Curmudgeon For a Day, Part 3

         Later that afternoon, Bruce and his parents sat down to an elegant dinner of lasagna, cobb salad, garlic rolls, and white wine at their 1,000-square-foot pentagon-shaped dining room, naturally lit by the descending December sunlight. The beige French drapes were tied up on either side of the crystal-clear and clean double-hung windows offering spectacular views of the Sound. Bruce took a seat opposite his father, who had his back turned to the windows, on an imitation wooden-legged chair, and Bruce's mother sat to his left, in front of the mahogany table with a ghost-white spread, in front of a set of five lit candles parallel to one another, like a half of a menorah. The room was brightly lit, but the collective mood amongst the McGee family was frosty.
         Bruce sat quietly, producing the same poker face that he failed to fool his father with. Edward McGee squinted his arms tightly in towards his chest, and rolled his eyes at his surroundings. The magnitude of the tension at the dinner table was amplified even larger when Edward declined to perform the pre-dinner blessing which had been commonplace for every single McGee family dinner for generations. Joyce McGee, Edward's wife of more than 30 years, froze in terror, and the butter-spreader in her left hand innocently fell out of her now-trembling hand onto the table cloth below.
         "Edward Charles McGee!" Joyce spluttered. "What in the world is the matter with you?"
         Edward continued to sit silently.
         "Did you shit your pants or something?" Joyce authoritatively asked.
         "Joyce," Edward shot back, "I'm sure the good Lord wouldn't want you to use that kind of toilet language!"
         "Oh, cut the crap! Not literally, of course! I've known you nearly 40 years. I know you inside and out and I know you better than you know yourself. There has to be a reason why you aren't saying grace!"
         After a brief pause, Edward, eyes still fixated on his now-congealing food, spluttered: "talk to our son about it."
         Joyce, mouth slowly widening, slowly rotates her head to the right, and eventually, her dark hazel eyes fixated directly on her only son's sulking burly frame.
         "Bruce?" she asked with a hint of fear, anticipating his response. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
         "Where would you like me to begin?" Bruce growled, head still tilted downward.
         "You tell me," Joyce bluntly replied.
         "Well...there's good news and bad news. The bad news is, Karen aborted our child. The good news is, I lost my damn job. Any questions?"
         Joyce's jaw plummeted to the floor. Her extremities froze. Seconds later, she began to hyperventilate. Drool inadvertently fell from her now boiling mouth down to the cleavage of her brown dress.
         "Oh...OH MY GOD!" Joyce shouted. "She did...WHAT?! Oh lord...Oh..."
         "See, Mom," Bruce replied. "You get too emotional. That's why I didn't want to say anything."
         "That bitch..." Joyce seethed. "You know...I never liked Karen...ever."
         "Joyce, please," Edward pled. "This is tough enough on Brucie as it is."
         "I should have said something," Joyce continued. "I should have begged you to leave her years ago! Especially before you proposed to her! Something...something always seemed off with her...but my God..."
         "How do you think I feel?" Bruce snapped. "I learned all that the hard way!"
         "Bruce, please," Edward pled to his son.
         "Well, now you face the consequences head on like a man!" Joyce shouted.
         "What are you, a detective on TV interrogating a prisoner?" Bruce snapped.
         "TURN OFF YOUR DAMN TV, BRUCE!" Joyce screamed as she slapped her open right hand on the table.
         "Okay, Joyce, that's enough!" Edward shouted as he stood up.
         "No, it's not enough!" Joyce replied. "That bitch hurt our boy! She deserves to suffer!"
         "Joyce, I know you're upset right now, but idle threats aren't going to change anything!"
         "Let me guess," Joyce interrupted, pointing at Bruce. "She left you because you watch TV all day? Because you're lazy!"
         "JOYCE!" Edward screamed.
         Bruce stood up, and pounded his fist on the table, the sauce poured on top of his baked ziti splattering in all directions, and retorted: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"
         "Joyce, you need to calm down right now!" Edward pled.
         "Where's your ambition? Where's your drive?" Joyce screeched.
         "Mom, you are being a complete bitch right now!" Bruce screamed.
         "You never stood up for yourself! That's why you're in the predicament you're in!"
         Edward approached Joyce with his arms extended forward, feebly attempting to comfort his wife. She slapped his left arm away. Joyce froze and produced a frown as he eyes squinted downward.
         "I knew you'd understand, Mom. I knew..."
         A moment later, Bruce, tears forming in his eyes, huffed in disgust, turned around, produced his car keys from his front left jeans pocket, and departed the dining room despite desperate pleas from his shocked and appalled father. Disgusted, Edward, in a large departure from his typically stoic and tranquil behavior, flipped his chair over backward, and angrily pointed his finger at his wife.
         "You know," Edward growled pointing his finger at his wife. "If it wouldn't cripple me financially, I'd divorce you right now! What the hell was all that?!"
         Joyce ignored her husband. Instead, with a frown on her face, she took a giant gulp of the red wine from the oversized imported crystal glass in front of her dinner plate. Producing a bitter squint as a result of the alcoholic rush that permeated her insides like a spider web instantaneously forming, Joyce coughed obnoxiously as if a fly had forced its way down her trachea.
         "Wow!" she shouted. "Who knew how powerful this stuff would be! It felt like...truth serum!"
         All Edward McGee could do was blankly stare, completely incredulous. Moments later, he released a "HA" so loud, it reverberated like whitecaps zooming in a chain reaction one-by-one all the way to Connecticut.