Thanksgiving Game Goes Awry

Brothers and sisters

Husbands and their wives

There's so much bad stuff

Here. Isn't it nice?

Everyone in this story is over the age of 18.

"There's no way," my wife said, acting amused in a way that told me she was secretly horrified.

"I'm telling you, it's true," I said.

We'd just finished our first Thanksgiving as a married couple at her parents' house and we were driving home. The highway was surprisingly dark. Tiny snowflakes drifted down onto the windshield like snowy kisses. I wasn't in the mood for music, so our soundtrack was solely the low rumble of the car as we recapped the day's events to each other.

Dinner had been nice, though awkward. Becky and I had been married for a little over a year at that point and the shared family thing was new to both of us. I spent most of the time feeling uneasy and out of place. I'm sure my wife felt the same way when we visited my parents for Christmas later that year.

Still, it wasn't so bad. Becky's family was friendly enough. Her Dad buried himself in football. Her Mom made a delicious apple pie. They weren't the most outwardly emotional people I've ever met but in some ways that made things easier.

It was Becky's brother, Joey, who had drawn my attention. He was a decade younger than his sister and had turned 18 a few days before the holiday. I'd met him a few times before, of course. Joey was a short, skinny kid with an oversized nose and a shock of black, curly hair -- your typical high school artist type with a handful of odd mannerisms and a healthy serving of angst.

That Thanksgiving, for the first time, something about him stood out to me.

"Joey totally has a crush on you," I repeated to my wife.

Becky shook her head. "You can't be serious, Drew. He's my kid brother."

"So?"

"So, it's gross and wrong and... I don't know." Becky tucked her pale blonde hair behind her ear, subconsciously saying that I was making her uncomfortable. "I think the problem is, Drew, that you're not used to seeing siblings."

That was true. I'd grown up as an only child, so I was willing to concede that maybe I didn't 'get' the whole brother/sister dynamic. But I've seen what it looks like when a guy has a thing for a girl. The way he smiles at everything she says. How he jumps up to help her with even the smallest thing. How his eyes are always drifting to certain parts of her body. Joey was checking all those boxes and then some.

"I'm not saying he's doing anything wrong," I said, "I think it's cute. He appreciates his gorgeous older sister."

"Gorgeous, am I?" Becky asked. Like I said, we'd been married for less than a year and we were still smitten with each other. Like we couldn't believe we had this other, amazing person in our lives.

"The gorgeous-est," I said, "Poor Joey couldn't help but be enraptured by your beauty."

Becky punched my shoulder, then crossed her arms, play sulking. "I do not want to be with my little brother," she said.

And, for a moment, I paused.

Because I hadn't even implied that.

* * * * *

A year later, we went back to the Wisniewski's house for Thanksgiving.

This time, however, there was an additional guest: Joey brought home a brand-new college girlfriend. When Becky told me who was coming, I expected some gawky, awkward college girl. I did not anticipate Sierra.

Sierra was a tall brunette, hair down to the middle of her back, with high cheekbones and bright green eyes. She was a freshman, only 19, but she had a woman's body. Her huge chest looked ready to burst through her striped blouse and her wide hips did the same with her dark skirt. Yet, despite all those curves, her body was surprisingly trim. I'll admit, I spent most of the evening staring Sierra's way.

"Drew, could you pass the potatoes?" Mrs. Wisniewski asked, startling me out of my reverie. We were all sitting around the table, food laid out like some grand medieval feast that even a host of knights couldn't finish.

I reached for the bowl and handed it over. "Here you are, Mrs. Wisniewski."

She smiled graciously, but I could tell I'd made a faux pas. The poor woman had asked me to call her Carol at least three times that evening alone, but I couldn't stop myself. My parents had raised me to be too polite, probably.

My only excuse is that I continued to be distracted by the distant Sierra. She was monumental. Magnificent. She dominated the landscape and I simply couldn't look away.

"Where's the salt?" Becky asked. If my wife noticed my attention (or lack thereof) she'd yet to mention it.

"Oops, I think I left it in the kitchen," Mrs. Wisniewski said.

"I've got it," Joey said, and jumped up like his butt was on fire.

I guess I wasn't the only one entranced by someone I wasn't supposed to be. Despite the stunning woman he'd brought home, Joey still seemed stupefied by his older sister, Becky. My wife had a decade on Sierra, but with her petite body and elfin face, she was the one who looked like a young girl. Becky's new haircut, her blonde hair slashed right below her ears, only enhanced that impression.

As Joey scrambled to help, I gave Sierra an eyeroll and she laughed. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who noticed how enamored Joey was with his older sister.

Joey returned, saltshaker in hand, grinning like a fool. Like Becky, Joey was short and thin. Unlike his sister, he'd yet to escape his awkward phase. When he moved, he looked like a spider on a slippery surface, skittering around with appendages akimbo. How he'd managed to pull a girl like Sierra, I'll never know.

"I'm sorry we're going to miss your birthday," Becky said to her brother as he personally delivered her seasoning. "It's always easier when it lands on the holiday or at least before it."

"You're here now, it's good enough," Joey said, still mooning. "When you're born on Thanksgiving, you're used to being less important."

"You interrupted the doctor's turkey," Mrs. Wisniewski said, "He complained about it the whole time I gave birth. Remember Harold?"

Mr. Wisniewski grunted. The game was on in the other room and he kept trying to watch it around our heads. I guess all of us were staring someplace else that night.

"Sierra seemed nice," I said as we drove home afterwards. Unlike the year before, it was a warm night, feeling more like early fall than winter.

"I know you noticed," Becky said, but her smirk said she was feeling playful. "You're ten years older than her, you know."

"Tell that to your brother," I said, "He couldn't keep his eyes off you all night."

"Oh God, not this again," Becky said. She tried to tuck her hair behind her ear. Even though her locks were now too short for it, she hadn't lost the nervous habit.

"You can't tell me you didn't see Joey swooning every time you spoke," I said.

"I was too busy watching my husband drool over some nineteen-year-old girl," Becky said, less kind this time.

"You know I only have eyes for you," I said, and leaned over to kiss my wife.

She gave me her cheek.

* * * * *

The next year's Thanksgiving visit almost didn't happen.

The weather report was for an epic amount of snow and we talked about staying home. Well, I talked about it, anyway. Becky wouldn't listen.

"We have to do Thanksgiving with my family, I've never missed it," Becky said. We were both in the bedroom getting dressed for the day. "Besides, it's Joey's birthday exactly today. He's turning twenty. We have to be there for that."

"I don't want to drive home in a blizzard," I said, looking anxiously out our apartment window. The sky was grey and ominous, but no flakes were falling yet.

"Mom says the weather is fine down by her," Becky said, "And worst is, we'll sleep at my parents' if we're stuck."

I liked the Wisniewskis well enough but crashing at their house -- marinating in potpourri and surrounded by my mother-in-law's "Gone With the Wind" platter collection in the guest room -- did not appeal.

I was about to press things further, when I heard a sob from behind me. I turned and saw my wife standing there in her cute, white bra and panties, holding up her dress like it was a dead body.

I took the frock out of her hand, black and velvety, and saw that the zipper had ripped right out of the lining.

"It's fine, honey, you have plenty of other clothes," I said.

"It's not that," Becky said. She dropped onto the bed, disconsolate. "It's everything."

That she reacted so dramatically about something so small should have been surprising. Sadly, it was nothing new. My wife's malaise had begun with her thirtieth birthday, only a few months before. Suddenly, everything seemed to make her upset or angry. We'd been fighting more, as well.

"That whole reorganization at work, the thing with the car, and now you want me to miss Thanksgiving? I can't do it, Drew, I just can't."

I sat next to Becky and put my arm around her. "I'm not keeping you from your family," I said, firmly.

"No, I know," Becky said, "It's just a lot of stuff, you know?"

I did. Becky had been talking about quitting her job and going back to school. I was dreaming on buying a house and hopefully having kids. For the first time in our relationship, we were in two different places. That made it hard for us to work together.

"Look, I care about you," I said, meaning it. "A lot. I know this has been a tough year for you. I want us to get through it together."

Becky leaned her head on my shoulder. "I love you so much," she said.

"I love you, too," I said, and kissed her forehead. I picked up the dress and took another look. "I think I can fix this, if you give me a minute."

I managed to sew the zipper back in, then handed the dress to my wife. As Becky got ready, I got in the shower and got dressed in a pair of tan, corduroy slacks and a light blue dress shirt with a navy sweater vest.

I was thirty-two and married, but I wasn't looking the part yet. My light brown hair was only starting to thin at the top, barely noticeable. I was tall and broad-shouldered. Years of running had kept my body trim. Most people at work were surprised when they found out I was already in my thirties. At that point in my life, looking young was a good problem to have.

As I finished buttoning up my shirt, I saw Becky was doing her makeup in the mirror, and I made a point of paying her a compliment.

"You look pretty," I told my wife.

"It's only my family," Becky said, "We're not hitting up the clubs." She kissed my cheek, then stopped, as if something had just occurred to her. "Hey, if you're lucky, maybe Sierra will be there."

I snorted. I knew how college relationships worked. There was no way that amazing woman was still together with Joey.

* * * * *

It started to flurry on the drive down the Turnpike. By the time we arrived at Becky's parents' house the snow had gotten heavy. Every movement seemed to echo in the emptiness as we climbed out of the car. The wind whined and howled. There was something peaceful about the way the suburban neighborhood was wrapped in an ever-growing blanket of snow.

Becky's Mom met us at the door. She quickly said hello, then grabbed Becky's hand and pulled her back to the kitchen.

"Harold's in the den," she told me. My assignment was clear. Sit quietly as my father-in-law watched football. Everything else, apparently, was women's work.

Sure enough, I found Mr. Wisniewski half asleep in his La-Z-Boy. He grunted and handed me a beer as I sat down on the couch. Coming from Harold Wisniewski, that was the equivalent of a warm hug.

I heard footsteps by the door and looked over. It was Joey and, Christmas miracle come early, Sierra. The beautiful college girl looked even better than I remembered. She was wearing a pink, fluffy sweater and a dark skirt. Her long brown was hair tied back. Her cheeks slightly pink. Sierra's body had both slimmed down and filled out in all the right ways. Like a sculptor was slowly bringing her into perfect form. If she continued to progress this way, in about two years she was going to be so radiant I wouldn't be able to look directly at her.

I got up and said hi, shaking Joey's hand and wishing him a happy birthday. Unlike the rest of us who were looking nice for the occasion, the skinny boy was wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt and jeans.

Sierra leaned over to give me a hug hello. I did my best to make it quick, keeping our bodies as far apart as possible. It was like hugging a landmine, any closer and all sort of things might go off.

"Oh nice," Sierra said, looking behind me at the game, "Stafford's on my fantasy team."

"Cool, I've got Golladay going," I said.

"Excellent," Sierra said, giving me a fist bump as she flopped onto the couch.

"I'm going to go see if I can help Mom and Becky," Joey said, then left the room. The three of us nodded distractedly as he left.

It wasn't long before we were called in to dinner. As per tradition, the table was overfull with food. It was more than six people could ever eat in a week, let alone one night. Conversation was muted, but we gradually stopped stuffing our faces to talk a little bit.

Mrs. Wisniewski asked about my job and Becky complained about hers. Sierra talked about which classes she liked, and Joey showed us a picture on his phone of a painting he was working on back at school.

"That's really good," Becky said, looking at her brother's phone.

"See, I told you," Sierra said, "Everyone knows you're super talented except you."

Mr. Wisniewski grunted and took a large bite of turkey. Becky showed me the screen. The painting was well done, though a bit troubling. It was a nude portrait of a thin blonde woman who had more than a passing resemblance to my wife. I gave Becky a look, but she just shrugged.

"What?" she asked.

I decided it would be safer to change the subject. "Any plans for the big two-oh?" I asked Joey as I passed him back his phone.

"We were planning to go out with a bunch of my friends, but..." Joey said, and gestured out the window. Everything was buried in white. At least a foot had piled there and, judging by the skies, we were probably due for even more.

"We can all do something fun together," Becky said, brightly, "Since we're stuck here, too."

Joey's face lit up. "Yes, that'd be great."

After we ate, Mr. Wisniewski escaped to the den to watch the rest of the afternoon game while the rest of us helped clear the table. Then Mrs. Wisniewski brought out a cake and we all sang happy birthday to Joey.

Becky went and found a bunch of old boardgames and the whole family (excepting Mr. Wisniewski who escaped to the evening game) sat around the table playing Scrabble. It turned out that Sierra was something of a word whiz and she whipped us all.

Finally, with the sun down and the snow showing no signs of slowing, Mrs. Wisniewski declared it was time for her to go to bed. She helped us set up the guest bedroom, retrieved her husband (who was already asleep in front of the TV), and wished us all a good night.

The four of us sat around the table, staring dumbly at the stack of board games. I think we were all a bit woozy from the massive meal. No one knew what to do next, though none of us was willing to go to bed at such an early hour.

"Well, I might as well put these away," Becky said. She piled up the board games and carried them upstairs.

"Is everything OK with Becky?" Joey asked me as soon as she left, "She seems a little off."

I nodded, grimly. "She's had a tough go of it lately. Her birthday kind of knocked her for a loop."

"What happened on her birthday?" Joey asked.

"Turning thirty is a lot different than twenty," I said.

"Oh my God!" Becky shouted from upstairs.

"Are you OK?" I asked. I got up to go after her, but she met me halfway down the stairs, her face bright red.

"I found something," Becky said, "I saw something. Oh my God."

"What is it?" Joey asked, unable to contain a laugh at his sister's suddenly frantic face.

"Did you see a mouse?" Sierra asked.

"Did you see Santa?" I asked, "No wait, it's too early for Santa."

"Did you see Mom and Dad..." Joey rolled his wrist suggestively.

Becky's face, impossibly, went even redder. "No! But... Come on you have to see this."

We trooped upstairs, Becky leading the way. We went into the guest room, where my wife and I were supposed to be sleeping that night. On the far wall there were a couple of bookshelves. On the bottom, under the rows of Mrs. Wisniewski's carefully curated, creepy, collector plates, was a stack of battered board games.

Becky knelt down and -- like opening a long-forgotten tomb -- moved aside the expected Scrabble, Candyland, and Monopoly boxes. Under it all was another box, smooshed down and torn on one side. The picture on the top was of two very seventies-looking couples, sitting around a harlequin-colored board game. The people were all in their underwear and smiling in a static, unwholesome way.

The title said, "Two to Tango: A Board Game for Consenting Couples."

"Holy shit," Joey said, looking down at the box.

Sierra giggled so hard, she snorted.

"Well, that's unexpected," I said.

"I know, right?" Becky said, "I mean, like, Mom and Dad are very, you know, Mom and Dad."

Admittedly, no child thinks their parents have sex. Ironic since that's how all of us came to be. But, honestly, the Wisniewskis seemed like the kind of couple that didn't have sex. Ever. Like, if I found out that Becky and Joey were adopted, I'd believe it. So, the Wisniewskis really didn't seem like the types to play dirty board games. I'd have been less surprised if Becky found a bag of cocaine in that bedroom.

"Didn't Mom say she got these games at a garage sale a few years ago?" Joey said, "Maybe this was just, you know, stacked in with everything else."

"Or maybe they're secretly swingers," Sierra said, maybe a bit too excitedly.

I got a mental image of Mr. Wisniewski at a swap party, trying to glance around a half-naked woman so he could catch the football score. Now it was my turn to laugh.

Joey and Becky eyed each other, warily. After all, Sierra and I were only outside observers. The siblings, though, this was their family they were staring at right now. It had to raise all kinds of questions.

"Definitely bought by accident," Becky said.

"No doubt," Joey said.

"We should play it!" Sierra said. She clapped her hands excitedly.

"What? No," Joey said. He purposefully looked away from Becky. "I'm not playing sex games with my sister."

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not curious," Sierra said, "I bet it'll be fun." She reached down and grabbed the game, then skipped happily out of the room. The three of us all eyed each other, shrugged, and followed the beautiful brunette downstairs.

Sierra dumped the box on the dining room table. There were cards, a board, a spinner, some dice, a sand timer... It was like whoever came up with the game couldn't decide on components, so they included all of them. Not exactly the sign of a great design.

While Sierra started to dig through it all, Becky went back to the kitchen. I followed her into the other room.

"Well, this is weird," I said, "You OK?"

"Like, in general?" Becky asked. My petite blonde wife leaned back against the counter. She gave me a wispy smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. It was almost long enough now that she could do it.

"Are you OK with this?" I said, "The game, your family, all of it."

"I'm fine," Becky said, her new favorite catchphrase, "I just need a drink." She grabbed a footstool from some hidden place, then climbed up and opened a tiny cabinet above the fridge. A moment later, Becky came down cradling a bottle of scotch. She did it all so easily, without even a pause, I knew this wasn't a lucky discovery.