Wasn't that a party

It is inevitable. She knows for sure that there will be a day when she cannot say no. But how does that work? She is burying her head in the sand. She pretends it will not happen. She fantasizes that the infamous day never will come. Ha! She should know better. If she has the power to determine that Santa Claus does not exist.

The inevitable. Her parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The party. And because mom and dad are both still healthy, because they both love decorum, because it is a tradition. Nothing stands in the way to celebrate it. And everyone expects the anniversary to be celebrated in a big way. Country house, banquet, chic clothes, a jazz trio, speeches, champagne, snacks with salmon and caviar,

And because she is the eldest in the family, it is an unwritten rule that the organization of the festival falls to her. The invites, the location, the table arrangement, the menu, the guest list, the entire program. The responsibility lies on her narrow shoulders. People will look angry at her when things are going awry. People will shout at her when everything does not go according to tradition.

She thinks, maybe my parents will forget. Or they do not feel like it. Because they want to use the money for a long trip to Indonesia. Bali. Lombok. Java. Sumatra. Sumba. Or because they have discovered that it is now very old-fashioned to throw big parties when you have been married for so many years. That it is much more modern to celebrate these kinds of highlights small and intimately. With a select group. No fuss. No jazz trio, no banquet.

But on a cold January evening the time has come. Her mother calls and asks firmly and forcefully whether she is already making arrangements. She still tries to avoid the question with a desperate "what do you mean?" It is too late. She knows what she must do. The silence her mother leaves is like a wall, a boulder. She has to get to work. Preferably the same evening. Duty calls. The invites, the location, the table arrangement, the menu, the guest list.

She loves her family. In her own way. What upsets her is the pomposity, the pretense, that so often accompanies family relationships. There is so much going on beneath the surface. So much jealousy, so much disappointment, so much alienation, so much confusion. But what happens on the heydays? The birthdays, Christmas? We pull out all the stops to show the perfect picture. Why? What should not be seen? What cannot be talked about?

She knows it very well. That is how it goes. So much in life is not allowed. The slipshod, the ragged. So often we prefer the theater, the comedy. And now she has to organize this. Because her parents want to show it so badly? The false display of family life?

The day of the festival everything runs smoothly. You have to admit it. She can organize a jubilee like this as no other. She has done everything she could. The country house with the romantic avenue, the lanterns on the trees, the string orchestra in the shade.

When the guests trickle in one by one, she cannot shake off the idea. Despite the unique location, the beautiful weather, the ear-pleasing music, it is all too stiff, too cramped. As if everyone is walking in a chain. As if they are in church. If it's all too obligatory.

Then she sees it happening during dinner. A young waiter walks past the cake. This stands on a shaky wooden platform. The boy is not paying attention, the cake is wobbling. Fortunately, her father witnessed what happened. He rushes forward to save what can be saved. His left shoe hooks behind his wife's long skirt. She loses her balance and falls backwards against the table on which the banquet is placed. Within seconds. Father's head is covered with whipped cream cake, mother is topped with vegetable salad.

All seems lost. She can only pray that lightning will shrivel her up into a pile of ash. Until she notices how cheerful the guests suddenly are, how relaxed. Her father and mother are being patched up, the band starts playing. No one seems to feel obligated anymore. Gone is the make-believe, the facade. There is plenty of food, dancing, singing. And above all, lots, lots of laughter.