Complicated

Chapter One : Thanksgiving

-Oliver-

"Looks great, honey." My dad complimented my mother on the thanksgiving dinner she'd spent all day preparing. She gave him a kiss, her brick red lipstick staining his cheek. We all sat down around the table, that being me, my mom, my dad, my brother Alex, my little sisters Paige, Amara, and Sky, and my grandparents and aunts on my moms side. Mom and dad eloped, and we did most holidays separately between their families. For some reason, nobody ever had a problem with mom or dad, but their families had serious beef with each other. Without a word, we all joined hands around the meal. I placed my hand down beside my brother's as I watched his discomfort when dad took his other hand. Sometimes physical contact seemed like a lot for him, and I always felt better when I helped it be less. I had to make sure everyone's eyes were closed though, because mom would scold me and I would get dirty looks for not taking the lord's connection seriously. "Thank you, Lord, for the blessings you have bestowed on my life. You have provided me with more than I could ever have imagined. You have surrounded me with people who always look out for me. You have given me family and friends who bless me every day with kind words and actions. Amen." "Amen." Everyone repeated as my dad finished grace. I moved my hand away from my brother before eyes opened. 

As everyone piled food onto their plates, mom had us all go around and say what we were thankful for. Just like every year. And just like every year, I said the exact same thing. Maybe even word for word. "I'm thankful for my amazing family, and the ability to spend time with them accompanied by the lord." I always add something about god to stay on my mom's good side. I'm pretty sure she expects it now."I'm thankful for my friends, and that we have a house to live in." Said my brother. My mom cleared her throat with force, giving him the stink eye. "And my family." He added, looking her way and then staring down at the chicken and sweet potato alone on his plate. He's also a pretty picky eater. With the choice of turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, green beans, fish, wedge fries, spinach (which hardly anyone ever touches) and corn, he stuck consistently with his usual two. I knew mom had it out for him when he refused the other food, but I could also tell watching him that if he could have eaten the other food to please her he probably would have. It was almost like a phobia. No matter how much she pushed, he would always decline. Not just thanksgiving either. It was always difficult, if at all possible, to get his mind changed on the topic of food. "Wow, Ingrid. Your stuffing gets better every year!" My grandmother exclaimed, an empty fork in hand. "Can't top yours, mom." She remarked, grabbing her wine glass. Dad rubbed her shoulder, and she gave him a small smile. 

"You guys catch the game last weekend?" Asked my grandfather as he poured himself a tall glass of wine. "Guess I'm driving." I heard grandmother mutter to my aunt Susanne. Grandfather either didn't notice or didn't care. "Which one?" My dad asked in return to grandfather. "Italy and Africa?" He confirmed, to which Dad nodded. "Yeah, quite the controversy, that one." He chuckled. My grandfather didn't seem to find it quite as funny. "It was an embarrassment! We finally get into the World Cup, and some kid gets a technical that guarantees we stick to our local games for a good while. I could've screamed." He stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken angrily, the screech of metal and porcelain ringing out through the dining room. "Oh, you did more than scream, honey." Grandmother chuckled. At this point, I was still more or less clueless as to what they were talking about. I never keep up with soccer games, nor any sport aside from basketball. I watch the occasional hockey game when dad's being a prick about it, but I find most other sports boring. I was barely intrigued when I heard my parents' reactions to this game a couple weeks ago. It was just now becoming interesting. "You know that kid was Italian. Cut him some slack, it's just his truth. He's still on the team, after all." My aunt argued. I've always admired that part of her. She always looks at other people's perspectives, and considers everyone's point of view. A trait the rest of my family seems to be lacking. "I'm on dad's side. It was nasty. Waving that disgust in the face of the fans? He should be off the team by now." That sparked a bit more curiosity in me. "One gay kid isn't going to spoil a whole team, Ingrid." My aunt rolled her eyes. My mom's eyes, however, opened wide. "Susanne, please do not use words like that. We don't speak of sin in this house." And I got it. If the sin was being gay, then the player must've had a pride flag to 'wave in the fans' faces.' "So sorry, sister." She mocked my mom. I was secretly happy someone was disobeying her religious rules, especially on this subject. It would do me tons of good if my parents were even the tiniest bit more accepting. At this point, I was just wishing someone would open their eyes. I had no chance of ever living like that soccer player, at least until I could support myself, because the chance that I'd be kicked out are too high to risk. So of course it always pisses me off when my family is so rude and ignorant to the subject. My mom rolled her eyes back at her sister.