Bill laughed at that, and opened the case on the side. He gasped slightly when he saw what was inside. He pulled out a bottle and set it on the counter. Marty came in just then to see what was up. "Go get some glasses.", said Bill.
Marty shrugged and wandered off, returning with three matching water glasses. Okay, so we were being a bit more informal than normal for a wine tasting. "What's going on?", he asked.
"Well, I know you're supposed to normally have a white wine with poultry, but this is the first week of the Beaujolais Nouveau, and I thought that would be a nice change. It's also pretty cheap.", I explained.
"Beaujolais new ... what?", he asked.
"Give the glasses to the boozemaster.", I answered. Bill laughed at that and went to work on opening the wine up. Meanwhile I started mixing the melted butter and some broth into the stuffing. "Every year on the third Thursday of November, that year's Beaujolais Nouveau is released. It's a fairly inexpensive red wine from France."
"And you bought an entire case of it?", asked Marty incredulously.
"Well, it isn't that expensive, and you'd be surprised how fast it will go. Besides, there are four of us, and the normal ratio for a party is one bottle of wine per guest."
"Yeah, but there's twelve bottles here." Bill had finished opening the wine and had poured some in each glass.
I sampled the wine. It was about average for a Beaujolais Nouveau. Marilyn and I had gotten into the habit of buying a case every year. If it was a good year, we would buy a second. This year's was a touch tannic, but otherwise quite agreeable. "A good year. Not a great year, but a good year.", I pronounced.
Marty and Bill sipped their wine. Neither had much experience with wine, but they didn't just swill it down, either. "So we end up drinking three bottles apiece?"
I laughed at that and sipped some more wine. "Not necessary. Listen, if you guys cough up another five apiece, I'll split up whatever's left with you. Otherwise, I'll just take it back to the dorm with me. It's no big deal. I like wine and I'll just drink it myself." I stirred the stuffing in the bowl and mixed in the butter and broth.
I got Marty to help by holding the turkey upright while I loaded the stuffing inside. Bill seemed to like the wine, and started asking, "So how do you know so much about wine?"
"I've been drinking wine for years. I prefer it over booze and beer, actually. Plus, it's an excellent way to get your girlfriend in the mood while still acting sophisticated and cool."
Bill wasn't buying it. "You've been drinking wine for years? You want to explain that?"
I looked at the two of them and shrugged. "Okay, but I'm just asking you, don't go blasting this all over the house, okay?" They both nodded, and I finished stuffing the ass of the bird and carefully lowered him to the counter. I quickly grabbed a few skewers and closed him up. "Where's your home?", I asked.
"Huh? West Babylon.", said Marty.
I turned my head to Bill. He shrugged and said, "Sacramento. Why?"
"My home is wherever I'm standing. These days it's Troy. The last couple of years it was Towson, Maryland. Before that it was Lutherville, Maryland. Two years ago I moved out of my family's home and started living on my own."
"I'm not following you. Your parents threw you out?", asked Marty.
"More like the other way around. Things were really bad at home, like really bad, and I told them I was either moving out and getting an apartment or I was going to leave and never come back. We struck a deal, and I moved out just after I turned sixteen. I had my own place through most of high school."
"That is so cool!", gushed Bill.
"Whatever it was, it wasn't cool.", I replied. "But it was necessary."
"Why was it necessary?", asked Marty.
"I'll get to that, but let me finish this." I stuffed the neck of the bird without any help and found myself with just a little left of the stuffing. I tossed that out and turned the oven on. "Where's a roaster?" We found one on a shelf, and I rinsed it quickly. Finally I set the bird in the roaster, basted it with cooking oil, covered it with tin foil, and stuck in a meat thermometer. Then, after I put the bird in the oven, I had time to answer their questions. I washed my hands and sipped some wine, and then refreshed our glasses.
"Okay, back to me moving out. The problem is my little brother, who's kind of nuts. I couldn't live there anymore."
"So what? My little brother is nuts too.", commented Marty.
"No, you don't get it. I mean my brother is nuts!" I waved a finger in a circular pattern around my ear. "As in, my brother is a raving psychotic. He's dangerous for me to be around. I think he's a paranoid schizophrenic, and his delusions are aimed at me. Towards the end, I was sleeping in a different room behind a locked door, and I still wasn't safe."
"You're shitting me!", said Bill.
"I wish."
"You mean he's actually crazy? What about your parents? Couldn't they do something about him?"
It was my turn to shrug. "That's a big part of the problem. I think my Dad knows something's wrong with him, but he won't go up against my mother, and she thinks the sun rises and sets because my brother tells it to. She doesn't see any problem at all. I finally had enough and got out of there."
Marty eyed me curiously. "We'll get back to that in a moment, but what does that have to do with wine?"
I grinned at him. "Hey, I was sixteen and had a bachelor apartment by myself. I got an older buddy to keep me stocked on booze. It was great for wining and dining pretty young ladies."
It took a second for it to sink in, but you could see the comprehension in their eyes. This time the 'Are you shitting me?' comments were much more appreciative! Jack Jones picked that time to wander in and after hearing how I had been living for the last two years of high school, simply said, "You dog!"
While this was going on, we finished the first bottle and the boozemaster opened a second. I started getting all the sides ready. The canned yams were opened and put into one sauce pan, the bottled gravy was opened and put into another, a baking pan was pulled out for the rolls, and I grabbed the bag of green beans and a cutting board, and started cutting the ends off the beans. Meanwhile, the guys peppered me with questions about the crazy shit my brother used to do, and I went over a lot of it, all the time explaining that I had to move out.
Eventually we exhausted that topic, and Jack said, "So that's why you know how to cook. You've been on your own for two years."
"Bingo!", I agreed. "I do like to cook, though. I used to go over to my girlfriend's house and cook a big meal about once a month for her and her family. Still, we broke up over the summer, and this is the first chance I've had to cook in months! I really appreciate it!"
"What'd she think of you having your own apartment?", asked Marty.
"She really liked it. I mean, really, really liked it."
"And her parents?", quizzed Jack.
"Somehow we never got around to telling them the story. Jeana would come over to 'my place'. We just weren't too specific about where that was.", I commented.
"So you lied to them."
I gave a thoughtful look. "I think of it more as a sin of omission, rather than one of commission."