It was just over a year ago when I noticed that a glorious spring had emerged. It had been well over a year since my mom had passed, our ancient gardenia bush was in full bloom, Ali was full grown but showing no signs of abandoning her inner puppy and the weather was still warm but not hot. It was time to stop being sad, displaying an uncharacteristic enthusiasm, I convinced my partner that we should have some friends and family over for Easter dinner.
He shook his head morosely. “Why bother?” he asked. “It never ends well,” and of course I ignored him; I was planning the menu.
For a social underachiever like me, Easter is the perfect holiday: People’s expectations for an Easter meal are generally anywhere from low to non-existent so it’s hard to disappoint anyone with my limited culinary skills. My plan was to throw a Honey Baked Ham on the table and get some potato salad from Publix. What could be easier?
But it had been a while since I’ve entertained: In the old days when a dinner invitation was offered it was immediately either accepted or declined. But not anymore.
“Can you and Ted come to Easter dinner?” I asked my friend Greg, while he did crunches at the gym.
He paused. “I’ll have to let you know,” he said. “We may have other plans, but I won’t know til the last minute.”
I called my good friend Amy to see if she and Larry were available. “How nice of you to invite us!” she said. “But what are you serving? You know that Larry is a vegan now.” When I told her my menu, there was a long, awkward pause. “Can I get back to you?” she asked. “Larry is not comfortable hanging around carnivores anymore.”
My nephew was vague. “I may have to work,” he texted, “but I’ll probably be able to come. Unless I can’t. You’ll know if the family and I show up,”
Thus began a trend. Everyone I invited had conditions or requirements to be met. My niece and her husband are on the Caveman diet. “Cavemen don’t eat ham,” she said loftily. My brother wanted to know if his ex-wife would be attending since he wanted to bring his new girlfriend and her kids. My friend Carlos had family from Argentina staying with him and asked if he could bring them along.
“The more the merrier!” I said heartily adding, as an afterthought, “how many relatives are you going to bring?”
“Is 12 too many?” he said anxiously, and I visibly gulped. “I could leave my mom at home,” Carlos offered weakly, “but she’s 90 and has the diabetes. How many more Easters will she have?”
By the Thursday before Easter I was in a total quandary. Our guest list was somewhere between 6 and 35. Friends in recovery requested that I not serve alcohol, the vegans were offended that meat would be available and several people requested a gluten-free menu. A friend from Naples wanted to bring his two Rottweilers with him. One niece threatened to leave if her father’s new girlfriend showed up and my sister’s best friend would only come if I locked up the dog for the afternoon. “Last time she was there Ali shed on her black slacks,” said my sister.
That was the last straw. I can deal with ornery vegans, self-centered alcoholics, warring family factions and the occasional surly niece but I will not put Ali, whose only crime is that she sheds, in jail for the afternoon. Incensed, I sent out an emergency email and, making a vague illusion to a ghastly, but non-lethal, stomach virus, I cancelled my Easter dinner.
“I tried to tell you,” my partner said.
Again, I ignored him; I was too busy wondering how the two of us and Ali were going to finish an 11 pound ham.