A Weekend of Very Specific Hospitality

Selene’s great-aunt, June, arrived with a smile sharp enough to cut glass.

She was in her sixties, trim, brisk, and gifted with the kind of confidence that let her comment on everyone else’s life without invitation. Selene had endured years of remarks about her weight, her unmarried status, and her “potential” if only she would present herself differently. June also carried her politics openly, along with a reflexive suspicion of anyone who wasn’t exactly like her.

So when her mother announced that June would be staying for the week, Selene decided that if she had to play host, she would at least choose the scenery.

She suggested a drag brunch first.

Her parents rejected that idea so quickly it nearly became a wind gust. Her father muttered something about sin, and her mother declared that kind of place was “where temptation went to dance.” Selene smiled sweetly and, with the same pleasant voice, began explaining that according to scripture they were all the bride of Christ, so technically June’s husband should probably consider himself the bride as well.

That did not improve the mood.

Her mother scolded her. June said she would pray for Selene. Selene, bright-eyed, asked June to include the children in Gaza in her prayers too. June’s expression turned to stone.

By Saturday morning, the family was headed to the zoo.

Selene left late enough to join the worst of the traffic and circling parking lot chaos. For twenty minutes, she crawled around the full lot while her mother and June complained from the back seat, both of them offering drive-by instructions as if their commentary might summon an open space into existence. Selene finally shadowed a departing car, waited patiently, and then watched another driver sweep in and steal the spot.

Her mother nearly exploded.

Selene made her sit back down and reminded her that shouting at strangers was not very Christlike. That only made her mother more furious. In the end, they parked in a paid garage across from the zoo and walked half a mile in the heavy heat, with June breathing hard but saying nothing. Selene had hoped the sun might soften her aunt’s edges. Instead, it was Selene who arrived at the gate drenched and miserable.

For lunch, she led them to a burger place near the zoo where the music was loud, the crowd was a collage of every kind of Houston imaginable, and a pair of cars idled outside in a cloud of sweet, obvious smoke. June stared at the line of people in suits, scrubs, pajamas, sequins, and work boots as if she had been dropped into another planet.

“These people can’t even spell the name of this place,” she muttered at one point, eyeing the neon sign.

Selene kept time with the rap song rolling through the speakers and quietly mouthed the lyrics. Her mother looked as though she had been dragged into a public humiliation ritual. June ate her fries with grim determination.

Dinner was claimed by her parents, who announced that they were trying to have a good time and would be choosing something more familiar. They took everyone to a polished steakhouse that could have been mistaken for a postcard of Texas hospitality. A waitress snapped a family photo and presented it in a printed frame. June even received a red bandanna and her husband, Phil, who had joined them for the weekend, was handed a cowboy hat for the picture. To Selene’s surprise, her mother was delighted. June seemed pleased too, which annoyed Selene more than if she’d complained.

Sunday morning, the family went to church. Selene did not.

That evening, she announced that she was taking everyone to her favorite barbecue place.

The car turned toward Chinatown.

Gao’s Kabob was not what anyone expected. It was barbecue in the broadest possible sense—smoky skewers, spicy noodles, plates piled with meats—but the dining room buzzed with karaoke, laughter, and the off-key devotion of customers singing old love songs into a stage microphone. June blinked at the scene as if it were an elaborate prank. Her mother looked ready to demand a refund from reality itself.

Selene ordered lamb skewers, pig feet, and a bowl of noodles red with heat. She ate happily while her relatives picked at their food and exchanged disapproving looks over the table.

No one said much.

No one needed to.

By the end of the weekend, June had not become a nicer person. Her mother had not become less exhausting. And Selene had not become more tolerant of unsolicited advice.

But June did say, with genuine warmth, that she’d had a lovely time and hoped Selene would visit her in Florida.

Selene smiled and said she’d think about it.

She was still smiling when the car pulled away.