The White Russian

He better still like White Russians, Eva thought, standing at the front door, eyes aimed at him. Maman kissed Aunt Janice on each cheek, Papa shook hands with Grandpapa, and Oncle Marc patted his back in an impersonal side hug. Eva repeated her parents’ moves, then tried to walk around him.

“Eva!” Maman scream-whispered through gritted teeth, then tilted her head in his direction. Eyes glued to the floor, she quickly shook hands with a sloppy grip and slipped by him into the short, narrow hallway that connected the entrance and kitchen to the living room.

Eva was then greeted by the rest of the family; Tante Christine kissed her on both cheeks, Grandpapa’s quasi-girlfriend Eve gave her a hug, and Paul (no one bothered to call him uncle) fist bumped her. She scuttered off to the couch on the other side of the room, where all the cousins were. Christopher, Sarah, and Isla waved while Maya surprisingly said hi. Eva went and sat next to her on the arm of the old Chesterfield.

He walked into the room, and everyone turned their heads at the sound of his thick accent. They all smiled and went up to him with their assorted greetings. Eva stayed seated. They all laughed, again and again, making anecdotal jokes about the last dinner, and Christmas of 2017, and that vacation in 2009, and that time Oncle Marc hit a moose, and their attempted online Easter dinner in 2021, and so on, and so forth. After a couple of minutes, Eva realized this was only the beginning and quickly shuffled through the crowd into the kitchen, accidentally catching a glance from him with a big grin on the way. Maman and Tante Christine were there, cooking five meals at once and somehow preparing dessert too.

“What are you doing here, monkey?” Maman asked, half out of love, half out of worry.

“I’m here to help with dinner!” Eva said with as much excitement as she could muster. Maman took a step back, opened her mouth wide and raised her eyebrows.

“Well alright then!” She responded with genuine excitement. “You could help with the-”
“Can I help with the drinks?” Eva quickly interrupted.

“Do you know how to make the drinks?” Her mom asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I’ve watched Papa make them.”

“…Alright. You can get started and Papa’ll join you in a minute. Drinks are in that cupboard over there.”

Eva rushed to the cupboard, grabbed every last bottle of liquor, and laid them on the kitchen counter away from where her mom and aunt could see. She took a whiskey glass from a neighbouring cupboard and placed it next to the drinks. Eva then opened the freezer, pulled out an ice tray and dumped some cubes in the glass. She poured vodka into the ice, followed by some coffee liqueur. Opening the fridge door, her eyes darted around for creamer.

“Are you making a White Russian?” Tante Christine asked from behind her, making her jump.

“Uh, yup. Thought I’d start with that.” Eva sputtered, cheeks blushing.

“Creamer’s in the back. Don’t use too much, you know Tenoch can’t hold his dairy.” Tante Christine laughed, and Eva forced out a chuckle to match. She hurriedly got the creamer and delicately poured it from the small measuring cup. Looking around, her mom and aunt had their backs turned, and the rest of the family was still laughing in the living room. She pulled out from her pocket a tiny little Tupperware filled with a nearly see-through liquid.

* * *

After rabidly scrolling through a website on her incognito tab instructing her on how to make a White Russian, Eva rummaged through the Tupperware cupboard and found just what she was looking for. 

“Eva!” Maman yelled from downstairs. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just a minute!” She yelled right back, quietly sneaking out the back door. Eva shivered as she delicately closed the door. She shoved her hands as deeply as she could into her pockets and stuck her face in her shirt as she walked down the steps of the deck to the small paved path leading to the shed. She quickly pulled her hands out to grab the screwdriver that worked as a lock, opening and closing the door before her hands felt how freezing cold the hackneyed lock was, dropping it like she had just picked up a scolding hot kettle. In the darkness of the shed, her cellphone flashlight dimly searched for something, anything. The light stopped, although trembling from Eva’s now red hands, on a small red diamond sticker with a skull and bones. Unscrewing the caps of both the jug and the Tupperware, she gently poured the translucent white liquid into the small tub. Caps screwed back on, she closed the door, barred it with the screwdriver, sprinted to the back door and caught her breath in the warm embrace of room temperature. She slipped the small container into her pocket.

* * *

The mysterious shed liquid mixed well with the creamer, yet slightly changed the tint and texture of the White Russian. Feeling it looked convincing enough, Eva grabbed the whiskey glass and passed through the kitchen to the little hallway leading to the living room only to be met by the same old blob of people.

“Eva? What are you doing with that drink?” Papa asked, emerging from the crowd, eyes squinted at the slight fogginess of the glass.

“I’m helping out!” Eva said with a gleeful, buck-toothed smile. “Passing the drinks around.”

“Well, I love the enthusiasm, but we don’t drink ‘til dinner. Why don’t you just put that slightly off-looking White Russian down and leave the rest to me?” He suggested, gently shoving her back into the kitchen while a pair of all-too-familiar eyes looked at her from the family crowd.

“I think I’ll pass it out right now-” Eva forcibly let out, trying for the hallway.

“It’s really best to save it for later,” Papa refuted with a bit of confused worry, reaching his arm out to stop her. Eva glared at Tenoch, then back at the glass, then back to her father.

“Are you gonna throw it out?” Eva very seriously half-mumbled, sincerely looking into her father’s eyes.

“Um…” Papa stuttered. “To be honest, probably. I appreciate the effort a lot, but it just-”

Eva lunged for the glass and stole it from his hand, ducked under his arm and dashed for the hallway. She knocked over a living room chair that loudly slammed against the hardwood floor, aching in pain as her family turned to see the source of the sound. Her aunts and uncles spread to the sides, creating a perfect line for Eva to run straight at Tenoch. In her mad dash, Aunt Janice reached out, but she swatted her hand away. She stretched her arm up and grabbed Tenoch’s face, jamming the glass in his mouth so hard it cracked a chunk off, cutting up his face and her hand. Old arms pulled her away as most of the White Russian missed his mouth and wet his shirt, ice cubes exploding as they hit the floor.

“Scum!” Eva screamed, throwing her arms around and clawing at her aunts and uncles like a mad ape ripping himself out of a cage. “You don’t belong here! You’re a leech, you’re a waste of life! You’re from an island of trash, and that’s what you are! Trash! Polluting the sea!”

Paul and Aunt Janice held Eva down to the ground as she writhed and yelled every slur and insult she could. Tante Christine checked on Tenoch while Maman and Papa stood at a distance. Eva’s voice started to give out, and she slammed her head against the floor again and again, crying, screaming, trying to break free. She quieted down and softly sobbed as her fists unclenched.

“I’m gonna drive him to the hospital, okay?” Tante Christine gently whispered and pulled Tenoch out of the living room. Everyone nodded but Eva, all standing in silence at the scene. Paul and Aunt Janice looked at Maman and Papa as if searching for answers, but they just looked back with the same question in their eyes.

Eva broke out of their distracted grip and crawled to the spilt liquor, licking the shed fluid off the floor. All of her family went in to stop her, but she convulsed and foamed at the mouth, lying in melted ice cubes, shards of glass, vodka, coffee liqueur, creamer, and a translucent white liquid.