by Gina Henning
My dad finally is ready for my plate. I’m always served the turkey last, other than himself.
“Some bird for the bird.” My dad passes my plate back to me.
I laugh. “Thanks, Dad.” I take a huge helping of the sweet potato casserole. It’s the perfect melding of sweet and savory. I like sweet potatoes sliced open and filled with marshmallows and brown sugar, but this casserole takes sweet potatoes to an entirely different playing field. It’s like the marshmallows are junior varsity in high school and the casserole is Le Cordon Bleu Culinary School. Yum. I take another big bite.
Aurora stands up. “Excuse me.” And exits the dining room. Is she sick again? I thought morning sickness only lasted the first three months or something like that. I’ve never been pregnant, and thus never had a need to know this information, but I’m pretty sure this is the case. Luke wipes his mouth with this napkin. “I better go check on her.” He files into the kitchen as well. The kitchen and dining room are connected, which works out well for doing the dishes.
“Did Jack have any plans for Thanksgiving?” My mom asks as she shovels some green bean casserole in her mouth.
“I don’t know, he didn’t mention anything.” I take a sip of my water.
“Why don’t you invite him over for some pie?” My mom takes another bite of the casserole. “The one you made together, it would be nice to share it over here wouldn’t it?”
I flitter my eyes. “We already had some at the Vintage Estates and besides I leave on Sunday.”
“Lauren, that’s three days away. Your mother is giving you an opportunity to enjoy some pecan pie tonight.” My dad places his hand down on the tablecloth and smooths out a wrinkle.
Good grief with this family and Jack. I get it I like him too. But I don’t want to end up in a bad situation. He must realize long-distance relationships are difficult. I’ve already gone down that road with Scott. Granted, Scott never tugged on my heart the way Jack has in such a short time frame. But what if it’s all just lust or something? Or the newness of meeting someone, what if after we spend actual time together we find out we don’t like each other? I shrug my shoulders. I can’t imagine not liking him. There are too many things on my pro-Jack list to even contemplate this idea.
“It’s just pie, Lauren you aren’t signing up for a time share.” Megan rolls her eyes at me.
Brian laughs. “Yes, well if you are interested in a time share, let me know. I’ve got one for you to consider.”
Megan pinches Brian’s biceps. “Not funny, it seemed like a good idea.”
Brian shakes his head. “It’s not a terrible one.” He grabs her hand.
My grandmother peers over at me. “Isn’t that nice, having a partner.”
“Yes it is, and I’ve partnering up with the dishwasher right now.” I stand up and take my plate and my father’s which is empty. I lumber into the kitchen and place the dishes in the sink. The dishwasher is actually not a bad partner to pair with. It’s reliable and does the majority of the work. I laugh. I can’t believe I’m actually considering a dishwasher as a partner. I shake my head and grab my mom’s dish scrubber. It has a beige handle and the bristles are bright yellow with a painted woman’s face and she looks like her finger might have recently been placed in an electrical socket. I scrub the food particles off of the plates and pull open the dishwasher. It’s empty. I methodically refill it with our dishes and the pile sitting next to the sink from Megan’s masterpieces. I don’t understand why she can’t fill up the dishwasher as she works? This would make more sense. The dishwasher is full and I haven’t even begun to clear the table. From under the sink, I grab a blue and green cube of soap and place it in the dispenser inside the dishwasher and shut the door. I press the start button and the sounds of hot water begin to fill up the kitchen.
I saunter back into the dining room. My grandmother and mother are collecting the empty plates. I really wish everyone would bring their own plate into the kitchen, would this be too much to ask? I get it Megan doesn’t help with the clearing of the table because she prepared the majority of the meal, but what about the rest of them? And my grandmother is old, she should be resting not cleaning.
“Here grandmother, let me help you with that.” I reach for the stack of plates in her hands.
“Now stop with that Lauren, you know I can manage carrying a few plates to the kitchen.” She slides past me and treks the dishes into the kitchen. I notice her elbows are shaking as she walks. I take in a deep breath.
“I’ll finish this mom, why don’t you see if you can get grandmother to rest?” I pick up several plates and nod in my grandmother’s direction.
“Thanks honey, I think you might be right.” She leans in to my ear. “Her hands were getting pretty shaky with the plates.” My mom grabs the green bean casserole and brings it into the kitchen.
I stack up as many plates as I think I can possibly carry and pretend to be Rachael Ray as she loads ingredients from her pantry to deliver to the counter. Successfully, I make it into the kitchen with no dropped dishes. I think I even managed to stack two extra bowls compared to last Thanksgiving. The dishwasher is still powering through the first load, I’ve got at least another hour before it’s ready for round two.
I peek my head into the living room, the majority of my family has roamed to the living room to settle in and watch some football. Megan is sitting on Brian’s lap on the couch, playing with his hair while holding her glass of Malbec with the other. If I were a stranger I’d assume they were newlyweds with the way they’re staring into each other’s eyes.
“Where are Winter and River?” I ask to no one in particular.
“There in the backyard with Aurora, they can’t be alone until the…” Megan bites her lip, “tree house is finished.”
No doubt they were told to stay away from the tree house. I think my mom finally intervened on a Brian contraption, fearing for her only grandchildren’s safety. Luke is sitting on the other end of the couch, watching the game with my dad. Their eyes are glued to the screen, and their jaws are clenched. Must be a close game.
“Baby, can you come outside and watch the kids? I need to go and lie down.” Aurora circles her belly.
Luke jumps up from the couch. “Anything for my little flower petal. Get some good rest.” He leans down and kisses her softly. I can’t believe they aren’t going full throttle PDA-palooza. I scan the room, of course, there is my father. I roll my eyes. My mom and grandmother are nowhere to be found. Maybe they’re having a Thanksgiving nap as well. I’m happy they aren’t bothering me anymore about Jack.
Jack. He was so thoughtful today. Other than his deceased brother and cat-lady aunt, he hadn’t mentioned any other family. Could he be all alone on Thanksgiving? Maybe I should be assertive and ask him over for some pie. I climb the stairs to my old childhood room and pick up his note. I wave it in front of my nose. I’m a little disappointed. It’s fragrance free. I’d hoped to get a whiff of his cologne again.
I rummage through my purse and find my phone. I hesitate for a second before dialing the numbers from the note. The buzzing rings four times. Aw. I’d assumed he’d answer. I hadn’t planned out a message. Do I want to leave one?
His voice mail picks up. “This is Jack Walker. Please leave me a message.”
I’m torn. Should I leave one? Or let this go? Whatever this is. I sigh and press the end button.
I don’t live here and long-distance pie-making doesn’t seem plausible. I should go and be with my family. My phone vibrates back and forth in my palm. The number on the caller ID is the same one I dialed. “Hello?”
“Lauren, did you just dial and decline me a voice mail?”
My chest constricts. “Yes. I only leave voice mails on rare occasions… I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have some pecan pie.”
“Pecan pie? I think I might’ve had my fill of pecan pie. Is there anything special about this one that could change my mind?”
“Your fill? I seriousl
y doubt one could ever have their fill of pecan pie, especially mine. It’s made with a secret recipe and the best pecans in Texas.”
“A secret recipe and the best pecans in Texas? I hope I don’t get any moving violations on the way over.”
“Don’t ruin Thanksgiving with a speeding ticket. Take it slow. I’ll save you a piece.”
“Lauren, my taste buds can only hope,” Jack says.
The phone shows the call is over. I take a deep breath and blow the air up against my hot face. The pink bag of brushes and colors are staring at me. I methodically apply a few more strokes of mascara. My eye shadow is still in place, artistically blended. I add a smear of gloss for my lips. The bottle of my favorite perfume is standing at full attention. I don’t want to overdo this. Besides, I’m sure Luke would say something about it. I don’t need to give him any opportunities to take a shot at me, especially not in front of Jack.
I pick up my phone and text Brianna “So how is your Thanksgiving?”
My phone vibrates in my hand. Brianna is calling me. I slide the green bar over to the right and pick up.
“Good, bad, or ugly?” I plop down on my bed and smooth out the comforter.
“Oh Lauren, it’s really bad.”
“What happened?” I scrunch up the fabric in between my fingers.
“My mom and grandmother got into a food fight.”
“Shut the front door, they did not!” I jerk my head back.
“They did. I’m currently covered in mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.” She hiccups.
“Did you also partake in the food throwing?”
“No, I was in the line of,” Hiccup. “Fire.”
“I’m sorry Bri, why were they fighting?” I raise my eyebrows up. I can’t believe Brianna’s family had an actual food fight, they are the most reserved bunch.
“My grandmother made a comment about my mom’s friend, there were probably more jabs that took place prior to the final straw” Hiccup. “If you will, but my mom literally lost it. She shoveled up a pile of my grandmother’s cheesy mashed potatoes and flung them at her.”
“No way.” I shake my head.
“Yes, and the potatoes landed splat across my grandmother’s cheek.”
“Whoah.” I flitter my eyelashes.
“Yes, and with one swipe my grandmother lobbed a chunk of cranberry sauce at my mother.”
I shake my head. I cannot believe what I’m hearing.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, oh crap, I think they’re at it again, I’ve got to go.” A click goes off in my ear.
I’m thankful my family isn’t that dramatic.
My family. Hmm, should I tell them or let them be surprised by Jack’s arrival?
I saunter down the stairs and find everyone is still in their same spots, completely frozen in time. No one even observes my arrival. I stand alone, like the cheese. I’m tempted to pretend to be a ghost and make “oooh” sounds and hold my hands out to the sides to see if it would get their attention. Maybe I should toss a random knick knack across the room. I could throw my mom’s stuffed turkey, it appears rather lonely as well on the side table. It’s holding a pie with one wing and a fork in the other.
This reminds me… I need to assess the pie situation in the kitchen. I pour myself another glass of wine and count the dessert plates on the counter. There’s an extra plate. Did my mother invite someone else over or did she assume Jack would also be coming?
The commotion from the living room calls my curiosity into a different direction. I stroll to investigate the noise. Perhaps my dad’s team is doing well, or maybe the opposite.
The scenery has changed. Jack is sitting on the couch next to Luke, talking sports with him and my dad. What planet am I on? Jack’s eyes meet mine. He gets up from the couch and strides over. We smile at each other. Little sparklers are going off, as though I’ve regressed back into a teenage moment.
“So, about that pie,” Jack says with an intense gaze.
“Yes, the deliciousness awaits you in the kitchen,” I say as he laces his fingers in mine.
We make our way into the kitchen and stop at the island. Footsteps along the floor break our silence. Megan is at our side, leering at us as though she’s at a drive-in movie and not standing in front of actual people.
“So, everyone has met Jack now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Megan pokes me in the chest.
I rub the spot she hit and peek at Jack. “Do you want to help me with the pie?”
“I’d be honored,” Jack says and follows me to the pantry.
Megan follows behind him.
Why is she coming with us? I give her a “really?” stare, and she turns around and leaves us. Alone in the pantry.
“So, the pie is up there.” I motion with my eyes to the shelf above me.
“On the shelf, the circular object?”
“Yes,” I say, taking in a deep breath.
Jack steps in close to me, so that our bodies are touching. He leans in past me, his lips within kissing distance and he grabs the pie from the shelf behind me.
“Did you want anything else?” He gives me the pie. My voice is lost—it’s lying somewhere on a fainting pillow. I want to say yes. But I can’t. My sister is only footsteps away, not to mention any other family member could walk in and interrupt us.
“Maybe later,” Jack says and walks back into the kitchen.
Megan is at the kitchen island drinking the remains of her wine. “Jack brought over some more wine. I’d say he’s a keeper.” Megan opens the new bottle. She sashays to the cupboard, takes down another glass, and pours one for Jack.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Jack. I know I speak for my entire family by saying we’re glad you’re here.” Megan clinks glasses with Jack.
He smiles at her and gazes back at me. I’m searching for the quickest tool to end my life. Could she be any more embarrassing? If she thought there’s a possible romance in bloom, she must know that stating things like that to a man is a relationship killer.
“Thanks, Megan. I’m happy to be here as well.” Jack grins at me and takes a sip of his wine.
Megan nods and inspects my face like she is trying to read me. I wish I had some superpower to print an actual message on my forehead for only her to see. It would read “privacy” and “get a clue”. At this point she must be feeling the eye daggers I’ve thrown her way. She finally leaves the kitchen.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say to Jack and roll my eyes. “She drank a whole bottle of wine by herself. Being a little tipsy and overbearing during the holidays is her thing.”
Jack pulls me in close and rubs my wrist with his thumb. “I’m disappointed you aren’t wearing your bracelet.”
My cheeks are blazing. Keep it cool, Lauren. Your family is in the other room.
“Yes. I forgot. If you’re going to help with the pie, you have to wear an apron.” I walk into the pantry. “House rules,” I call out as I sort through my mom’s selection of aprons.
I find the one Megan and I got her for Mother’s Day last year. The necktie is a pearl necklace and the body of the apron resembles a French maid’s costume. I peek out from the pantry. Jack raises his eyebrow and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Turn around,” I tell him and twirl my finger.
Jack faces the wall. Placing the apron over him, I’m barely able to reach the top of his head on my tiptoes. I clasp the pearl necklace and tie the straps around his back, doing my best not to crack. He turns around and pulls at the apron to see exactly how I’ve dressed him.
“Really?” he laughs.
No longer able to control myself, I burst into giggles. He looks ridiculous. My laughter cannot be contained. I hold onto a chair to steady myself. His arms reach over me and white fabric drapes past my head. This is my dad’s grilling apron. Not as funny, but I’ll play along. He must have grabbed it while I was trying to get a hold of myself.
“I bet you’d be a nice little grilling assistant.”
Jack pats my head.
My grandmother and mother walk into the kitchen and are staring at us as though we’re escaped animals from the zoo that showed up to cook.
“Are y’all ready for some pecan pie?” my mother asks.
“Jack, I’m so glad you could make it.” My grandmother gives me a wink. Does she know I took her advice and was assertive or does she think it was the voice mail she left at Vintage Estates for Jack? Either way he’s here and I’m sure this is all she cares about.
“I couldn’t resist the opportunity of eating the Hauser Family Pecan Pie with the Hauser family,” Jack says.
My grandmother beams at him and nods to me. I take the plates from the counter and head for the dining room. Jack follows behind me with the pies. Fortunately Jack planned accordingly and brought over a second pie to share.
I slice the pies and pass plates around to each of my family members. I know the pie has already passed the taste test with my grandmother’s friends at Vintage Estates, but my family are the true judges. They’ve had my grandmother’s prized pecan pie every year.
My dad forks a big bite into his mouth and nods his head as he chews. “The bird did it.”
My grandmother is all smiles. My mother is chewing her pie as well with matching nods of appreciation.
