Girl made of Beast

The Family

"Oh hello, hello!" My mother welcomed cheerfully as we entered her doorway after a quick knock.

She flushed as my mothers arms wrapped around her, exchanging the gesture with a light hearted lift of her elbows. I nodded my head at my father down the hall into the kitchen, then smiled into my mothers embrace as well. I closed the door behind me, watching as my girl stepped out of her shoes neatly and picked up the bags at our feet.

"What are these?" My mothers eyes opened wide, stepping back to examine our formal wear.

She glanced at me first, as if needing my permission to speak and I knew from the tint of rose covering her cheeks she was too shy to look my mother in the eye. "Some gifts in the bottom for birthday boy, and then in the red bag, she baked a casserole for dinner tonight."

Mom's eyes filled with joy and she easily took the bags from her hands, beginning the walk down the hall and motioning for us to follow. "Oh, you two are always such a delight. Your sister came and not a single plate to help feed those children of hers."

Mom shakes her head gently places the bags on the counter, shouting out the back kitchen window announcing our arrival. Cheers errupted and foot steps scattered. I glance down at my girl by my side, her maroon dress long sleeved and lengthier than the party dress a few weeks ago. This time she wore a bra to be appropriate, and her golden hair hung down in soft waves.

I picked up her hand in mine, gently wrapping them together to calm her nerves. She glances up at me, astrewn hair crossing her forehead and bright eyes round. She smiles vaguely again, stepping out of reach and taking leisure with my mother and sister as she enters the room with three children crashing into her legs. She sends me a quick, cute wave and then rests her hands on my girls shoulders, receiving a pageant smile.

Giggles collided into my legs and I hoisted the youngest up, a two year old girl with bobbing dark hair and olive skin. She shrieks above me and the older boys grab at my arms until I've tossed each one near unto the ceiling. My sister scolded me as her eldest son almost touched the roof, chastising my poor behavior.

With new commotion in the door they fled and I heard the crisp spark of a beer opening as my father leant into the fridge. He returned with two, passing one to me and lifting one to his own mouth. My sisters husband soon joined us, a beer already in his hands. He was the father with his tan skin, foreign look and freshly shaven jaw. His daughter cried out in the background somewhere, and I saw down the hall a batch of cousins entering, shoes being scuffled into the entrance.

"Could I help you with anything?" My girl offered, washing her hands under the sink.

Mom was whipping around the kitchen, beginning to usher us out until I stood in the archway of the kitchen to the dining room. "I, well," She looked around quizzically, and I raised the can to my lips, savouring its burn. "If you wouldn't mind dicing up these bread squares, I could give you that." Mom already passed the cutting board and loaves of bread into a space beside her, and busied herself checking the turkeys inside the oven.

As she begin to do so, I squeezed against the wall to let my sister exit and piped in, "Mom, you're totally being sexist only letting the girls help out. Its the twenty first century now, things have changed."

Mom whirled around with her turkey thermometer pointed at me, the harsh glare teasing her eyes as they always did when I mentioned my expertise in studies. "Well I raised you in the twentieth, and quite frankly you would burn these turkeys."

I smiled teasingly as Mom turned around again and looked at the back of my girls maroon dress, fitting elegantly over her waist. "Hey, watch your-" I tried to cut in but wasn't quick enough as she sliced down the side of her finger in too close proximity.

She winced and hissed, quickly clutching her finger with the hand that dropped the knife, and I stepped in to usher her to the sink. I sat my beer on the side and ran the tap, encouraging her to open her hand as I unraveled a few sheets of paper towel. I unwind her hand as she's reluctulant, setting it under a warm stream. The blood ran quickly as it were a deep cut, but not long. Probably required a stitch or two, but she never believed in the hospital. She pinched the paper towel from my hand and folded it over the wound, applying much pressure.

I turned over her shoulder, looking at my mother. "Yeah, and her bleeding into your stuffing isn't the same risk."

Mom cracks a smile as my girl hits me with her uninjured hand, "You two keep going on like this and I'm going to have to start bugging you about my grandchildren in a few years."

I look back at her face to read the reaction of my mothers words, only to see her eyes closed and lips relaxed. She's not angry or happy, rather bashful. It reminds me of the times she lay on the floor and nearly look asleep.

"Goodness, Mom," My sister falls in as she replaces my position and starts to look at her wound. After all, her studied profession was medicine. "They're not even twenty yet and my three babies aren't enough for you?"

"I said in a few years," She rebuttles.

The teasing continues through the night of thanksgiving dinner, and her embrassed smile sluggers out, but the rest of the night remains smooth. How did she feel about having my children?

How did I feel about having the beast's children?