Ah, the Thanksgiving table. Sometimes there’s more arguing than eating.
This week’s prompt is the following:
“A family argument gets out of hand. Neither side will budge, requiring a mediator with unusual methods.”
THE DINNER GUEST
My date, Vinnie, and I arrived for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house. I hoped Vinnie’s presence would keep Mom off my back about being single. He’s from New York and loves to play up his Italian heritage.
“Hey, how ya’ dewin’?” is how he introduced himself to Mom and Dad, my little brother Danny, and my Aunt Bev and Uncle Jonas.
All was going well—the men were watching football while the women kibitzed in the kitchen. I noticed a strain between Mom and Aunt Bev, though. It seemed something was brewing beneath the surface. I chalked it up to this being the first Thanksgiving without Grandma directing the cooking. I was half-right.
Dad was honing the carving knife as we all sat down at the table. All of us but Aunt Bev. She had hurried off to “powder her nose,” and then entered the dining room wearing a magnificent necklace. It dripped diamonds along its length, growing as your eye descended to what must have been a three-carat pear at Aunt Bev’s ample cleavage.
“How dare you wear that in my house!” Mom shouted as Aunt Bev regally took her seat. “That was promised to me.”
“You should have had her put it in her will.” She glared at Mom. “Like I did.”
Vinnie jumped from his chair and snatched the carving knife from Dad. In an instant, he held the tip of the blade to Bev’s chest. “I know how to resolve this,” he said, lifting the necklace over Bev’s head.
In another moment, he was out the door, and we heard screeching tires as he fled. Dad shouted, “Call the cops. Report him.”
“We can’t,” I cried. “He’s an actor I hired to keep you off my back, Mom. I don’t even know his real name.”
THE END
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