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“Drink?” Dad distracts me.
He’s hovering beside me with a bottle of prosecco.
“Sure.” I offer him my glass.
When all glasses are filled with prosecco—sparkling apple cider for the kids, we raise them in a toast to family and to being once again together under this roof.
Before we tuck into the delicious-looking turkey resting in the center of the table, we do the traditional what-I’m-thankful-for table round.
“Who’s going to start with their thanks this year?” I ask.
“May I?” Mom asks.
We all nod.
In an emotional voice, she says, “I’m thankful to have all my family back to living close by.”
We clap, and then all eyes turn to Dad.
He clears his throat. “What Dana said, and I’m thankful it looks like it’s going to be a mild winter without too much snow to shovel.”
Murmurs of agreement spread around the table.
Next, it’s the turn of my sister’s younger kid, Eric, a three-year-old.
He scrunches his little face and says, “I’m thankful for corn.”
“Because you like cornbread, sweetie?” my mom asks.
“No, because I can see it in my poop and I really like that.”
“He’s disgusting,” Leslie, my niece, mutters under her breath.
Katy glares at her daughter, then the table round moves on to my brother-in-law.
“Way to go, buddy.” Domingo ruffles Eric’s hair, and then adds, “I’m thankful for my kids’ wit. It never ceases to amaze me.”
Leslie, nine years old, is next. After a dramatic pause, she announces, “I’m thankful for my puppy.”
“You don’t have a puppy, honey,” my sister says.
Her daughter levels her with a stare. “I know, Mom. But since I’ve been asking forever for a puppy and all I got was that.” She points at her younger brother with a wrinkled nose. “I was trying to practice some positive thinking.”
Katy rolls her eyes. “I’m thankful for—”
“Mommy, I forgot something,” Eric interrupts. “Can I say it?”
“Sure.”
“I’m also thankful for toilet paper.”
Everyone around the table starts laughing except for Leslie, who says, “Ew.”
“To clean all that corn poop?” Domingo asks.
“Yes, Daddy.”
We all turn back to Katy.
