The Harrisons

It was six o’clock. In the Harrison household dinner was served at six o’clock; always. One by one the three Harrison children descended the long, majestic staircase and without looking up from their expensive cell phones, headed toward the formal dining room. It was impressive to watch the two older teenagers maneuver the distance without running into the doorway or furniture. Reba, the eight-year-old and perhaps the wisest of the bunch, shook her head in disbelief, bringing up the rear and taking her place at the table. Her siblings hadn’t said two words to her all day and the silent treatment continued as they waited for dinner to be served.

Fran Harrison, the mother entered the room and placed a large white serving bowl filled with green beans on the table next to a glistening rump roast trimmed with roasted red potatoes and carrots; picture perfect, almost too pretty to eat. Then, without glancing at the empty chair at the head of the table, Fran took her seat and placed the white linen napkin on her lap.

It was 6:15. Reba, glanced at the clock above her mother’s head. Dad was late; again. Reba whispered a quick prayer, in hopes that her father would arrive soon, and dinner would begin peacefully.

For as long as Reba could remember and in all the eight years of her life, dinner was served promptly at 6. Things had changed. In fact, things had been changing for quite a while in her family. The rules set in stone by her mother, were eroding, and becoming less important in a family that seemed less and less like a family with each passing day.

“Let’s get started before the food gets cold,” Fran Harrison ordered dryly exhaling in a familiar huff.

Her children sat around the table like zombies; products of her and her husband’s overindulgence. The three had everything, and each one of them was a textbook example of ungrateful entitlement.

“Put the phones down!” She growled.

As if she’d said nothing, the two continued to send texts to their friends. Fran was furious, she had no one to blame but herself and her husband.

James had promised that he would be on time. Fran hadn’t believed him even though he’d placed a hard lingering emphasis on the word, promise. Fran had long stopped believing the man whose workday seemed to last well into the evening. 

Reba looked around the table as her mother placed food on their plates. Her brother and sister were so into their phones that neither of them cared that their father had not arrived.

“I said, put the phones down, now!”

Again, the two teens ignored their mother.

Reba was young but she was old enough to understand that things were not running smoothly in the Harrison household. Fran saw the questions in her youngest’s eyes, and she saw the wisdom too. She was wise enough to keep her questions to herself. Maybe their family was too far gone, beyond even the inquisitive nature of an eight-year-old child.

Reba slowly picked at the food on her plate. If there was anything that could save the evening it was the fact that her family had plans to join her grandmother at church for a midnight Christmas service. It had been months since they’d all been to church, a once weekly occurrence. It would be great to see Grandma Oma; she always had an encouraging word and right now, Reba needed to hear something good. Something that would make her believe that her family would get better.

James turned the key in the door and stepped inside. Even though they’d purchased the home several years ago, he was still in awe at what his hard work had allowed him to purchase for his family. He had worked hard pulling himself up by his bootstraps, deftly stepping over the other eager mortals struggling next to him as they climbed the same ladder in the pursuit of success. 

Over the years James had been single-minded in his pursuit and it had come at a cost. Today, like so many others, James had returned home late. The family had plans to attend a midnight Christmas service with his mother which if he were to be honest, he was dreading. There were much better ways of spending his time, like wrapping up some unfinished business at the office.

Fran watched her husband enter the room, and quickly take his seat at the head of the table. She was furious. He hadn’t even greeted her or their children, instead he pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call.

“You’re late.”

Shooting an irritated glare at his wife, James held up a finger to silence her interruption.

“You’re late!” She repeated, this time louder.

With a big huff James ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Reba felt her heart skip and the sleeping butterflies in her stomach take flight.

“Didn’t you see me on the phone?”

“You promised me you’d be home on time for dinner!”

“Fran, please not now! It’s been a helluva day and I’m not in the mood for this!”

“I’m getting sick and tired of you putting your work before this family, James!”

“My work makes all this possible! Look around you, this house, the cars, the money in the bank! My work did that!”

“So, I suppose that makes everything okay, right? This family is suffering, we’re dying on the vine so that you can do what, make more money?”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you want to fly off to Paris with your girlfriends for the weekend!”

Reba stared at her parents with her mouth open. She wanted it to stop; the arguing between her parents had become an all too familiar scene lately, but this argument was the worst. Even her siblings were paying attention, suddenly finding something more interesting than their cellphones.

For the next few minutes Reba watched her parents, it was like a tennis match, back and forth with no end and no winner. Nothing good would come of this; nothing at all.