Cold Turkey

“Why would anyone want to use a turkey baster to get pregnant? Wouldn’t a syringe be easier? Like inserting a tampon?”

And with that, Thanksgiving dinner was ruined. We stood around the dining room table. On it sat a feast from end to end—roasted turkey, honey baked ham, sweet cornbread, mac and cheese, chicken liver stuffing, sweet potato casserole, rice and giblet gravy, and of course the collards.

Catherine threw down cousin Raquel’s hand, suspecting it was her own surprise pregnancy that sparked the comment. She turned and ran to the bathroom, cousin Darrel, the father to be, on her heels.

“I bet she’s going to throw up now.” If Raquel’s foot could go any further down her throat, the ankles would be knocking on her two front teeth.

“Dammit, Raquel. All I asked you to do was say the blessing!” Aunt Beanie said.

Raquel shrugged. “I just said what everybody else was thinking. Do you have any idea how hard it is to break a condom? Unless it’s already damaged, it’s nearly impossible. She had to have—”

“Enough!” Beanie shouted.

Uncle Sly wrung his fingers from Nana’s tight grip. “Well, if no one’s eating, kickoff is at four.”

“All I can see is Darrel’s sperm on the turkey now,” cousin Tasha said.

Beanie and Raquel each made gagging noises, and one by one, everyone congregated back to the living room and formed a semicircle around the flat screen. We left Nana in the dining room to admire the crispy golden skin of the turkey alone. Thanks to her early onset Alzheimer’s, she won’t remember the hours she wasted cooking such a vast spread that no one would eat.

© 2015 Nortina Simmons

Originally published December 1, 2015