Family gatherings come in all sizes, and ours is XS. Mom, her three, our spouses and children make 14. One tableful.
Mom decided we would celebrate Ben's 50th, though the date had come and gone. She declared it Margo's 50th too, though hers was a year away.
Mom had ordered hats, and ordered us to wear them. Laila slid the plush white chicken over her hair, letting its yellow legs dangle below her shoulders. She rocked that chicken. The rest of us snapped into goldfish, panda, elephant.
We turned up the music, slurped down the jello shots; we retold bad jokes and good stories. We scraped our chairs around the table for salmon, lamb and couscous. Also parsnips, who had convened their own family reunion, inviting in their cousins carrots, parsley and cumin. They wore sauce.
Hats askew, we sang "Happy Birthday," twice, and lit 100 candles. We all breathed in, leaned in and gazed into the glow. Our gathering didn't seem small, but vast and brilliant.
