s not about—” Maude just kept rising. Her chest was red. Her neck. Her jaw. She sputtered a bit more. “I—it has nothing to do with who’s fucking who!”

She blew.

It was a glorious sight.

The red went to her forehead.

Aunt Bess griped, “Then what’s it got to do with? We don’t know our nephew. We felt like it was wrong to reach out to him, and that’s on you. You don’t want us in your life, in your kids’ lives. You never see us. You never come on holidays. The few times we do see you, it’s like talking to a damned rock trying to find out anything about you, about your boy, about your girls. I’ve not seen my other two nieces in twelve years.”

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