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Thanksgiving Day
Mom placed a hand on June’s shoulder. “It breaks my heart that my son and his family can’t be here today.”
My brother lived in Chantilly, a Washington, DC, suburb outside the Beltway. It wasn’t too far as the crow flew, though it could be a good forty-five-minute haul in traffic. But this Thanksgiving, they’d driven to Connecticut to see his wife’s family.
Hannah blurted out what I was thinking. “Give me a break, Mom; you just want to see Jen.”
My brother’s ten-year-old daughter was the only grandchild in our family and everyone doted on her.
Dad, always the voice of reason, chided gently, “Come now. You can’t expect to see them every holiday. And don’t forget, they’ll be joining us for Christmas, which is more fun for a child anyway.”
Mom seemed perilously close to pushing back tears. “It’s just that I never get to see them. They’re always so busy. Sophie, you see them more often than I do.” Her face brightened. “Why don’t we invite Mar—”
Oh, no! “Mom,” I interrupted, “could you help me in the kitchen?”
She nodded at June and followed me.
Whispering, I said, “Don’t you dare invite Mars and Natasha to dinner.”
“Honey, you saw how sad June was. Is it really so much to ask?”
“Do you honestly expect me to entertain my ex-husband and his new girlfriend—who, incidentally, accused me of murder—at Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Honey, this is your chance to steal Mars back.”
“Natasha did not steal Mars.”
Mom patted me as though she didn’t believe it. “There will be so many people you’ll hardly notice.” She sniffed. “And it will help me forget that Jen can’t be here.”
“No.”
“Well, I must say that I’m very disappointed in you, Sophie. Where is your compassion? Their house burned and you can’t even bring yourself to offer them one meal? I brought you up better than that. Besides, I have to see Natasha’s mother every week at the hospital auxiliary. It’s only good manners. If your kitchen burned down, I would expect Natasha to invite you.” She paused. “And what’s more, Natasha would do it because she has exquisite manners.”
I would not let myself be manipulated. “No.”
June poked her head into the kitchen. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but Bernie lent me his cute little phone to call Mars. They’ve accepted your generous invitation. Now I’m going to call Andrew and Vicki.”
June must have read the astonishment on my face because she added quickly, “They have nowhere else to go. Vicki’s only living relative is a brother in Hong Kong. We’ve never met him. He didn’t even come to their wedding.”
Mars’s brother and his wife, too? My eyes met Mom’s in desperation. All of my former in-laws would be coming for dinner.
Mom shrugged like it was out of our hands. But she looked far too happy about it.
NINE
From “A Natasha Thanksgiving” :
For a dramatic centerpiece, hollow out eight small pumpkins. Randomly make holes in all of them with an electric drill. Be sure you drill matching holes on the sides so they can be joined in a circle. Use screws and bolts to fasten the pumpkins into a circle. Place a votive candle in each pumpkin and you’ll have a sparkling showpiece for the center of your table or your buffet.
Hannah bounced into the kitchen, typically oblivious to the chaos in my life. “I’m taking a bath and doing my hair while Craig is out. Don’t want him to see me in hot curlers.”
I could have used some help, but if she was going to hog the only full bathroom for a while, she probably ought to do it now.
Dad grumbled a bit about Bernie having taken over the den. I gathered he’d planned to hide there with the newspaper. Instead, he and Daisy hit the brick sidewalks for a stroll.
Unlike Mars, who’d rather have died than spend the morning with three women in the kitchen, Bernie puttered about in his bathrobe, completely comfortable. He put on the