He sat on the sofa next to a middle-aged woman named Janette. On Janette's other side was her husband, George. Then there was someone named Luellen and a college student named Brian and a couple of Dans or Daves and a Jack. And three small children busy tearing the house apart, plus a baby. Portia and Zephyr were in the kitchen with their mother. If it weren't for the mother, Marsh would have been in there with them. Marlone DeCastle (or whatever her last name was... didn't she just get married?) was like a nightmare version of Marsh's own mother - all the barbs and guilt-trips, but without the tactful facade. He knew Zephyr didn't get along with his mother, and now he knew why.
So instead, he sat on the sofa with a bunch of strangers, fairly ordinary-looking relatives as far as he could tell, and watched the football game while Christmas music from the stereo drowned out the commentators. And he listened to the conversations among the generic assortment of relatives, which occasionally turned unexpectedly odd. Especially after Reg got lost right in front of them. They kept on bringing up this or that topic - not even always about Zephyr or Reg or anyone he'd met - and then stop abruptly, eyeing him cautiously. It made it very difficult for him to even want to join the conversation.
Portia appeared with a tray and distributed sodas and beers, which for some reason briefly broke the icy reception he'd gotten so far. Janette started it as they reached for drinks simultaneously.
"So," she said. "You're a friend of Portia's brother?"
"We're business partners," Marsh informed her. "We own an engineering firm in Eureka."
"How nice," she said distractedly.
George looked at Marsh over his wife's shoulder. "My brother studied to be an engineer. It's a tough job, he said. I guess you have to have the personality for it. He ended up in the army instead. Just retired this year, in fact. Made it to lieutenant colonel."
"Really?" Luellen or somebody said, and the conversation turned to George's brother and away from Marsh. Marsh was glad. He had never thought about his vocation in terms of personality types before and preferred not to be forced into a discussion of it. And he was rapidly getting the impression that any topic that had anything to do with Zephyr or Reg was best avoided.
So he watched the football game. The Packers were winning. Marsh could have cared less about the Packers.
Eventually he got disgusted and wandered into the kitchen. Portia and Marlone seemed to be at each other's throats; thankfully, they stopped immediately upon spotting him and pasted smiles on their faces. Marsh returned Portia's smile.
Marlone cleared a chair off and thrust it toward Marsh. "Here, make yourself comfortable," she said with an exaggerated, bright red grin. "I hope you're having a good time. Sorry to hear you couldn't spend the holidays with your own family. Would you like a chocolate nut ball?"
Marsh blinked at her. "Er, no thanks."
"Oh. All right. How about a Coke? We also have a nice cheese log and some crackers. Help yourself." Her voice dripped saccharine.
Marsh glanced at Zephyr for a little guidance, but Zephyr's eyes had a rather glazed-over, tired appearance and he seemed to be staring determinedly at the cheese log. Marsh glanced at the cheese log. It didn't seem to be anything special.
"Zeph, what's wrong with you?" Marlone said as she hurried over to the stove to stir something. "You invite your friend over and then you mope the whole time!"
Zephyr grumbled under his breath and finally acknowledged Marsh's presence. "Sorry about that," he muttered just loudly enough for Marsh to hear.
"Don't worry about it. I've got one of those too." Marsh half grinned reassuringly. It was true, mostly; Marlone was younger and more flamboyant than his own mother, and her tactlessness boggled the mind, but Marsh kept recognizing more and more similarities. His mother also would have chastised him for not acting properly hostly.
"Yours is...?" Zephyr looked surprised without losing any of his tiredness. But then, Zephyr almost always looked tired. Between his permanent bad posture and his slow, deliberate mannerisms... but this time it was more than that. This time Zephyr looked utterly defeated. Thinking about his own mother gave Marsh a clue who had defeated him.
Marsh smirked and nodded. But there was only so much commiserating they could do against Marlone, with her standing right there.
"Have you seen Reg?" Zephyr asked.
"He's upstairs."
"Is he okay?"
Marsh thought about the generic group of relatives whispering "imbecile" and "creepy" and more subtle, derogatory sentiments. Then he nodded. "I think he was just going somewhere quieter." It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Zephyr relaxed a bit and went back to staring blankly at the cheese log.
"It's almost time for church," Marlone announced suddenly. "Portia, you'd better get the kids ready. Where's Brit? Go on now; I'll watch the stew and then I'll take care of the baby. You're coming, right?"
Portia made a face. "I dunno. Maybe I'll just stay home with the boys and let you guys take the girls."
Marlone looked horrified. "It's Christmas! You have to go on Christmas!"
"Okay, Ma, now you're laying it on thick. Look, you go with the Muellers if you want, and take the girls if they want. Only if they want, understand? But I don't feel like dragging the babies to stand around in some fucking shoulder to shoulder crowd."
Marsh stood up, his guilty conscience getting the better of him (and perhaps forcing him to play accidental peacemaker). "I should go too," he said.
Marlone, whose expression of horror at Portia had grown threefold, turned to Marsh in shock. "You want to come to... church?"
"I really should. You're right about it being Christmas and all."
"Yeah, but... you're a Christian?"
"Yes," Marsh replied.
"Oh," Marlone said. "I didn't know." She blinked at Portia. "He's a Christian. Isn't that wonderful." She looked again at Marsh. "Are you Baptist?"
He wasn't, actually, but it seemed like a bad time to care. "Close enough," he said.
"Yes, but are you a reformed Baptist?" Portia questioned facetiously, flashing him a grin.
"Um," said Marsh.
"Well," Marlone said. "If it's all right with... I mean, I didn't know people like... you know... let's get ready, then! We should get there early." She hurried out of the kitchen, her mouth twitching strangely.
Marsh looked from Zephyr to Portia. "Okay," he began, "I..." but he couldn't quite articulate how overwhelmingly odd he found that whole interaction. Of all the strangeness surrounding him, that had been some of the strangest.
But the DeCastle siblings seemed to realize it without an explanation. They burst into laughter simultaneously (although Zephyr still looked beat). "Suppose we ought to tell him," Portia told Zephyr.
"Yeah." Zephyr got serious again. "Look, I'm sorry, man. I should have anticipated it and I didn't. My bad."
"What?" Marsh asked.
"The family is divided into two factions. There's the good, holy, God-fearing, church-going side, and then there's the rebellious, dirty, unholy, liberal, alternative lifestyle practicing side," Zephyr explained. "You may fit better on one side, but you unfortunately belong to the other one."
"Huh?" said Marsh.
Portia grinned widely. "They think you're gay."
"Oh," said Marsh.
Portia shrugged and glanced at Zephyr, who still looked tired (but amused).
"What?!?" said Marsh, as implications of all sorts crashed down on him suddenly.
Portia put her arm around Marsh's shoulder conspiratorially (which wasn't easy, as she was a foot shorter than him). "Come on, think about it. My gay brother and his gay lover show up for Christmas with a man who they claim is a friend. Nobody knows anything else at all about you. It's the obvious conclusion. Besides, you're a lot prettier than either of them. No offense, Zeph."
"None taken. You're absolutely right, come to think of it. Damn, Marsh, I worked with you all these years and I never noticed."
Marsh tried to say something. Then he tried to think something. This was impossible! Why didn't anyone warn him, or prevent it all from happening, or whatever it took to avoid such an intolerably blatant misunderstanding? He was... he was...
He was on the wrong side, like Zephyr said. Or rather, he was on the right side. Those people out there, with their snide comments and suspicious glances, were exactly like the people at odds against him over his divorce. They were all generic middle-aged, middle-class, middle-of-the-road, narrow-minded carbon copies of everything Marsh had tried to be and failed, and now had no choice but to try to escape. Zephyr and Portia were sore misfits among them, and so was he. And so was Marlone. Marsh suddenly felt sorry for Marlone for trying so hard to become a member of the other side, because he knew that she'd never succeed.
Then he berated himself for thinking that way. There was nothing generic about those people or anyone else. They had names - Luellen, George, Brian - and they had life stories, likes and dislikes, joys and sorrows. The only thing carbon-copy about them was the rhetoric, the condescending attitudes. That was what it was, he decided. It was just difficult to see until they condescended onto him. Marsh knew then that he had a choice. But he also knew that he was incapable of making the choice, although he knew the correct answer. He knew which side he'd be better off joining. But he also knew he couldn't. Not for the right reasons, anyway. Maybe the wrong reasons would suffice.
God would forgive him. If not, he was probably already a lost cause.
Marsh sat back down. "Okay," he sighed. "If they really insist on thinking that... if it really bothers them to see me in their precious church, I guess I'll just stay here."
"Have a chocolate nut ball," Zephyr said. "They're good."
Marsh eyed the plate of sticky sweets and felt his stomach churn. "No, thanks."
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