“She owns pans too.”
“Remarkable.”
“And stores sell food.”
I looked at him.
“Are you trying to stop me?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I’m trying to understand you.”
“That seems ambitious after six years.”
Poppy had left her stuffed giraffe on one of the chairs. Lucas moved it and leaned back.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
I turned from the dough.
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“I want to do this.”
He nodded.
That was true.
I did want to.
I was not a desperate daughter-in-law trying to win a competition.
At least that was not how it felt.
I liked cooking.
I loved Thanksgiving.
I was proud of the food.
Sometimes you try because trying itself is joyful.
Thursday morning, our family group chat lit up before eight.
Linda:
Turkey Day! Come hungry. 1 p.m.
Cassie sent a picture of a table covered in fall decorations.
Then:
I still think about Ryan’s mushroom crostini every Thanksgiving lol. I should’ve gotten that recipe.
Lucas was brushing Poppy’s hair at the kitchen island when I read it.
He saw my face.
“Cass.”
“It’s fine.”
“No.”
He reached for his phone.
I stopped him.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because then she’ll apologize before we even get there, and I’ll spend the whole afternoon convincing everyone I wasn’t upset.”
He studied me.
“You are upset.”
“I’m tired.”
He put down the hairbrush.
Poppy immediately picked it up and began brushing the giraffe.
I saved the message without knowing why.
Not as ammunition.
More like proof for myself that I had not imagined the pattern.
By noon, the back of our SUV looked like a catering van.
Turkey.
Green bean casserole.
Mashed potatoes in an insulated pot.
Cranberry sauce.
Stuffing.
Rolls.
Two pies.
I even packed extra gravy in a mason jar because my mother had taught me that nobody remembers a dry turkey if there is enough gravy.
We arrived at Linda and Warren’s just after one.
Poppy jumped out before Lucas had fully opened his door.
“Grandma!”
She ran to the porch and rang the bell three times.
Lucas carried the turkey.
I carried two bags and balanced a pie tin on each forearm.
Linda opened the door.
Her eyes went to the pie nearest my face.
“You brought two?”
“Pumpkin and apple.”
A small pause.
“Well.”
She stepped back.
“Come in.”
Maybe that should not have bothered me.
By itself, it would not have.
That was the whole problem.
Nothing was ever by itself.
Cassie sat in the living room with her boyfriend Todd, who stood immediately to help carry things.
“Wow,” Cassie said. “You really did all this?”
“It was fun.”
“I would’ve ordered half of it.”
Todd carried the potatoes into the kitchen.
Cassie followed.
Then she saw the cranberries.
“Oh. Homemade?”
“Yes.”
“Ryan used to do some mushroom thing.”
There it was.
“She used goat cheese, I think. Or maybe Brie.”
Lucas set the roasting pan on the counter.
“I don’t remember.”
“Come on. Everybody loved them.”
“I honestly don’t remember.”
Cassie laughed.
“How do you not remember food?”
I opened the refrigerator.
“I made cranberry sauce.”
“Nice.”
She was already checking her phone.
“She definitely did mushrooms, though.”