Pot Stirring

"You know. I didn't plan for things to turn out this way." Mark plopped onto the couch and hung his head over the armrest. The family dog hopped up beside him, its furry blubber spreading cozily onto the couch cushion.

"Sure you didn't." I swiped two rolls from the pan sitting on the kitchen island and leaned my weight up against the granite countertop. The chunky dog lying beside Mark poked his head up. I shoved one roll in my mouth and threw the other to the pet, who caught the bread in its jaws with perfect execution.

"I didn't say I was sorry about it." Mark scratched the dog behind the ears. Screaming voices erupted from the dining room. "At least when I fail, I do it with style."

"You're drunk." Crashing in the distance. Undoubtedly Nana's antique china. Silence. More silence. Screaming louder than before. A door slams so violently it makes the house shake.

"No, Aunt Jacqueline is drunk. You see how fast she tipped that champagne back once the insults started flying? She's so dramatic. Like she doesn't live for this kind of stuff. Can't wait to see the Facebook post."

"I don't know why I still hang out with you."

"Because you're my cousin. And a lonely bastard. Besides, I'm only here twice a year. Hey, you see the way Jen was going to town on that pie?"

"Well, she can't binge drink anymore. Not if she wants to keep her kids."

"Mark! Let's GO." A shrill voice called out from the entryway to the den.

"That's my cue. Can't wait for the lecture on the way back to my parents'."

"Dude, you're almost thirty."

"Almost. Not yet. See you next year, cuz."