I try to spend as much time downstairs as possible, but eventually, I make my way back upstairs and join my mom in the kitchen. “What can I help with?” I might be annoyed, but I’m still polite. Plus, I really do love my mother. I was a handful as a child, hyperactive and often in trouble, and she never gave up on me.
“Can you start taking things into the dining room for me?”
“Sure thing.” I grab the sweet and mashed potatoes and deliver them to the dining room table. I note the books are still piled around the edge of the room and shake my head. Guess they’ll be relegated to next year’s sale. Returning to the kitchen, I grab the stuffing and the basket of rolls. Holidays here are never overly formal, but my mom goes all out when she can, getting out the good wedding china.
When everyone’s seated, we dig in. Despite the donations to the church garage sale, we’re not big on praying or speeches around here. It’s an eating holiday, and that’s where the focus is. I reach for the mashed potatoes, grabbing the big spoon. “Oh, I forgot, you can’t have those.” I freeze; a big scoop of potatoes suspended in the air over the top of my plate. “I added butter and cream to them. The recipe online said it would make them more decadent.” I drop the spoon back into the bowl, spitting potatoes across part of the table.
“Really?”
“I honestly forget about your thing.” My jaw tenses at the wordthing. As though I made a choice to turn my whole life upside down to make meals difficult for everyone else. “You can still have the sweet potatoes, turkey, and rolls.”
Tears burn in the back of my eyes. I won’t cry. It’s just potatoes. Not that big of a deal. So what if I looked forward to them for weeks? Or that they’re one of my favoritefoods? Or that I hate sweet potatoes? “Okay,” I say through gritted teeth.
The conversation around me continues, but I don’t have it in me to participate. Anything that comes my way is met with a one-word answer or grunt. I eat the turkey and a roll, but nothing else. Even after I’ve had a few helpings, I feel empty.
“Since Frank helped set the table, the rest of you can help me clean.” Honestly, I think she wants to get away from me. My seething is likely visible to everyone in the room, but I don’t care. Is it so hard to give up a new recipe to make me feel welcome in my own house with my own family?
I excuse myself with a bullshit excuse about needing to check on some things and retire to my room. The rest of the family is getting ready to watch a movie, a Thanksgiving family tradition. Personally, I’m not very excited about that option.
I throw myself down on my bed and scroll through my notifications until I spot one from Matthias.
Matthias
Happy Thanksgiving
Seeing the message warms my heart. I don’t expect him to be thinking about me. Especially when he’s enjoying time with his friends and family. He seems like the type to go all out for the holidays.
Me
Happy Thanksgiving.
I toss in a couple of turkey emojis for good measure.
Matthias
How’s your day?
Fine.
How was it really?
I think about it for a few minutes, not about the day so much as what I should say. He’s not really asking. No one wants to hear a sob story, especially the guy who lets me hang out in his living room. It’s not like we’re friends. Or maybe we are, but barely. There’s something in the way he asks, even over text message, that makes him seem sincere.
Me
Kinda sucked. Family stuff.
Matthias
Want to come over?
I have leftovers.
I probably can’t eat anything he has, but the offer’s too good to turn down. I want out of my house. The fact that the reason is to go hang out with Matthias only makes it that much better.
Me
You sure?
