by Britt Morrow
“We’re going to be the kind of family who celebrates Thanksgiving like Jeremiah’s, right?” she asks. “And aren’t ashamed to invite guests?”
I pull her in for a hug, oblivious to the fact that we’re blocking most of the hallway outside of the cafeteria. “Of course.”
“Well, we should probably let them show us how it’s done.”
I’m glad that she wants to go. I would have been fine with eating Sloppy Joes in the cafeteria like I do nearly every Thursday, but I’m eager to be surrounded by Jeremiah’s family again and sample some of Gabrielle’s cooking. Based on the chocolate chip cookies she sends in her weekly care packages to Jeremiah - his one dietary indulgence - we’re in for a treat.
We head back to my room so that Charlie and I can get cleaned up a bit before our appointment at the medical center. Charlie grabs her toiletries and a change of clothes before heading to the washroom that she’s now intimately familiar with. I hope that her uncharacteristic modesty can be attributed to the fact that she’s worried about Jeremiah walking in on her changing and not self-consciousness over her changing body. She doesn’t look any different while clothed, and I haven’t been close enough to her while naked to detect even a hint of a bump.
I’m lounging on the bed, waiting for her when she returns.
“Do you think I’m dressed too casually for dinner? I didn’t bring anything fancy,” she explains apologetically.
We’re dressed nearly identically in jeans and long-sleeved flannels.
“You’re fine.”
I know enough about Jeremiah’s family to know that they’ll be well-dressed: Gabrielle and Nia in dresses, and Jeremiah and Dwayne in button-downs, probably. But I also know them well enough to know that they won’t judge us for our more casual appearance.
“Better than fine,” I amend. “I think you look beautiful.”
I always think that. She’s clearly made an effort today though, wearing more makeup than just her usual mascara. I wonder if it’s for my benefit, or an attempt to compensate for her relaxed attire.
The medical center is only a few blocks away, but I lead her to my truck anyway. I can spare a few bucks worth of gas for Charlie, especially after she was violently ill this morning. I can tell that she’s nervous. She’s not usually one to fidget, but she taps her foot throughout the entire drive and resumes as soon as we’re seated in the waiting room. She flips through at least half a dozen magazines, not reading a single article, or probably even taking in any of the pictures, before a nurse calls her name.
“Follow me, please,” she says, beckoning us forward.
I’ve only ever been to a doctor’s office twice. Amber took me on one occasion: the time that I got the shard from the Jack Daniel’s bottle embedded so far into my foot that she couldn’t remove it, even with pliers. The second time, I got knocked out cold for a good couple of minutes during a middle school football game. As per usual, Brandi couldn’t be located, so Cody’s mom took me to the emergency room. When the father of one of the other players finally managed to contact Brandi, she came flying into the hospital in a drunken rage, screaming about the cost of health insurance and doctors who are just trying to get you hooked on pills so you keep coming back. She was inches from Cody’s mom’s face, spittle flying, before a nurse managed to pull her away. The doctor didn’t get a chance to examine me, and I was never invited back to Cody’s place for any more movies or playdates.
Even though I don’t have a lot of experience with medical offices, I’m pretty sure they all look the same: sickly pastel walls that do nothing to improve a patient’s demeanor and the same cheap, generic artwork that I imagine being in motels across the country.
“You can have a seat here,” the nurse says, indicating the bed.
She picks up a container of clear gel while Charlie makes herself comfortable, pulling her shirt up above her navel. She’s so thin that her stomach is practically concave. It’s hard to believe that there’s anything in there, never mind a growing human being.
“This will be a little cold,” the nurse warns, smoothing the gel over Charlie’s stomach. “Is this your first ultrasound?”
Charlie nods apprehensively. The toe-tapping still hasn’t stopped.
The nurse takes notice of it too. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
She takes hold of a device that looks like the karaoke microphone Cody’s sister used to spend most of her spare time wailing into. “I’m going to move this along your abdomen. It transmits sound waves that will create a picture of your baby. We’re going to check the fetal heartbeat, and estimate your due date.”
The nurse angles the screen of the ultrasound machine so that Charlie and I can both see the image. It looks more like a black-and-white version of the nebula poster that was displayed in my middle school science class than a baby. If I really concentrate though, I can make out the shape that the nurse indicates is the child’s head.
“Are you able to recall when your last menstruation period was?” The nurse questions Charlie.
Charlie’s so intently focused on the sonogram, that it takes a moment for her to respond.
“It was the second week of August, I think.”
The nurse performs some calculations before turning back to us. “Based on your last menstruation, your due date is May seventeenth.”
In less than six months, my entire world will shift. I can tell by the way Charlie blanches that she’s thinking the same thing.
“It’s too early to be able to tell the sex, but you should come back for an anatomical survey in three to five weeks where we’ll look at how the baby is developing and, if you want to know, whether it’s a boy or a girl.”
Charlie’s still craning her neck to look at the screen, so I answer, “Sounds good, thank you.”
“Do you have any questions?” the nurse asks.
“Any tips for dealing with morning sickness?” Charlie inquires.
“Try nibbling on a few soda crackers before getting out of bed. And lots of ginger,” she replies with a sympathetic smile. “You’re moving into your second trimester, so it should ease up soon.”
The nurse prints a photo of the ultrasound and hands it to Charlie. I pretend not to notice the way she tears up, looking at it on the way back to the truck before slipping it carefully into her purse. It’s the confirmation I needed that we’re making the right decision.
Jeremiah’s in the room when we return, haphazardly shoving clothing into a duffel bag.
“Y’all ready to leave?” He asks over his shoulder, trying to cram a football team hoodie into the duffel.
“Whenever you are.”
He slings the bag over his shoulder before leading us out to his car. It’s something foreign, a Volkswagen, I think. The kind of car you would immediately know belonged to someone just passing through if you caught sight of one in my hometown. It would stick out like a sore thumb with its rust-free paint job.
I try to convince Charlie to take the front seat, but she insists on sitting in the back, probably to avoid being interrogated by Jeremiah for the whole drive. The tactic is unsuccessful, however. Jeremiah volleys questions in rapid succession, shooting frequent glances at her in the rearview.
“So how’d you end up settling for Levi?”
He’s clearly joking, but he’s also close enough to the truth for the comment to smart. If Charlie lived anywhere else, she could take her pick of guys, end up with someone infinitely wealthier, more attractive and cultured. I’ve never considered myself anything other than supremely lucky to have her.
“He’s the one who settled. I honestly don’t know how I managed to land him.”
It’s the right answer, but the most incredible thing about her is that I think she actually means it.
“Yeah, I guess he ain’t so bad. Are you thinking of joining us at Tennessee Tech next fall?”
She hesitates, clearly unsure of how much to reveal. “I think I’ll probably move up here. I’m not sure abou
t school, though; I’m just working on getting my GED right now.”
“Does that mean I’ll be losing my roommate next year?”
“I can’t take your snoring for another year,” I interject, trying to divert the conversation away from Charlie.
Jeremiah is undeterred, though. “Have you looked into any of the programs here?”
“Not really. I might be interested in pursuing something related to biology or psychology, but I don’t think I’ll start next fall. I want to continue working for a bit and save some money first.”
I haven’t talked to Charlie about how we’re going to split financial responsibilities when the baby arrives, so this is news to me. I don’t like that she’s already worrying about working and trying to make ends meet.
“What do you do for work?” Jeremiah continues.
“Is this a job interview?” I’m joking, but I hope he takes the hint.
“Just trying to get to know the girl who’s about to steal my best friend from me,” he counters.
He does ease up though, turning the conversation instead to his family’s Thanksgiving traditions. He failed to warn us about the fiercely competitive charades or the drinking game that involves taking a sip of wine every time someone mentions turkey. I’m ready for it, though. It sounds like a much better version of my family’s Thanksgiving tradition: Brandi taking a sip of whiskey every other minute and then acting out the part of a long-suffering martyr, as if it was somehow my choice to burden her with my presence.
“We’re almost there,” Jeremiah announces, turning into a suburb that borders a golf course.
He pulls into the driveway of a brick Cape Cod style - more terminology from my architecture course - home with an inviting porch. It might not be the kind of mansion you see in the movies, but it’s by far the nicest home that I’ve ever seen in person. The permanence and solidity of the bricks stand in stark contrast to the shoddy mobile homes that I’m used to, and their equally flighty and unstable residents.
Gabrielle greets us immediately as we walk in. As expected, she’s dressed in a modest black dress under her apron. It’s clear that she’s been hard at work in the kitchen, the house abounding with mouth-watering aromas.
Charlie, clearly observing Gabrielle’s elegant attire, holds out the bouquet of Gerberas that we picked up on our way home from the ultrasound appointment, as if to conceal her casual garb. The flowers are slightly wilted, and probably much less tasteful than whatever centerpiece Gabrielle has selected for the evening, but we tried. Charlie spent at least fifteen minutes agonizing over whether to choose the Gerberas or a simple trio of roses - the only two floral arrangements we could afford. Ultimately, she settled on the Gerberas because they struck her as being hopeful.
Gabrielle accepts the flowers, making a show of how beautiful she finds them, before pulling Charlie into a warm embrace. “You must be Charlie!”
“Yes. Thank you so much for extending the invitation to me and Levi, Mrs…” Charlie pauses, at a loss.
“Johnson. But please call me Gabrielle. And this is Dwayne and Nia.”
The rest of the family has formed a semi-circle around the foyer. Like her mother, Nia is wearing a stylish black dress. Dwayne is dressed down in a polo shirt and dark jeans, putting me more at ease. And Jeremiah hasn’t changed out of the hoodie and basketball shorts he likely wore to the gym this morning. Gabrielle doesn’t give him any looks of reproach or suggest that he change, she just envelops him in a fierce hug before leading us into the home.
The house is immaculate and well-decorated, full of family photos and ornaments that I’m sure are either expensive, meaningful, or both. It’s the kind of house that has both a formal dining room and living room. Gabrielle ushers us into the latter, which already has an array of appetizers set up on a credenza: deviled eggs, fried green tomatoes, pimento cheese, and a few other dishes I don’t even recognize but already can’t wait to try.
I may not be from a place where manners are emphasized, but I know better than to dig in, regardless of how badly my stomach wants me to. Charlie and I both take seats on a velvet tufted sofa. I’m almost afraid to touch the fabric with my rough jeans. I feel like I should be holding a chalice or sporting a crown or something. I can tell by Charlie’s rigid posture that she feels equally uncomfortable in the elegant surroundings.
Jeremiah and Nia have no such reservations, however. Nia heads straight for the buffet and helps herself to some pimento cheese and crackers without even bothering with a napkin, scattering crumbs across the hardwood floor. Jeremiah, meanwhile, has his feet kicked up on an ottoman. He has actually removed his Air Jordans for once, though.
“Help yourselves,” Dwayne encourages us.
Charlie smiles graciously. “I just don’t know where to start, it all looks so delicious.”
“Gabrielle’s cooking rarely disappoints. I always go for one of everything,” Dwayne advises.
I follow Dwayne’s guidance, carefully arranging one of each type of appetizer on an ornate plate. Charlie follows suit. It’s more food than I’ve seen her consume in the last day and a half, but I’m sure she’ll find a way to nibble through it out of politeness if nothing else.
“How are classes going, Levi?” Dwayne asks.
“So far, so good. There’s an architecture and design one that I’m particularly enjoying.”
“What a novel concept, Jeremiah: actually attending and enjoying classes,” Dwayne teases.
I feel a twinge of guilt; my role here was to distract from Jeremiah’s abysmal midterm grades, not highlight them. It’s guilt tinged in jealously though, I’ve never had anyone to care about whether I did poorly or not.
“That’s Nia’s thing. I can’t be a superstar athlete and the brains of the family, it would be too much pressure for her.”
“How considerate of you,” Nia manages around a mouthful of deviled egg.
Gabrielle returns from the kitchen, timer in hand. “How is everything?” she asks, anxiously wiping her hands against the front of her apron.
“It’s incredible,” Charlie replies.
I know she’s not exaggerating. She’s eaten at least half her plate so far, a lot more than I expected her to consume in such a short period of time. I nod along enthusiastically, my mouth too full to respond properly.
“Have a seat,” Dwayne encourages Gabrielle. “I can check on the turkey.”
Gabrielle takes a grateful seat on the settee - at least I think it’s a settee. I’ve never seen a delicate sofa like that anywhere outside of the poorly-produced period dramas we were occasionally forced to watch in history class.
“So how did you two meet?” Gabrielle asks, turning to Charlie.
I’m wondering how to explain our first drunken, sexually-charged encounter at the bonfire in a more palatable way, but Charlie has apparently already thought this through. “My brother and Levi played on the same football team.”
“Does your brother still play?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s at the University of Tennessee.”
Gabrielle makes an appreciative noise at the same time that Jeremiah groans. Both noises perfectly embody how I feel about Colt and his position at UT: equal parts impressed and disheartened by it. I was honestly shocked to see him still on the team. I thought that frosh week, with its bevy of parties and women and ample opportunities for underage drinking, would have been enough to send him off the rails. I have no idea how he’s managing to get by in classes - whether I’ve underestimated him for all of these years, or whether he’s somehow found a way around the GPA requirements. I suspect that it’s the latter, but even that’s impressive in its own discouraging way.
“You don’t have to ma’am me,” Gabrielle laughs. “I’d like to think that I’m still the same age as y’all are. Those are the fun years.”
“I sure hope that I feel that way in retrospect,” Charlie replies earnestly. “Right now, it just feels like a lot of pressure to figure everything out.”
Gab
rielle nods understandingly. “I don’t think you ever really do. You just keep doing your best. Have you graduated from high school yet?”
“I’m doing my GED right now. I hope to have it finished by the spring.”
“Do you plan on joining Levi at Tennessee Tech?”
“Don’t mind her intrusiveness,” Nia intercedes. “Jeremiah never brings girls home, so she doesn’t have anyone to grill about their relationship status.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Gabrielle apologizes. “Your story is just similar to mine and Dwayne’s. He graduated high school a year before me and left our little rural town to go to Cumberland University.”
“You followed him?” Charlie asks.
“Not at first. My mama and my aunties tried real hard to dissuade me. They thought he was a dumb jock and that I should be off creating my own path instead of following his. I stayed home, went to beauty school for a while. I was miserable without him though, so I eventually enrolled in a beauty school in Cumberland. The heart knows better than the head sometimes.”
The shrill ringing of the timer in Gabrielle’s hand startles all of us. She leaps to her feet.
“The casserole should be done. Jeremiah, can you set the table? - use the good china, please. Nia, I need your help getting everything out on the table.”
Charlie and I busy ourselves with setting out cutlery and glassware, trying to appear helpful. There are two different fork sizes, and I have no idea which one goes where, so I’m relieved when Nia takes over for me.
“You’d think the queen was coming,” she mutters with an eye roll.
“Well, this dinner certainly would be fit for her if she did show up,” Dwayne comments, carrying in the largest piece of meat I’ve ever seen.
My mouth waters involuntarily, and I have to consciously remind myself not to stare like a starved dog. I’ve never tried turkey. The dry, unseasoned chicken breast they serve in the dorm cafeteria and the occasional catfish is the only white meat I’ve ever eaten.
Once Nia and Gabrielle have the entire feast laid out on the table, we’re all seated. From his spot at the head of the table, Dwayne extends his hands to Gabrielle and Jeremiah on either side of him and bows his head. The rest of us follow suit.
