Page 2 of Filthy Uncle To Go

“Hello?” she asks again. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Drake Morgan,” I rasp. “Michael and Leanne’s brother-in-law. I’m here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Without another word, the woman on the other side buzzes me into the building. Placing my hand on the glass door, I push it open, my mind curious. Who was that? But I shake my head. It’s just a voice. It could have belonged to a ninety-year-old granny who happens to have kept her melodious tones.

With the bottle of wine in my hand, I make my way to the fourteenth floor. The elevator doors close, and I watch as the numbers above them light up one by one. When I finally reach my destination, my heart skips another beat. Somehow, I can’t shake my curiosity about the mystery woman, although my fascination seems ridiculous.

Slowly, I walk down the long hallway toward the Millers’ home. I can already smell the scent of Leanne’s freshly baked apple pie seeping from underneath their door. I stop in front of their apartment and glance down at the welcome mat beneath my feet. There’s even a festive wreath hanging on the door that gives me a warm feeling. I knock twice, and my heart rate skyrockets. Is it going to be my mystery woman?

But instead, a freckly teenaged face greets me.

“Hey, Uncle Drake,” Kendrick chortles, his words cracking. The boy’s voice must be changing. He’s average height for his age, but the poor kid’s face is covered in acne, although it doesn’t seem to bother him. He stands in the doorway holding a video game controller, dressed in an outfit I’m sure his mother picked out for him.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” I ask.

“Pretty good,” he says before dashing off, leaving me standing in the hall.

I step inside and gently close the door behind me, making sure it doesn’t slam. The scent of Leanne’s apple pie hits my nostrils, cinnamon-y and delicious, as I take a look around the apartment. This year, there are more guests than usual, and I’m surprised at the crowd. Who are these folks?

At least the place is homey. Family photos are scattered all along the warm yellow walls, and the furniture looks comfy, as if the couches are actually meant to be sat on. Although Michael and Leanne’s apartment isn’t as lavish as my own, it’s filled with love, which is something money can’t buy.

“Pardon me,” I mutter as I brush past two women talking. They’re definitely not the woman on the intercom, judging from their high-pitched giggles. Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Drake,” it greets. I turn around to see Leanne standing there, wearing the same warm, friendly smile she’s worn since I met her. She’s a middle-aged woman with graying hair in a short bob, dressed in a brown sweater and serviceable slacks.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Leanne. Thanks for inviting me over,” I greet with a smile as I lean in and hug her.

“Of course, Drake. You’re family,” she replies as she wraps her arms around me. “We would miss you if you didn’t come!”

She steps back and smiles brightly at me, her cheerful eyes twinkling in the light. The short, plump woman reminds me of a typical mother in her forties.

“I hope everyone likes Pinot Noir,” I say as I hand her the bottle of wine.

“I love Pinot,” she says, eyes wide with appreciation as she reads the label. “Our guests are going to enjoy this, definitely.”

I grin.

“Good. How have things been?” I ask.

“The same as usual,” she sighs, still wearing a smile. “Michael’s at the office all the time while I try to keep the kids in line. I swear, Natalie and Kendrick fight like cats and dogs; sometimes I want to pull my hair out. I’m just glad Jenna is doing well at Marymount University. She made the dean’s list last semester!”

Leanne sounds like a proud mother hen. From what I remember, Jenna was a shy girl, always locked in her room reading a book. She wasn’t like most teenage girls, into fashion and makeup, so for Christmas and her birthday, I’ve always sent her novels. She never complained, and always sent me a thank you card back. I think the last time I saw her for more than five minutes was three years ago when she had buck teeth, huge glasses that covered most of her face, and big, frizzy hair.

By contrast, Leanne and Michael’s biological daughter, Natalie, was always a pretty one, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She and Jenna never argued much when I was around, but then again, Jenna was always hiding away in her bedroom, shutting the rest of the world out. I doubt anything’s changed.

“I’m glad to hear your daughter’s doing well at Marymount,” I say.

Leanne nods enthusiastically.

“Me too. Jenna loves living on campus, and she’s even made a few good friends. It’s perfect because now Natalie has a room all to herself. The girls hated sharing a room back in the day. You know how teenage girls are,” she says with a wink.

The truth is, I don’t know how teenage girls are at all. Do they readTiger Beatand braid their hair? I really have no idea.

“Yeah, they can be a handful,” I say, just to be polite.

“How are things with you?” Leanne inquires. “You doing okay, Drake?”

“Pretty good. My company’s roaring along, as usual.” But before I can continue, a timer rings from the kitchen, and Leanne starts.