The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

  “No kidding,” said Eileen.

  “I would love to have lived back then,” said Lauren. “I get so tired of watching my weight.”

  “That’s because it only goes up,” said Nate, chewing.

  “Very funny, jerk,” said Lauren, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

  “I can’t remember the last time I had a sandwich like this,” said Mike, putting more chips on his plate.

  “What do you normally eat for lunch on the weekends?” asked Eileen.

  “Whatever we feel like,” said Nate. “We grab a menu and order in. Just about everyone in town delivers.”

  “I don’t know if anyone delivers grilled ham and cheese,” said Mike, who usually stopped at a deli when he was running errands.

  “Anytime you want a homemade sandwich, just ask me,” said Eileen.

  After he had eaten another half sandwich and handful of chips, Mike stood, thanked Eileen, and then put his coat back on and walked out the door. Next, Nate stood and announced he needed a shower. Lauren took the lunch dishes to the sink, and then headed into the dining room to set the table as promised. And Eileen was left alone with her husband and the glob of ketchup on his pajama top.

  Dressed in casual but clean clothes, everyone gathered in the living room at four o’clock for a cocktail. The wood Mike had chopped was blazing in the fireplace, and a silver platter of Ritz crackers topped with liver pâté and corn relish sat on the coffee table—an hors d’oeuvre Ann remembered having at her grandmother’s house on Thanksgiving. When everyone had a drink, Sam stood and lifted his glass. “I’d like to say something,” he said. Everyone looked at him, fooled for a moment by his thick white hair wet-combed into place and his flannel shirt ironed and tucked into pressed khakis. “The vote was unanimous. I was elected the new chairman of the board,” he said, a humble smile momentarily lifting his lifeless cheeks.

  “Hear, hear,” said Eileen, raising her glass in Sam’s direction.

  “And to the rest of you,” Sam said to the others. “Watch out, change is coming.”

  An hour and two drinks later, Mike ushered the family from the living room to the dining room. They all lingered a moment behind their chairs, giving Eileen a chance to snap Sam’s freshly laundered bib into place. As soon as everyone sat down, Mike popped up, insisting on serving the soup. Protesting, Ann followed him into the kitchen. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she said, closing the swinging door behind her. “If it’s an attempt to humiliate me, it’s uncalled for, Mike.”

  “I’m doing it because I want to do it, Ann.”

  “You’ve never wanted to serve anyone before. Why start now?”

  “Maybe I don’t want my seventy-two-year-old mother-in-law to have to do it,” said Mike, removing the lid from the pot of soup on the stove.

  “Oh, here we go,” said Ann, holding on to the edge of the counter. “Now we’re getting at it.”

  “Getting at what?” asked Mike, looking at his wife.

  “The fact that she does everything and I do nothing,” said Ann, tipping the last of her fourth champagne into her mouth.

  “Did I say that?”

  “You didn’t have to,” said Ann.

  Mike took the empty glass from Ann’s hand. “Enough,” he said.

  “Are you cutting me off? In my own house on Thanksgiving?”

  “Let’s not make this about you,” said Mike, setting the glass down on the island. “We’ve had a wonderful day. Four people we love dearly are in our dining room waiting for a meal. Let’s focus on that.”

  “I’m not hungry,” said Ann.

  “You will be,” said Mike. “This looks and smells delicious. Here, you can help me. The bowls are next to the pot; do you want to ladle the soup or bring the filled bowls to the table?”

  Ann narrowed her eyes at her husband. Still sullen, she said, “I’ll ladle.”

  Soup in front of everyone, Mike and Ann sat down. Mike suggested they all hold hands for the blessing. Nate made a face at his father before slowly reaching out to his mother and grandmother. Lauren held her father’s hand firmly and her grandfather’s hand gently. “Thank You, Lord,” began Mike, “for this wonderful, homemade meal. Thank You for the hands that prepared it and for the mouths that will enjoy it. Help us to remember how very fortunate we are, and that the less fortunate need our help.” Ann looked up at her husband. “And help us to be truly thankful,” added Mike, looking at Ann, “for our special guests this Thanksgiving. Help us to welcome them into our hearts as well as our home. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Eileen aloud. “Thank you, Mike. That was lovely.”

  “And thank you, Eileen,” said Mike, “for preparing our Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without Ann and Lauren,” Eileen said.

  “And thank you as well, Lauren and Ann.”

  Ann tasted her soup; it was warm and buttery, with satisfying texture. The nutmeg and cinnamon subtly presented themselves mid-tongue and lingered, and a quick bite of pepper hit the back of her throat as she swallowed. The soup at the country club wasn’t this good.

  “Unbelievable,” said Mike after his first spoonful.

  “Ann made it,” said Gran, smiling at her daughter.

  “This is really good, Mom,” said Lauren. “You should cook for us more often.”

  Ann smiled at her daughter. “That’s why we have Emma.”

  “Without Emma,” said Nate between bites, “we’d starve.”

  “Your mother’s a wonderful cook,” said Eileen to Nate. “She’s just out of practice.”

  “Yeah, she’d get cut from JV at this point,” said Nate. Lauren laughed.

  “That’s enough, Nate,” said Mike.

  Ann stood, laid her napkin on the table, and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Mike told everyone to continue eating and then followed Ann. He found her leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I’ve had enough,” said Ann. “I’ve had enough of the graces filled with innuendoes. I’ve had enough of the cracks about my cooking, and I’ve had enough of the adulation for my mother, who’s put on no less than forty Thanksgiving dinners in her life. It’s not a huge deal, for God’s sake.”

  “Let it go, Ann,” said Mike. “We’re in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and you’re in here moping because you’re not getting the kind of attention you want.”

  “That’s not true,” said Ann.

  “It is true,” said Mike, putting his hands on his wife’s tiny shoulders. “You have to put your needs aside today and focus on your parents, your mother in particular. She needs all the praise we can give her. Do you think your dad’s been thanking her for taking care of him? I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get an idea of how difficult her life has been—and continues to be. I know it’s hard on you, but think about how hard this has been on her.” Ann looked at the floor. “Take a good look at your father, Ann,” said Mike. “Does he look anything like the man you grew up with? Does he look anything like the man your mother married?”

  “No,” said Ann quietly.

  “Okay, then,” said Mike, “can we just move on for now? I know you have issues and we can discuss them later.”

  “It’s always later, Mike,” said Ann. “You spend more time with your computer than you do with any of us. Maybe if you gave us more attention, we wouldn’t have issues.”

  Mike ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think we want to have this discussion now. Let’s go back with the others and eat our dinner.”

  “Fine,” said Ann, walking past Mike toward the dining room.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Eileen when Ann stepped into the room.

  “Yes,” said Ann. “I just have a bit of a headache.”

  “Well, no wonder,” said Eileen. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

  “And I’m about to change that now, aren’t I?” asked Ann, sitting down and putting
her napkin back in her lap.

  “Who’s ready for turkey?” asked Mike, opening the swinging door from the kitchen just wide enough for his head. Like a schoolboy with the answer to a classroom question, Sam raised his hand. “Great,” said Mike. “I’ll carve that good-looking bird. Lauren, will you get everyone some salad while they wait?”

  “I’ll do that,” said Eileen, pushing back her chair.

  “No, I’ll do it, Gran,” said Lauren, standing. “You sit.”

  As Mike carved, Lauren spooned the pear, cream cheese, and iceberg lettuce salad onto her mother’s Spode wedding china. She brought the salad plates two at a time into the dining room. When she was done with that, she donned the oven mitts sitting next to the stovetop, took the matching casserole dishes out of the oven, and set them along the top of the granite counter. “Keep the lids on,” said Mike, turning to his daughter, “so your culinary efforts will stay warm until we’re ready to eat.”

  “Okay, Dad,” said Lauren.

  “Let’s go enjoy our salads.” Mike put the foil back over the turkey and sliced meat and then he and Lauren went into the dining room, where Sam was drawing circles on his plate with lettuce leaves tined onto his fork, and Ann was pouring herself a glass of wine at the sideboard, and Eileen was asking Nate about his physics class. Minutes later, they all filed through the kitchen, filling their plates—Eileen helping Sam—with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and green beans. Everyone including Ann and Nate, a picky eater since early childhood, took a hearty portion. Back in their seats, they ate eagerly. Lauren talked about her upcoming volleyball tournament. Nate talked about his football game on Saturday. Eileen discussed the simple ingredients for turkey soup with Ann. And Sam occasionally glanced up from his plate and nodded his head, seeming to absorb bits and pieces of the conversation around him. An animated table full of relatives, temporarily void of misunderstandings, sarcasm, and awkward silences, their Thanksgiving dinner reminded Mike of a scene in a holiday movie he had seen several years before.

  It was a bitterly cold Saturday morning. Two inches of snow covered the ground and swirled around the house, carried by an angry wind that howled at the windows and bent the tops of the evergreens behind the guesthouse. Ann got out of bed and walked to the windows. “There’s no way I’m going to that football game,” she announced, arms across her chest.

  Mike rolled over to look at his wife, and then beyond her to the blowing snow. “It’s perfect full-length mink coat weather,” he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “And I’ll bet a hundred dollars you have boots to match.”

  Ann stared at the snow. “I’ll still freeze.”

  Mike threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. He stretched his arms out wide and then stood and walked to the bathroom, where he urinated loudly. “It’s a two-hour commitment,” he called. “You’ve suffered through worse.”

  Ann shivered, then got back into bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin. She felt the beginnings of a cold in her nose and throat. She swallowed; her throat was definitely scratchy. She put the back of her hand to her forehead, which felt slightly warm. Going out in this weather would be a mistake. Mike walked out of the bathroom and glanced at Ann before he walked to his closet. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “The game starts in ninety minutes.” Ann said nothing. She would wait until he was dressed and on his way to the kitchen before she verbalized her plans. Nothing and no one could make her go out in that weather to that game. Five minutes later, Mike walked back into the bedroom from the closet. “Let’s go, sleepyhead.”

  She turned to face him. “I’m not going. I don’t feel well.”

  Mike frowned. “I think Nate will be disappointed.”

  “I don’t,” said Ann. “Seriously, I have a sore throat and a headache and I think I should just stay home and rest. I’ve had a crazy week.”

  “And too much wine?”

  “I’m just tired, Mike.”

  “We’re all tired, Ann. And my week, I would imagine, has been just as crazy as yours.”

  “Yes, but you’re not ill, are you?”

  “No,” said Mike, on his way out of their bedroom. “I’m not.”

  Downstairs, Eileen, Sam, and Lauren were sitting at the kitchen table eating something that looked and smelled like Mike’s grandmother’s cinnamon buns. He hadn’t had one since his early childhood, but he instantly remembered the warm, sweet taste. “What wonderfulness have you prepared today, Eileen?” he asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot on the counter.

  “Gran made cinnamon swirls,” said Lauren, frosting on her upper lip. “They are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Well, that’s high praise,” said Mike, sitting down. “Pass one to me, please.” Lauren handed the platter of buns to her father. He put two of them on his plate.

  “Where’s Ann?” asked Eileen.

  “She’s not feeling well,” said Mike. “She thinks she has a cold coming.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Sam, his mouth full.

  “She’s going to Nate’s game, though, isn’t she?” asked Eileen.

  “I don’t think so,” said Mike. “She’s in bed. Eileen, this cinnamon roll is amazing. You’ve done it again.” Eileen said nothing. “Where’s Nate?” asked Mike, chewing. “He’s up, isn’t he?”

  “Up and gone,” said Eileen. “His team is having breakfast at Bob Evans before the game.”

  “Unbelievable,” said Mike, looking at his watch. “Football is the only thing that can get that kid up before noon on a Saturday.”

  Eileen pushed her chair back from the table and stood. She put a cinnamon bun on a plate. “Maybe this will cheer Ann up,” she said. “Do you think she’d mind if I paid her a visit?”

  “Go ahead,” said Mike.

  Eileen walked out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and up the stairs. She walked the few steps to Ann’s closed door and knocked. Hearing no response, Eileen knocked again and then walked in. “Why in the world would you knock on your own bedroom door?” called Ann, still in bed.

  “Because it’s not my bedroom,” said Eileen, approaching the bed.

  Ann rolled over and faced her mother. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you were sick and not going to Nate’s game and thought I’d check up on you,” said Eileen. “I brought you a cinnamon bun.”

  “I’m not hungry,” said Ann.

  Eileen set the plate down on Ann’s bedside table. “Perhaps it will make you feel better,” she said.

  “I doubt a butter-laden cinnamon roll has any medicinal qualities whatsoever,” said Ann.

  “Well, think about it,” said Eileen, turning to leave. “You have an hour before we have to leave.”

  “I don’t have to think about it,” said Ann, rolling back over. “I’m not going.”

  “I think Nate will be disappointed,” said Eileen.

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard that this morning.”

  “That’s because it’s true,” said Eileen.

  “You don’t know Nate very well,” said Ann. “He couldn’t care less if I’m at the game or not.”

  “You know as well as I do that that’s not true,” said Eileen. “It certainly wasn’t true with Lauren. She was thrilled to have you at her volleyball game.” Ann said nothing. “We’ll be downstairs if you change your mind.”

  “Why can’t I just stay here? I don’t feel well. Doesn’t anyone believe me?” said Ann.

  “Of course, we believe you, dear. And if you absolutely can’t go, everyone will understand. However, if there’s any way you can find the energy, even for an hour, I think Nate would notice.”

  Eileen walked out of Ann’s room, closing the door behind her. She quietly descended the stairs, walked into the kitchen, and sat back down at the table, where Mike, Lauren, and Sam were still eating. She forced a smile. “Any luck?” asked Mike.

  “I don’t think so,” said Eileen. “Poor Nate.”

&nbs
p; “He’ll understand,” said Mike, taking another bun from the platter. Eileen took a sip of her tepid coffee.

  Mike, Sam, Eileen, and Lauren, huddling under the Dilloway wool stadium blankets Mike kept in the trunk of his car, watched the marching band maneuver around the field. Their black boots lifted the snow, like a gust of wind shifts sand, as they formed themselves into a tiger, Dilloway High School’s mascot. Dressed in black pants and orange jackets and berets, the musicians played the theme song from a Rocky movie. Sam clapped to the music and then sang along with the national anthem in a clear, resonant tenor. As soon as the players ran onto the field, the crowd cheered and applauded. Mike, who hadn’t been to a game since the previous Thanksgiving, felt his chest swell with anticipation. Just after the kickoff, Lauren excused herself to sit with friends. Mike, Sam, and Eileen immediately filled in her space, leaning closer to one another for warmth. From a large canvas bag she carried from the car, Eileen extracted an old-fashioned, red plaid pattern thermos. “Hot chocolate, anyone?” she asked.

  “Oh boy,” said Sam. “I’ll take a large.”

  Hands wrapped around their plastic cups of cocoa, they turned their attention to the game. Five minutes in, Nate jogged out onto the field. Two minutes after that, he made one of the cleanest, most effective tackles Mike had ever seen. And in the second half, he helped score the touchdown that cemented the game.

  Ann opened her eyes and immediately looked at the clock on her bedside table. She had fallen asleep for what had seemed like minutes but had been more than an hour. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face, and took a deep breath, which she was able to do through her nose. She swallowed; her throat, while still sore, felt a bit better. She got out of bed, stripping off her pajamas on her way to the closet. If she got dressed quickly, without showering, and made a quick latte to go, she might be able to make the fourth quarter. Silk long underwear on the top and bottom, wool socks, jeans, a cashmere turtleneck, a wool sweater—she was dressed in two minutes. She jogged into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Her hair, looking like it had no master, she would hide under the fur-trimmed hat that matched her coat. She scurried down the steps and into the kitchen, where she made herself a vanilla latte, tapping her foot as the milk warmed. When it was warm but not as hot as she liked it, she poured the milk into a travel mug with the espresso and snapped on the lid. She glanced at the microwave clock, and then dashed down the hall to the front closet that held her furs. She chose the full-length mink, as Mike had suggested, and threw it around her shoulders. She grabbed her hat, scarf, gloves, and her warmest boots, and rushed back to the kitchen to put everything on.