I text Happy Thanksgiving messages to Neel, Mags, Paul, Latica, Hector, and Jamal. I bite my nails and stare out the window. PJ responds as we pull up to Aunt Sarah’s house.
Happy Thanksgiving. I miss you too. xxx ooo
Well, I guess that’s about as good as the day is going to get. I retrieve Carole’s casserole dish from the back of the car and carry it into the house for her. Carole has been creatively repurposing shiva leftovers since the fruit salad pancakes success. However, not every dish has been a winner. Her lox noodle casserole was a real low point.
It’ll be good, she had said. Like tuna noodle casserole. But it was inedible, and we both spat out our first bites and immediately ordered pizza. It was the first time we laughed since Mom died. There has been no laughter since, but it was a much-needed moment of levity. Today’s shiva leftover creation is bagel stuffing. I haven’t tasted it yet, but I watched Carole make it, and it looks pretty darn good. She made it like a traditional Thanksgiving stuffing, but with bagels instead of bread. Who knows, maybe this will become a new tradition.
The front door is open and through the glass storm door, an apron-clad Aunt Sarah is pulling an armful of serving dishes out of a cabinet.
“Come on in,” she calls.
The house smells delicious from the food preparation. I drop off the bagel stuffing in the kitchen and Aunt Sarah joins Carole in the dining room where they lock in a lingering embrace. When they pull apart, their cheeks are wet.
“I miss her so much,” Carole says to Aunt Sarah.
“I miss her too. My poor baby sister,” Aunt Sarah says back. “Enough tears. Carole, come help me set the table.”
I sit down on the couch, put my feet on the ottoman, and take out my book. Aunt Sarah pops into the living room and waves to get my attention.
“Simon, your dad will be here soon. He called about an hour ago to say he is running a little late.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Dad,” I say.
“Why don’t you go downstairs to wait? Brian’s in his man cave. You can keep each other company. It will be nice… Like old times.”
“I’ll wait here if that’s okay. I want to read my book.”
Aunt Sarah taps her fingers on the doorjamb. I take my phone out to text PJ again when she stops tapping her fingers, walks over, and takes a seat next to me on the couch.
“I don’t understand what’s happened between you and Brian. You were two peas in a pod. You used to go to concerts together and hang out all the time. What’s changed?”
“Um, I don’t know. I grew up, I guess.”
“Is it the drinking? It’s the drinking, isn’t it? I know it’s a problem. But I have good news for you. I hid the booze last night after he passed out. He won’t ruin Thanksgiving today. He’s in a foul mood about it, but at least he’s sober. He’s listening to music, so go keep him company. It will be good for both of you.”
Just when I think there’s no way out of this, I’m saved by a knock on the door.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Sorry I’m late,” says Dad in his familiar faded accent.
I greet him with a big hug. “You’re not late. We just got here too,” I say, feeling relieved for my timely rescue. From the corner of my eye, I see Carole watching me hug Dad. I’m not sure she has ever seen us do this before. I’m still getting used to it. We have only hugged a few times, but it started in the hospital when Dad found me in the bathroom.
“I brought cranberry sauce,” he says cheerily, holding up a can.
“Oh, how lovely,” Aunt Sarah says, but I catch her rolling her eyes at Carole, and the three of us share a secret smile unbeknownst to Dad who is taking off his coat. Carole and Aunt Sarah disappear into the kitchen with the can of cranberry sauce, so I take the opportunity and chat with Dad to avoid having to head down to the man cave.
“So have you thought about my offer?” Dad asks almost immediately. “We can start house hunting this weekend!”
“No, Dad. I need more time. I want to. I do. But what about Carole? She will be all alone, and I’ll miss her.”
“Miss her? I don’t understand. It’s not like you’ll never see her again. I’m not asking you to break all contact with her.”
“Dad, I don’t want to talk about this today. Okay? Mom hasn’t even been gone for two weeks, and today is Thanksgiving. I’ll decide in the new year—after Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and my seventeenth birthday. I’m not deciding until after all that. I refuse to leave Carole alone during the holidays.”
I leave Dad alone on the couch and head into the kitchen. That felt good. I took a page from the book of PJ. I can procrastinate with the best of them.
“Can I help set the table?” I ask with fake enthusiasm.
Dinner was horrible. Not the food; the food was fine. It was the company that was a nightmare. I hate Brian! He didn’t speak. He just grunted and pointed to the dishes he wanted passed to him. He glared at Aunt Sarah the whole time, and the rest of us pretended we didn’t know what was happening. Dad tried to make awkward small talk, but no one was having it. Carole cried twice, and at one point during the meal, Aunt Sarah threw down her napkin and stormed into the kitchen. I just stared at my plate the whole time wishing for the day to be over with. Now, I’m sitting on a closed toilet seat hiding from everyone, scrolling through Thanksgiving messages from my friends.
