“It’s fine.”Cillian looks beside himself as he pats my back.“I’ll go buy another turkey.”
I want to stop, but I find myself cryingmore.“It’s one p.m.There’s no time.”Great, now I’m hiccupping.
“Surely there are leftovers from yesterday’s feast?”He looks at me with trepidation, like I might bite.“Could we heat those up?”
“I left them out with breakfast so the guests could make sandwiches for lunch.It’s a big thing in the USA.”I frown.“I think there was a little left, maybe.”I throw my hands up in the air.“Gah, I ruined our own Thanksgiving.”
The fire alarm chooses that moment to start bleating at the top of its lungs.I suppose it doesn’t really have lungs, but it doesn’t need them.It’s loud enough to wake the dead already.
Cillian waves a towel at it until it finally, blessedly, stops.
“Alright, then here are our options.”Apparently Cillian’s quite the pragmatist.“We need meat for how many?Your kids, five, you and me, seven, Sam and...”His eyebrows rise.
“Yes, Richard’s coming.”
“That should be...awkward.”He laughs.“And Vanessa and her three, plus Trish.”He tilts his head.“Jack and his kids?”
I nod.
“Seventeen, then?”
“And Mason.”I cringe.
Cillian’s eyebrows shoot heavenward.
“I sort of made him a deal yesterday when he let the kids skip school that he could come today.”Now I’m really cringing.“I’m sorry—I was desperate right after Mrs.Murphy told me.”
He sighs.“Well, it should make an interesting memory, for sure.What about the pig?Is Amelia’s pig coming?Does it need a place setting?”At least he’s smiling.
“It’s Blaine’s pig,” I say.“And no, Pudge is definitelynotcoming.One pig is enough for any Thanksgiving meal.”Now I’m smiling, too.I hope it’s not even coming to our house.The last time Blaine brought Pudge over from her dad’s, she made a huge mess in the pantry.“I’ll text Mason to make sure he knows not to bring her.There’s too much other stuff happening.”
“And who will text me, to make sureIknow your ex is coming?”Cillian asks, but again, at least he’s smiling.
I slide my phone into my pocket and cross the room.“I really am sorry.”I kiss him, but I definitely can’t get distracted, not again.
“That’s a little better.”But he’s still frowning.“But I’m still a little upset.”
I kiss him again, but then I pull away.“I have to make sure that fire goes out,” I remind him.“I can’t play anymore right now.”
His eyes are bright again, and I know he’s gotten over it.“Fine, so here’s what I was going to say.First, we dispose of that.”He points at the blackened turkey hulk, which is finally not burning, just smoking.“Then I start calling places to see who might have turkey.”
It’s not that popular in Ireland, so I’m not holding my breath.“And then?”
“I had another idea.”Cillian taps my nose.“You know, I did some reading up on Thanksgiving.I know your family has very particular things in mind, but the first Thanksgiving in America was a celebration of how the natives helped the immigrants, and they ate things that both cultures were unaccustomed to, right?”
I nod.
“So how about I provide Irish stew for seventeen, and you provide the rest?”
“Seventeen?”My brow furrows.“But it’s eighteen.”
“Mason can eat the sides.”But he’s smiling when he grabs the smoking carcass with potholders and hauls it out the door.“The stew’s for everyone else.”
I actually love the idea of Irish stew as a main course, since my turkey went up in smoke.After grabbing the modest container with the end of the turkey from last night at the main house, along with the other sides I prepared early, I set to work getting the other things ready for our feast.By the time the kids come home, the pies are cooling, the rolls are being basted with butter, and the casseroles are in the now-clean-again oven.
“Oh, this smells amazing.”Vanessa’s leading Trina inside, a smile on her face.“This is going to be the very best Thanksgiving ever.”Her smile slips just a little.“Since Jason died, anyway.”
“We’ve had some great ones,” Trish says.“Even without him.I like to think he’s here, in spirit at least, happy that we’re still blessed and doing well.”
