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Are we sure it’s time to eat already? I check the clock and yeah, I guess it has been a while. There’s still no texts from her. She could be waiting at the airport alone. Or she could be stuck in the air waiting to land. What if she’s stuck in the storm with no signal?
“Knoxy, why don’t you start?” Mrs. Turner volunteers, and a rock pushes down my throat.
I had this idea that when we got to this part, I would look at Mom, clear-eyed and smiling, and say I was thankful for her the most. She would laugh, that hardy big laugh that only came when she was completely sober, my favorite laugh, and say, “I’m more grateful for you.”
Even if at the end of the day she decided to go back to LA, I would at least have that moment to haunt my dreams at night, not the revisiting memories of waiting hours after school closed to be picked up or watching every car go by praying she would be in there.
Knox clears his throat beside me. “All right.” His hand finds mine and our fingers intertwine. “I’m thankful for change. Even if it’s the scary kind.”
Lottie awws and Walker gives a thumbs-up at the end of the table. I smile up at Knox and lean in closer.
Jack, the mechanic, says he’s grateful for the raise he got in August.
Lottie is thankful for Walker, and Walker is thankful for Lottie.
Rowen says he’s thankful for the shelter’s growth in donations this year.
Riley says she is grateful for another year winning the chili cook-off. Rowen says he takes his back and is thankful that one day Riley’s tire popped and she had to wait in the heat for Knox to come fix it. They share a little squint at each other that feels too intimate for me to watch, so I look away.
Knox’s dad is thankful for a bountiful year and his mom is thankful for new beginnings as a family.
The turn lands on me and I’m trying to find something to say I’m grateful for, but the only thought running through my mind is, where is she? I clear my throat and show my teeth in a forced smile. “I’m grateful for the lovely fall I’ve had.”
It isn’t a lie, but it’s certainly not what’s running through my mind as the storm brews heavier outside.
The line goes down, a long, drawn-out grace is said, and everyone digs in. The motions of the holiday take their place—Riley steals bites off Rowen’s plate when he’s not looking. He pretends to not see but then later takes a pinkie’s worth of mashed potatoes and smears it on the tip of her nose.
Walker and Lottie sit so close their knees touch under the table, and even though everyone knows, they keep giving glances at the stairs up to her room like they might run off. Knox’s mom flutters around refilling tea pitchers and fussing about the weather as it continues to thunder outside. Tucker and Uncle Miller keep sneaking turkey skin off the platter like teenage boys.
Everyone’s laughing and talking and tapping glasses and happily eating, and I can’t even allow myself to join them. I want to be in on the fun, I want to add to the argument of local politics and joke about Miller’s struggles at work with a certain bull that keeps coming after him.
I don’t want to be like this…but I keep glancing toward the door. Waiting and waiting.
I call Mom again, my phone under the table, listening from a distance just to see if it’s the same voicemail or if she’ll finally pick up this time.
I try one more time, excusing myself to “use the bathroom” upstairs, and call two more times—both go straight to voicemail. But the last time, it doesn’t even ring.
Is her phone off? Dead? Is she stranded?
I text immediately when I get back to the table. Hey, have you landed? Is there some kind of delay?
Her typing bubbles pop up, then disappear. They come back, and then…nothing.
My stomach knots tighter, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to eat anything else when all I can think about is how she could be hurt, or lost, or kidnapped. Strange things happen in Oak Ridge all the time, it wouldn’t be the weirdest coincidence on Thanksgiving. There’s some kind of explanation, right?
I keep my phone open and dig through my sweet potato casserole like it’s going to give me a clear answer, instead I only find toasted mini marshmallows, brown sugar, and butter.
My eyes stay locked on the front door, waiting for it to swing open with a dramatic, “Sorry I’m late! Airport was insane!” Her hair would be soaked and her smile wide, and everything in the world would settle in its place.
But the moment never arrives. The door stays shut, only flashes of lightning and thunder coming from outside.
By the time dessert is served, the thunder rattles the windows hard enough to make Riley gasp and Rowen pull her closer. Lightning flashes white across the fields beyond the living room windows, and it doesn’t really even matter, does it?
Still no word, no call, not so much as a single text.
When the room gets too loud, too warm, too full of people who aren’t her, I excuse myself and slip out onto the back porch without warning. They’ll all start playing our annual game of BS, and everyone will be shouting soon, so distracted they won’t even notice I’m gone.
I need to breathe, to just feel something. I take the steps off the covered porch and into the backyard, facing the long field leading out to the surrounding mountains.
