Jingle Bell Peppers

“Hey sweetie?” My dad asks from the kitchen. My mom and I were in the dining room setting the table for Christmas dinner. We were having ham, mashed potatoes, salad and broccoli. Yum, well except for the broccoli and salad.
“Yes dear?” My mom sing-songs in reply.
“Set two extra places please?” My mom freezes with these words. I look up curiously from my epic fail of what was supposed to be a triangle napkin, but actually turned out as some type of abstract bird.
“Whyyyy?” She asks the high happy tone gone from her voice.
My dad pops his head in the room, hiding the rest of his body behind the wall connecting the kitchen and dining room as if he were afraid. He gives an apologetic smile. ‘Oh great this is going to be good’ I think. He only uses that smile in situations he knows he’s already lost.
“Well my mother called and-“ He gets no further.
“You invited them again?!? You know they hate me!” My mom exclaims throwing her hands up.
“Well you hate them too…” He trails off knowing he’s going nowhere good.
My mom groans. “Pwease?” My dad pleads using a child’s voice which I find pathetic, but apparently it works on my mom because she goes and gets two extra placemats, muttering things I probably shouldn’t hear.
This should be interesting.
…
See every year my mom’s side has come over things go very wrong. Two years ago; they set the house on fire from a competition between my mom and grandma over who could light the first match for the dinner candles. Last year; can I just say food fight?
Each year I look forward to Christmas mashed potatoes, my favorite thing in the world, but I never get them because of my stupid family fighting! My potatoes were lost in the fire the first year and went down my grandma’s bra the second. Not going there.
I’d better get my potatoes this year…
…
“Amen.” We finish prayers in unison. An awkward silence descends over us. We all glance around at each other like we’re all predators of each other. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry at the awkwardness of it all.
My grandma makes the first move taking the big salad bowl. She glances at it once before grimacing and passing it to my grandpa. I see my mom, who’s sitting next to her (who ever made the seating arrangement was very stupid) sigh and rub her temples.
“What’s wrong?” My mom asks trying to hide her annoyance and anger, but it’s very obvious in her voice. Grandma always finds something wrong with her cooking each and every year. Well none of us really her cooking we just don’t say it out loud or else we get in trouble from dad. Grandma on the other hand…
“I thought I told you to put bell peppers in it. I don’t like it without peppers.”
“Nooo. You said bells. I put bells in it.” Granted my mom is pretty stupid at times.
“Bells?!? You put actual bells in it?!?”
“You told me to!” She fights back
“You are such a dumb blonde!” And the screaming match begins. I block them out and take the salad bowl from my dad. I see no bells, though. All that’s left are oddly cut tomatoes, huge leaves of lettuce, and some whole carrots, which I guess my mom gave up trying to cut.
As if on cue I hear a gagging sound coming from my right. I look over to find my brother Quincy with a red face choking on something. Guess I know where the bell went.
My dad immediately rushes up to try and help him. He grabs Quincy by the arms and out of his chair. He puts him in some sort of head lock which I think is supposed to be Heimlich maneuver, but only manages to choke him more. Then my grandpa rushes over to help. Here we go.
“You’re doing it wrong!” He shouts.
“I am not! See its working!” It indeed was not working.
“He’s turning purple here let me!”
“No let me!” They begin grabbing for Quincy like he’s a chocolate bar.
Their fight escalates and eventually Quincy is thrown to the side still choking. My dad and grandpa seem to forget him, too involved in their argument. With the noise from both fights and gagging from Quincy, I sigh thinking it’s time to do something. I get up annoyed. I’m actually enjoying watching the show this year, it’s the first time it’s not deadly!
I look longingly at the heap of mashed potatoes on my plate before picking them up and walking over to my mom and grandma.
I shove a spoonful of the white fluff into my grandma’s mouth. She freezes then begins to swallow. There go my beloved potatoes. “Oh these are good.” She admits quietly. I roll my eyes at her. If there’s one thing my mom could cook its mashed potatoes and really it is the only thing she can make. That’s also why I really want to eat them!
I move on to Quincy, starring down at him, hands on my hips. Poor kid. He’s an unhealthy shade of purple squirming on the ground like a fish out of water. His hands desperately clawing at his throat.
Yanking him up I grip him from behind, shoving my fist up into his ribs. He coughs once and a little silver ball flies from his mouth and lands smack dab in the center of my mom’s forehead. She looks up shocked. I grin; serves her right who’s stupid enough to put bells in a salad?
I drop Quincy and turn to my dad and grandpa. “That’s how it’s done boys!”
They stare at me; mouths open wide, frozen in mid argument.
It’s dead silent again as I stomp over to my chair. “Now. I want some bloody mashed potatoes!”