His tone says the opposite. Janet’s eyes narrow slightly. Hugh says hi and waves to everyone.
We crowd around the table. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but my family positions their chairs closer together to give Eli’s more room. Mom seats herself next to Eli’s mother. Eli sits next to me, across from them.
“You made everything yourself?” Eli’s mother asks, as Mom takes the cover off the platter loaded with turkey. Steam rises from the freshly uncovered platter, and my stomach gurgles in anticipation.
“I love cooking,” Mom says. “Eli was telling Jack he hasn’t had a turkey for Thanksgiving, so I made an extra big one this year.”
“Eli?” Eli’s father asks.
“It’s what they call me,” Eli says as we start loading our plates. “Long story.”
“And interesting, I’m sure,” Eli’s mother says. “How long have you known each other?”
“Since the start of the school year,” I tell her, pausing with a big spoon of mashed potatoes in my hand. “We’re both on the soccer team.”
“Oh, you made it pretty far this year, didn’t you?”
“I asked you to come to the regional championship,” Eli says, playing with his fork.
“It’s probably best we didn’t come, since that was your last game,” his father says.
I’m glad my mouth is full of carrots, keeping me from responding. Eli’s fingers press on the metal fork hard enough to see white at the edges of his nails.
“Eli told us you’re photographers?” Mom asks, cheerfully trying to break the tension.
The awkward silence abates as Eli’s parents start talking about their travels.
Eli takes a bite of turkey and his eyes widen. “Mrs. Benson, this is amazing.”
“Even better with ketchup,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You know you liked ketchup on the burger. Try it on turkey.”
“What about gravy?”
“You need that for your precious rolls.”
Eli pours some gravy onto his plate, pointedly spears turkey with his fork, dips it in the gravy, and brings it to his mouth.
I put a piece on my fork, dip it in ketchup, and set it on the edge of his plate. “Just try it.”
“Only if you try this.” He rips a roll apart and puts a piece dipped in gravy on my plate.
“No wager this time?”
That’s when I realize the table has fallen silent, almost all eyes on the two of us. Hugh continues stuffing his face, oblivious. Janet is shaking her head at my reliance on ketchup. Mom has a fond look in both of our directions. Eli’s family is hard to read, but seem like they don’t know what to make of everything.
I eat the gravy-dipped bit of roll and smile. It’s buttery and fluffy and savory. How have I never eaten it like this before? “Okay, I get your appreciation for rolls now.”
Eli tries the turkey with ketchup and nods. “You’re right, too. Turkey is good with ketchup. Still better with gravy, but good.”
“Jack always needs ketchup at the table,” Mom says with a laugh.
Uncle Remington makes a small sound through closed lips.
“So you’ve been helping raise Eli since he was little?” Mom asks him.
