“It’s hard not to stare when the person you’re looking at is as pretty as you are.”
Her cheeks flush instantly at my words and she reaches to adjust her glasses like she does when she’s nervous. Clearing her throat, she reaches for the checkerboard and moves her piece with a growing smile on her face.
“I win,” she says, looking up at me with excitement.
Looking down at the board, I see that all of my pieces have been taken and there’s nothing left but black circles on the board. I smile back at her because while I may have let her win at checkers, what I didn’t intend to happen was to let her win a piece of my heart at the same time.
20
HANNA
“Hello, Wilson, how are you today? Ready for Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask my father’s oversized orange cat who’s perched in his usual spot on the back of the couch.
Thankfully, whatever my dad gave me ended up being a minor version of the flu. Miles mentioned that his friend who’s a nurse told him some sort of virus is going around that looks a lot like the flu, but only lasts a few days instead of a week like the normal flu does. Thank god because feeling like that for longer than seventy-two hours would have been the worst.
Miles was nice enough to hangout for the majority of Monday to make sure I kept my food down and got enough fluids. When I started to feel bad again later in the afternoon, I told him he could go while I took another nap. He watched as I texted both my family group chat and Rae to tell them I was feeling sick and was pleased to hear that my entire family unit was going to swoop in that night to play doctor. I knew I shouldn’t have told him where I lived and Idefinitelyshould not have let him stay as long as he did, butit was nice to have another person to lean on for once. The last several years of my life I’ve been so focused on career, career, career, that I don’t think I realized that I was missing out on another key piece of life: finding someone to share it with.
“Honey bee, where’d you put your casserole, sweetie?”
Turning, I find my mom standing in the doorway of the living room wearing her favorite apron. One that she wears every year and only on Thanksgiving. I don’t know where she found it, a thrift store probably, but it’s stitched together with a million different patterned fabrics that come together to make a massive turkey across the front of it. When I was little, I’d stare at it all day and count the different fabric pieces while she cooked. Holidays were really the longest time I got to spend with her since she was always so busy traveling for work. Seeing her in it now makes my heart happy.
“I put it in the warming drawer,” I reply, standing from the couch to head for the kitchen.
“Ah, yes, of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
Following behind her, I hear the sounds of fuzzy music getting louder. We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at Dad and George’s house this year. Dad, having moved in with George a few years back, inherited a vinyl collection that any true music enthusiast would lose their mind over. Walking through the kitchen and into the front room, I’m met with shelves filled to the brim with paper sleeves. There has to be hundreds of different albums on the shelves. I once asked George how many vinyls he owns and he told me he’s somewhere in the twelve to fifteen hundred range. Every time you come over, a different one is playing. Today’s flavor is nineties Nirvana. Theclassic naked baby swimming in the pool album cover stares back at me from where it’s propped up next to the record player.
“Hanna, I’d like to apologize again for passing my germs to you last weekend. I told your dad he should stay home but he insisted on going for his morning walk with you,” George says, resting a hand on my shoulder as he passes me to sit at the table.
Dad scoffs, overhearing the blame being put on him. “I told you, I felt fine when I left the house. I didn’t mean to get her sick. How was I supposed to know I was that contagious?”
“Uhm, probably by listening to your partner for once?” George asks, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into an embrace.
“Mmm, doesn’t sound like me,” Dad teases with a cocky smirk. He rests a hand on George’s chest and leans in for a kiss. It’s sweet, watching them be happy. But it makes my heart long for the same thing.
“Some things never change,” Mom mumbles under her breath from where she’s standing in the kitchen. I take the casserole dish from her and she winks at me. Passing a smile between the two of us, I turn and take a few steps before setting the dish down on the round glass table George has set for dinner. A full set of gorgeous Creamware plates sit out with smaller saucers set in the center of them. Floral printed napkins are folded on the table as well while a large, fresh bouquet of flowers creates the centerpiece.
“George, the table looks amazing this year,” I compliment. He smiles shyly, admiring his table setting.
“The plates have been in my family forever. I feel like at one point my mother mentioned they were supposed to be passed down through the women of the family. When she only had one child, and that child ended up being a verygay son with an appreciation of beautiful tableware, she decided bending the rules was okay.” He laughs and reaches for a plate, wiping the edge of one with his thumb.
“Alright, dinner is ready.” Mom comes out of the kitchen, hands protected by oven mitts covered in cats, holding a serving tray with a roasted chicken instead of turkey. I never really liked turkey growing up, so one year we roasted a chicken instead. The tradition stuck and we’ve done it every year since.
George and Dad gasp at the tray as she carries it.
“Mel, it looksamazing,” George says, eying the slow roasted veggies that are scattered around the meat. “Thank you so much for cooking that up for us to enjoy.”
“Of course, it’s been my job since Hanna was small and it will continue to be my job until I die,” she boasts confidently. She isn’t wrong. She is always in charge of roasting the Thanksgiving bird. Turkey or not.
I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek. “It looks incredible, Mom. Blue ribbon job, just like always.”
Setting the tray down, she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you, honey bee. I’m so grateful for you today and every day. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I reply, squeezing her tightly before taking my seat. As I lower myself in the chair, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. I instinctively grab it to check who it is when Dad’s voice grabs my attention.
“Hey, no phones at the dinner table. You know the rules. I don’t care if you’re an adult and on your own now. Today is a holiday and holidays are family days.”
Freezing mid-air before my butt hits the cushion, I stand back up and take a step away from the table. “There, now I’m not at the table,” I tease and stick my tongue out at him. Glancing down and reading the name on my screen, Ifeel my cheeks get hot. “It’s Rae, let me just make sure she’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
