Episode 66: Meeting the Extended Family

I do not socialize.

Never have.

Never will.

Yet somehow, here I am.

Wedding reception, buffet arranged, kids running around.

Diana beside me, steady as always, hand brushing mine just keeping to ourselves in the corner in the shadows.

The first introductions are… difficult.

I stand in the dark corner. Shadowed. Arms crossed. Mask on. Gloves intact and my hands always in my pocket.

The older sisters of my family approach, dragging their spouses.

“…Beckett!” Terry says brightly.
“…Hello,” I reply flatly.

“…Meet my husband, Damien,” she says.
“…Meh,” I answer.

They pause. Confused.
“…Meh?” Damien repeats.
“…Yes,” I say. “…Meh.”

That’s all I say for the first thirty seconds.

Monica, Viktor, and the rest of Diana’s side of the family appear.

I keep observing.

Tears? Smiles? Handshakes? Not interested.

But they notice my gear.
Black trench coat. Mask. Gloves. Chains. Boots.

Intimidating. Definitely intimidating.

“…Is he… dangerous?” someone whispers.

“…No,” Terry says, smiling. “…He just… watches the world differently.”

I notice their eyes flick toward my backpack.

My laptop. My notebooks. My media collection.

“…You watch those… predator catching videos?” a cousin’s husband asks nervously.

“…Yes,” I answer calmly. “…And true crime documentaries. Bodycam footage too.”

They flinch slightly.

“…We’re nothing like them,” Terry says softly. “…You don’t need to worry.”

I raise an eyebrow. “...uh huh sure then.”

Later, Mira and Lina arrive.

“…Beckett,” they say in unison, handing their kids to me.

I freeze.

The twins are fine. They’re quiet. Observant. Stoic.

I hold them carefully. Gloves intact. Mask in place.

“…Hmm,” I mutter.

“…Perfect,” Mira says.
“…Uncle Beckett is perfect,” Lina adds.

Apparently, being reclusive and anti-social does not disqualify me from becoming a favorite uncle.

Dinner begins.

The older sisters’ spouses are impressed by my calm efficiency.

“…He’s quiet,” one says. “…But intelligent.”

“…Bluntness is appreciated here,” another adds.

Terry, later, whispers: “…We use him to produce our models’ training content.”

“…Why me?” I ask.

“…You understand structure. Discipline. And you’re brilliant,” she says.

I shrug. “…Accepted.”

It doesn’t last long before I notice the irony: these same models are involved in some… morally questionable activities.

Jealous exes. Drug abuse. Murders hidden under layers of glitter and fabric.

I sip my soda. I do not partake.
Diana beside me, enjoying her red wine.
“…You’re careful,” she murmurs.
“…Yes.”
“…Good,” she says, leaning closer.

I meet cousins’ spouses.
Business-oriented. Geeky. Creative.

They like me instantly.

Geeky types: impressed by my media knowledge, true crime obsessions (Though my own is lapsed these days by Diana's insistence), and observation skills.

Business types: impressed by my bluntness, competence, and insight.

Everyone agrees: my directness is… necessary.

By the end of the evening:

I have successfully avoided excessive interaction.

Remained true to my anti-social, germaphobic self.

Become a favorite uncle.

Earned the respect of all in-laws.

Ensured Diana’s hand stays lightly pressed on my shoulder when I need it.

And when the twins nuzzle against me teasing me by jokingly calling me as an uncle instead of father:

“…Uncle Beckett, you’re the best,” Peresphone whispers.
“…Best uncle ever,” Hades adds.

Diana leans in, brushing my hair back slightly beneath the mask.
“…You did well,” she murmurs. “…Even in the shadows.”

I shrug. “…Accepted.”

Everyone laughs softly.

Everyone approves.

The future? Still misanthropic. Still reclusive. Still a ghost.

But… quietly, perfectly included.