Slip-up With the S-Word

Walking on eggshells in aftermath of a family feud

Backstory

Sometime in July — four? five? six? years ago — my friend Chuck’s daughter-in-law turned on his daughter. Adrianna resented that her girls adored their aunt Sandra to the point that they sulked when Sandra returned them to their mother after an outing.

The upshot was that Adrianna quashed the visits. Whenever Samantha and Victoria inquired after Auntie Sandra, Adrianna and her husband (Chuck’s son, Deven) told them Sandra had moved away.

After a few months, the girls stopped asking. Sandra’s name was nevermore spoken.

I wrote a three-way monologue piece inspired by the events

Chuck and I spent a festive “Christmas Eve Eve” with his son’s family. I jogged over whilst Chuck picked up dinner from everyone’s favorite Mexican restaurant.

Chuck expressed his pleasant surprise at having arrived promptly at six. He proceeded to grouse about his piece-of-$h!t “smart” phone dropped dead as he’d tried to place the order.

Chuck’s outburst is not the S-Word to which the title of this story pertains. It was I who made the faux pas. This is how it went down:

Chuck went on to complain that he’d had to drive out Stoneham to get technical assistance resurrecting the doubly-deceased device — “smarty-pants” had the audacity to lock up after shutting down.

Puzzled, not knowing of a Verizon store in that town, I inquired as to where he took the phone. Chuck, lowering his voice, said, “Stoneham. Get my drift?”

I exclaimed: “Oh— you mean Sandra’s house!”

I wish this piece were fiction. One might find some humor in it, of the “funny, not funny” kind. As it is, my unwitting remark evoked unease in those who heard it. I don’t think the girls did; their parents may have. Chuck surely did, as evidenced by his wince and eye roll.