“Food!” my mother shouts from the kitchen.
“We better go before she comes in here with wooden spoons and more threats.” Tom gets up, and we follow after him into the dining room. The table is fully set for four people, the food piled high in dishes spread out in the center. The small TV is on in the corner with football playing—like I said, obsessed. A couple of years ago, he choked on a piece of turkey because the opposingteam got a touchdown while he was trying to swallow. I was up and out of my seat, ready to give him the Heimlich when it dislodged itself. All he did was laugh and blame the quarterback for not throwing the ball a few seconds sooner.
“Hudsy, tell me what you’ve been up to,” my mother starts once we’re seated with our plates full. “How is work? The house? Have you met anyone yet?”
Trey chokes on his drink a little. “Sorry,” he says. “Went down the wrong way.”
I take a bite of my turkey and say, “Yeah, sort of. Work is good. House is fine.”
“That’s so good to hear. You have to tell me all about her.”
I almost flinch over the remark, even though I knew it was coming. I’ve already played out this entire day in my head. Practiced all the possible answers to all the possible questions, so I’d be prepared.
“Maybe when things get more serious.”
“Hear that, Carol. He saidwhen,” Tom says with a bark of a laugh.
“I heard, honey. The boy’s growing up.”
Trey keeps himself busy, eating his food and smiling when appropriate.
“I’ve been grown up for a long time,” I say, stabbing a piece of turkey doused in gravy.
“Well, we knowthathoney, but we worry about you. Your father does too. When’s the last time you talked to him? He misses you.”
“I talk to him once a week, just like I always have.”
“He’s lonely,” she says.
“He’s a grown man.”
“This cranberry sauce is delicious, Mrs. Daniels. Oh—it is Daniels, right? I know you’re married, and—”
“Yes, honey, don’t worry. I left it as Daniels because it’s too much work to switch it all. Tom said he didn’t mind.” She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Oh, that makes sense. Anyway, Hudson said you make the cranberry sauce yourself?”
“I do!” she says happily. “It’s been a family recipe for years. My grandmother met her husband working in the cranberry bogs in Massachusetts. He married into the family and passed on his special recipe.”
“Well, it’s really good,” he says with a smile. “My mother’s secret recipe comes from a can.”
My mother laughs. Trey does too.
The rest of dinner goes without any issues, and I think that maybe I’ll get out of here without a headache and a panic attack for once. But then dessert is served.
“I made plain cheesecake but have fruit for the top, if you want, with fresh whipped cream. I also made a chocolate pie, and pumpkin pie.”
“Wow,” Trey says. “Can I get all three?”
“Of course!”
She gives him a full plate of dessert that makes me sick just looking at it. She serves me my usual slice of pumpkin and fresh whipped cream. She has chocolate, while Tom has both a slice of pumpkin, and a slice of cheesecake.
“You know, Hudsy, I was reading the other day. And I wanted to share it with you, but I couldn’t figure out how—”
“You know I don’t read the same stuff as you,” I comment, cutting into the last few bites of my pie.
“Oh no, it wasn’t a novel.” She laughs. “It was an article about adults on the autism spectrum dating. Did you know they even have a show, and I was thinking that you’re higher-functioning than—”
