1
JENNY
Jenny set a basket of warm rolls on the Thanksgiving table and let out a little sigh of happiness.
The table was practically groaning under the weight of every holiday dish she could think of from her own childhood, as well as two new things she’d never tried before. And the whole apartment smelled heavenly.
“Okay, Gael,” she called.
A moment later, her son appeared in the kitchen, his dark eyes wide as he surveyed the feast.
The eager nine-year-old had helped her with preparations for most of the day. When he finally started to lose some steam, she’d sent him out to the living room to find them the perfect Christmas movie to watch after dinner.
“Whoa,” he murmured. “That’s a lot of food.”
“Well, I have lots to be thankful for,” Jenny said with a smile.
He smiled back at her, dimples popping, and she felt like her heart would just melt.
If this were another Thanksgiving alone, she would have grabbed a turkey hoagie and curled up on the couch all day to crochet while watching the Macy’s parade on TV. She certainly didn’t need a whole turkey with all the trimmings for herself.
But Gael deserved anything and everything that could make the holiday feel special. If she could have baked him up a table full of relatives to celebrate with, she would have done that too.
As things were, all they had was each other, and she wanted to make sure it felt likeenough.
“You have candles,” he noticed, heading over to the table to admire her two pumpkin spice candles in glass holders.
“I’ve had those forever,” she laughed. “I just never had a special enough occasion for them until now.”
Jenny thought that her first Thanksgiving as a mom qualified as something pretty special.
“Here you are, ma’am,” Gael said, pulling her chair out for her with a big goofy smile on his sweet face.
“Why thank you, sir,” she said, sitting.
“I did that for Abuela on special days,” Gael said,his smile fading a little. “It cracked her up, but I think she liked it.”
“I’ll bet she loved it,” Jenny said firmly. “Do you think she would be happy to know that you madetwodishes in her honor?”
“The pernil won’t be the same,” Gael said, looking sadly at the slow-roasted pork shoulder Jenny had proudly placed on the table.
Not for the first time, Jenny silently lamented that the social workers hadn’t thought to pack up a few of Gael’s grandmother’s things as well as his own before they brought him to live with Jenny. By the time he’d been in her care long enough to open up to her about his old life, it was too late. The apartment had been emptied out—his grandmother’s shoebox of photos and the beloved handwritten recipes she kept on the fridge were gone.
“We did our best with that pernil,” Jenny told him. “And we can make it again and again, as many times as it takes to get it just right.”
“That sounds good,” he said, his smile brightening up a little.
“Would you like to say grace for us?” she offered.
He nodded and they joined hands over the bounty of good food.
She closed her eyes and listened as Gael expressed his enthusiasm for the great big dinner and his newhome, and asked for a special blessing for his grandmother in heaven.
Jenny had never prayed before meals until Gael came to her, but it was a beautiful tradition that she appreciated now. She always added her own silent prayer for her husband Jason, who had also passed too soon.
“That was lovely,” she told him when he was finished.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes shining. “Can we eat now?”
