Thanks for Giving (Chapter 3)

On the first night of Thanksgiving, all of the girls brought their families. Before the night, they notified their parents of the invitation to have a free dinner at Madeline's house. All of the parents luckily agreed and they all made their way to the manor. Madeline's parents invited the families in with courtesy and directed them all to the dining room. Through the door came mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. There was enough chairs for the small five families. Madeline's mother fixed the plates full of food that she cooked with the help of Sonya, the Latina maid. The families sat down with their kids and awkwardly ate the food present in front of them. To break the silence, Lizzie was the first to start the conversation.
"Who listens to gospel music?"
"I listen to it when we're at church," responded Debra's father. "But when we get home, I like to listen to Ghostface Killah! Holla!" He raised his arms multiple times in the air up and down.
"Dad, please don't embarrass me," Debra begged in a gentle voice.
"I like a little hip hop myself," confessed Andrea's father. "My favorite song is 'Gasolina' by Daddy Yankee."
"I like Nicki Minaj," admitted Andrea's mother.
"I don't know any of those people," spilled Lizzie's mom.
"You don't like hip hop?"
"Oh, I hate hip hop. It's so... raunchy."
"It's not that bad," Lizzie's father commented.
Lizzie's mother gave her husband a death glare.
"But if my honey hates it, I hate it as well. I don't secretly listen to it with my Walkman in the bathroom."
"I wasn't thinking that," said his wife.
"Yeah, me, neither."
"I love your hair, Mrs. Lincoln," Madeline commented.
Debra's mother flipped her long, honey-blonde hair behind her shoulder. "Thank you, sweetie!"
"Don't you like her hair, mom?"
Madeline's mother put down the glass of wine which she was sipping. "Uh, yes. It's quite nice. You know, I admire people with blonde hair."
"I can tell," smiled Debra's mom.
"Were you born like that?"
"Oh, no. Sadly, no. This is a wig I made myself."
"So you're bald?" asked Lizzie's mom.
"No, I just have no hair."
"So bald?"
"No, I mean I have really short hair."
"So you're almost bald?"
"Honey, why does it matter?" asked Lizzie's dad.
"It doesn't matter. I just don't understand why people cut their hair and put on wigs. Hair looks good either way."
"I did not cut my hair," said Debra's mother. "It fell out. So it's short like Halle Berry's."
"So you're Halle Berry bald?"
"Nobody's bald!" shouted Skye.
"Skye, don't talk to her like that," demanded her mother.
"But she's--"
"Ah!"
Skye scrunched her lips and looked at the ceiling.
"I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Devil."
"It's Duvall," Lizzie's mom corrected.
"Oh, sorry about that."
"So, Skye, where's your dad?" asked Madeline's mother.
"I don't have a dad," Skye answered.
"Oh."
"She has a dad," said Skye's mother. "We just don't know where he is. Possibly in Alabama? Maybe Connecticut?"
"Sorry to hear that," said Madeline's dad.
"It's okay," shrugged Skye. "It's been seventeen years. I don't care."
"Of course you care, Skye," said Skye's mother.
"I mean if I actually met him at all, yeah, I would care. But I've never seen him so I don't care."
"Skye, you care."
"I care about my friends. I care about you. I don't care about my dad. Honestly. Strap me to a lie detector. It will say, 'Telling the truth'."
"Lie detectors don't use words," Madeline's mother commented.
"I know how lie detectors work."
"Don't talk to her like that," Skye's mom demanded.
"I was just--"
"Ah!"
Skye looked at the ceiling again.
"Sorry about that, Mrs. Sting."
"Mrs. King," Madeline's mom corrected. "Maybe you should've learned how to get the names right."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying it would've been polite to learn our names correctly, especially mine's. It is my house."
"Oh, just because you have a big house means I have to respect you?"
"No, but if you're going to be inside my house, respect is what I deserve."
"What is happening?" Lizzie asked with some fright.
"Why do you deserve respect?" questioned Ms. Carter. "Should I bow down to you because you wear country club sweaters and you dip your hair in glitter?"
"I don't dip my hair in glitter," said Mrs. King. "I use a hairspray that has glitter in it so ha! Or should I say, 'Ah'?"
"Don't you make fun of my 'Ah's'."
"Ladies, calm down," commanded Lizzie's mother. "There's no need to fight. I get it: Skye doesn't want to care about having a father. But fathers are very important."
"Uh, why should she care about her dad when he has never been there?" asked Andrea's father.
"Everyone needs a family."
"But she has a family."
"I mean a real family as in two parents and two children. Not one mom and one daughter or a thousand relatives that live in one house like you have."
"Oh, no, your racist self did not just say that!"
"Who wants cake?" Madeline asked loudly, motioning her hands toward the plastic container of store bought white-frosted cake. "It's red velvet."
"Red velvet is very special," Debra added.
"I'm just saying: it's not normal to not care about your dad," said Lizzie's mom.
"But I really don't," said Skye. She meant it. She actually did.
"But why care about someone who's not there?" questioned Andrea's father, standing up. "You're backwards."
"So backwards," agreed Andrea's mother, standing up as well. "Your feet is behind your legs."
"Mami, Papi!" uttered Andrea. "¡Sentarse!"
"My feet are forward, Jennifer No-pez," said Mrs. Duvall, standing up.
Andrea's mother gaped, getting a crazy look in her eyes. "Oh, no, you didn't just call me that! I'm about to take my shoe off!"
"She's about to take her shoe off," Andrea's dad repeated.
"Who do you think you're talking to, Brother Theresa?"
"Aw! Oh!" Lizzie's mom uttered in disgust. "Did you just-- Honey, she just called me a man."
"I'm not involved," Lizzie's dad put his hands up.
"You got some nerve. You're just envious that I cover my ankles for my religion and you cover your ankles because they're cankles."
"Oh!" Andrea's mother took her high heel shoe off and slammed it on the table. "You want to pelea, Alex Borstein?!"
"Women, please settle," said Skye's mother.
"Oh, shut up, Kristen Stewart," said Madeline's mother.
"Who are you calling Kristen Stewart when ghetto Mel B is right over there?"
Debra's mother stood up. "Are you serious? No, you're calling me out because I can pay for what I got on me. Where did you get that hoodie? Urban Outsiders?"
"At least my boobs are real."
Debra's mother shook her head. "Mm-mm! Mm-mm, mm-mm! Oh, no, you did not say-- Are my boobs fake?" She looked at her ex-husband.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to look at them anymore," said Debra's dad.
"That's it. That's it. You want a piece of me? Does anyone want a piece of me? Well, I got a little piece for all of you." She pointed at Mrs. King. "You're too rich." She then pointed at Mrs. Carter. "You're too poor." Then she pointed at Mrs. Gonzalez. "You're too arriba!" Then she pointed at Mrs. Duvall. "And you're too holy grail. Boom, you're all lit up."
"Mom!" Debra said through her teeth. "Calm down. No one sanctioned you to act like this."
"I'm not Satan, Debra. But everyone of these people here are possessed."
"You know what?" started Lizzie's mom. "I take back what I said about Skye caring about her dad. I agree, no one should care for absentee parents. I mean I see my child more than Mrs. Lincoln sees hers."
Debra's mother paused, staring cold at Mrs. Duvall.
"I got to use the bathroom," said Debra, almost under her breath. She pushed her chair back and got up to run out of the dining room.
"That's it. This is about to be 'Murder-giving' 'cause I'm gonna kill you." Debra's mother reached into the tight leopard shirt and pulled out nude-colored rubber padding from her breast individually.
"Oh, she's going into the chicken cutlets!" warned Debra's father.
"How dare you? No, how dare you talk about me, Miss White Lady?"
"I am not white," corrected Lizzie's mother. "I am Italian."
"Then I'm gonna make some spaghetti sauce out of you."
Debra's mother began approaching Mrs. Duvall with her fake breast but Andrea scooted her seat back to block her way.  
"Mrs. Lincoln, why have spaghetti sauce when you can have cranberry sauce?" asked Andrea courteously. "There's plenty of it."
"What, you think you're hot stuff because your God's child?" asked Debra's mom to Lizzie's mom. "More like God's grandmother."
"You're God's transvestite," Mrs. Duvall commented.
"Andrea, I'm about to crawl over you. I'm gonna get this lady."
"Everyone please, for God's sake," stood up Madeline's mom, "just sit down and eat. There will be no yelling in this house about who's a grandmother or whatever."
"I'm not a grandmother," noted Lizzie's mother. "I don't have gray hair like you."
Mrs. King leaned on the table. "At least my daughter doesn't come into my house dressed like a--"
"The hills are alive with the sound of music!" Madeline stood up, singing loudly with high arms. "Everybody, sing along with me!"
"You know what? All you get out of my house. Get to steppin'!"
"We are adults," mentioned Andrea's mother.
"Adults!" Andrea's dad repeated.
"I don't care if you're Sonya's long lost cousins," said Madeline's mom. "You all need to get out."
"Throw me out," said Debra's mother calmly before throwing one of her rubber breasts at Mr's King's face.
"Oh, that tears it. I'm bringing Fight Club in here!"
Madeline's mother jumped on the table and crawled over the open food, knocking down her glass of wine as well. She started to get tangled up in a brawl between Andrea's mom and Debra's mom. The men got up and started shouting at their wives, pleading for them to stop fighting. Mrs. Carter got out of her seat and walked over to Mrs. Duvall who wasn't involved. They begin arguing, making the noise in the room get louder. Sonya, at a moment, entered the dining room and when she saw everyone fighting, she anxiously left the room.
"Yeah, beat her up, mommy!" cheered Andrea's sister, Linda.
"I love a good chick fight," admitted Debra's brother, Leroy.
The girls just sat there in horror, watching their parents going at it. Debra still hadn't come back. Lizzie changed her attitude into a happy one and said:
"This is going well."