“Thank you,” Tom said, letting her squeeze him.
Cherry should intercede, but if she came any closer, her mom might grab Cherry’s hands, too. She’d handfast them back together, right there in Honny’s living room.
“Mom!” Honny called from the dining room. “Come on in—we’ve been waiting for you to start eating. Did you bring the mashed potatoes?”
“Well, Danny has them.”
Hope’s husband, Danny, had stalled out in front of the football game. He was carrying a big soup pot.
“I’ll grab them,” Tom said, pulling his hands away from Cherry’s mom. “Hey there, Danny.”
“Oh, hey, Tom—Merry Christmas.”
The tables were ready. The buffet was ready. Honny had one of the kids turn down the volume on the football game. She made her husband, Carl, stand up to say grace.
Cherry’s brothers-in-law took turns saying prayer on holidays. (They’d offered it to Tom one year, and he’d declined.) It was Carl’s turn today. Carl was a sturdily built Mexican American guy. He and Honny spent every other Christmas with his family out in Grand Island. He put an arm around Honny, and Joy’s and Faith’s husbands followed suit. They all looked round and rosy and comfortably in love.
Cherry was standing next to Tom. She gave him a smile, just to make it less awkward, and he smiled back, tight-lipped, making the best of things. They bowed their heads.
Carl encouraged them all to be thankful. He encouraged them to remember God, who gave His only son for them and watched Him die on the cross—which struck Cherry as more of an Easter sentiment—but Carl brought it back around to generosity. To family. To kids growing older. To families getting bigger. “How fortunate we are to be here together,” Carl said. “How fortunate we are to have this day.”
“Amen,” Cherry and Tom agreed, with everyone else in the room.
“Oh, Carl, you made me cry with that one,” Cherry’s mom said.
“Amen,” Faith said.
The nieces and nephews went through the buffet line first. Honny spotted the kids’ paper tablecloth, and said, “Oh my god, Tom—are you kidding me? No! We arenotletting that get ruined. Everybody lift up your plates!” Honny pulled the paper out from under them, and Cherry helped her spread it out against the actual fireplace (which wasn’t lit). “We have to hang this up after dinner,” Honny said. “Tom has outdone himself this time.”
Honny was probably thinking that this was the last of the Tom tablecloths—and her last chance to hold on to one. (Tom really had outdone himself.)
Cherry made her dad a plate. There was no alcohol at Honny’s house, so he’d probably filled himself to the brim before he got there. Their father was an accomplished drunk. He could plan his work and work his plan, around all his daughters’ machinations. Cherry wasn’t sure she’deverseen him sober. Imagine having that sort of stick-to-itiveness for forty years.
Right now, he was topped up and sullen. He might mellow into chatty and loudly bemused, or he might just get nervy and short-tempered. It was hard to get their father to family gatherings. He didn’t like to feel trapped.
“Hey, Dad,” Cherry said. “I brought you some lunch.”
He didn’t look up from the game. “Thanks, honey.”
Her dad was a heavyset guy with wavy hair and deep, craggy dimples. He’d been handsome once. Roguish. He looked a lot older than Cherry’s mom, even though they were the same age.
Cherry set down the plate. “You want to come sit with us, in the dining room?”
“Nah, I’m all right. I’m watching the game.”
He wouldn’t want to move around much. He wouldn’t want any of the grandkids to bother him. Just like he hadn’t wanted any of his own kids to bother him.
Cherry’s mom had always gone overboard on holidays. They never had much money for presents, but her mom would cook for days. They’d decorate the whole house with paper chains and popcorn garlands. They’d make pomanders out of oranges and cloves.
Hope said their mom was always dancing in double time to cover for their dad, to distract from him.“All of those frantically wonderful Christmases.”
They really had been wonderful...
Cherry made her own plate, carefully taking tiny portions so she could try everything.
Honny had brined the turkey and stuffed the skin with sage and butter. Hope had made the bread-crumb dressing with celery and chestnuts. The green bean casserole was Joy’s—plus the brussels sprouts with maple syrup and bacon. Faith had baked yeasty yellow rolls and spent a whole day making homemade noodles in chicken gravy. Everyone brought dessert. Pumpkin pie, apple potica. Red velvet cake, a Swiss roll. There were plates and plates of cookies and homemade candy. Peppermint bark and Christmas crack.
Cherry and Tom ended up together at the table, sitting just where she’d sat with Russ—with Hope in the same place, too, sitting next to Tom and looking like she’d shown up at the wrong family dinner. Tom’s plate was so full, he’d had to stack his roll and pastieri on top of everything else. He was being just as polite as Russ had been. But softer, more hesitant.
