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Chapter 33
A week later, on Thanksgiving, I stood in my new kitchen with Bubbe, Jane, Susan, and Ana while Eric, Dad, Ray, Pushpa, and Kieran all watched football in the living room. We had all agreed on a late dinner to accommodate Brandon's busy schedule, which had required him to be at a VA breakfast that morning, before jumping around to three separate photo-ops through the day. I had expected him home two hours ago, and everyone was getting very hungry, especially since the turkey was done.
"He'll be here soon," I said for the millionth time as I evaluated whether or not the dish holding the cranberry sauce was really appropriate. Frustrated, I pushed it aside. I knew absolutely nothing about being a hostess––every one of the dishes in this kitchen had been picked out by Kathy, the designer.
"Skylar, stop," Bubbe said as she opened the oven to check on the turkey, baster poised like a weapon. "He's a busy man. He'll get here when he gets here. Everyone is having a lovely time and enjoying my dip, so you don't need to worry."
"Really, honey, don't worry," Susan said kindly as she patted me on the back.
I sighed and slumped onto a stool at the counter. "I know. I just...I haven't heard from him all day. I'm worried."
What if he was crippled from something someone had said? What if he was freaking out in at a strange hall, crouched on the floor, literally rocking under the pressure. I checked my phone. No calls, no texts. Nothing.
"Let's focus on the good stuff," Jane said as she slid into a seat beside me. "Like the fact that I managed to come here instead of listening to my mother criticize my hair again for three days straight."
I shook my head. "I still can't believe you managed to convince her to let you go for a holiday. What was it you told her? A national conference for state's attorneys?" I snorted. "Don't you feel bad about lying to your mother on Thanksgiving?"
"Skylar, if you had been spending as much time with her as I have since moving back home, you would have told her you were becoming an astronaut if it meant getting a few days off without her nosing around." Jane reached across me and took a handful of the Chex mix that Bubbe had provided along with her dip. "Besides, you can just confess my sins for me now that you're a Catholic."
Ignoring the sharp look from Bubbe at the mention of my ongoing conversion, I just shook my head. "I'm not Catholic yet."
It was a work in progress. I continued to meet with Father Garrett every Tuesday and Thursday, and Brandon had even come with me a few times to satisfy the church's premarital counseling requirements. Brandon, of course, had managed to charm the pants off the priest, but Father Garrett still seemed less-than-satisfied with the level of piety and obedience I demonstrated. Apparently I asked too many questions. I, for one, was getting tired of being told to quiet my brain every time I stepped inside the church.
"What about wedding planning?" Jane asked. "Any more you need your maid of honor to do for that?"
"Or your grandmother?" Bubbe added meaningfully.
"Or your future mother-in-law!" Susan added with a tinkling laugh.
I shook my head. "Gloria is a force of nature. I have literally had to do nothing but give her a guest list. She's got it covered." I sighed.
It seemed impossible, but the one impending event that wasn't causing me or Brandon any stress was our big fancy wedding at Boston's biggest cathedral. Yet I scowled just thinking about it. No doubt the stress would come once we were closer to the big day next spring, expertly timed to coincide with the Suffolk County primaries. We'd be primped and posted all over the style section of the paper just in time for voters to check off Brandon's name for the election next fall.
Through the hall, we heard a few casual notes sounding off the big piano in the living room––a dark brown Steinway I'd chosen after Kathy had informed Brandon in no uncertain terms that the one he'd bought me did not go with the new house at all. I'd argued that it was silly to ask Brandon to purchase yet another expensive instrument (this was the third one he'd purchased for me), but he had just shaken his head and told Kathy to use the card he had on file for whatever piano I wanted.
Ridiculous man.
Bubbe turned her head as she tossed a salad, a smile lingering on her face as she listened to her son play. To my surprise, both she and Dad had refused the offer to live in the house or even the other guesthouse on the property, deciding instead to use the money from the sale of the Brooklyn house to purchase a place in Coolidge Corner, much closer to the T-line and only a few blocks from the synagogue that Bubbe had adopted.
As I sat there, the realization finally swept over me that things were really getting better. They weren't perfect, but for the first time in a long time, my life was starting to settle. This felt good.
Except for the one person who was missing.
As if drawn by my thoughts, the front door opened and shut with a jangle of keys. I hopped off my stool and skipped into the front entry to find Brandon shaking rain off his trench coat, looking weathered and tired in a creased suit after a day of campaign events. Cory and Hope stood behind him, also removing their coats.
Brandon looked up, and when he found me, his face lit up.
"Hey," he said softly as I popped up onto my tiptoes to greet him with a kiss. He wrapped his hand around my waist and pressed his forehead into mine.
"Long day?" I asked.
"You have no idea," he said. Then his head popped up as he took in the sounds and smells that permeated the house. "What's going on?"
I stepped back, clasping my hands in front of me. "We, um...we talked about it last week. Inviting everyone for Thanksgiving?"
Behind him, Cory and Hope looked curiously around the house––they hadn't yet been invited here now that the campaign's headquarters wasn't within walking distance of their boss's home address. Hope gave me a brief wave.
"Hi guys," I said. "There's plenty of food if you're staying. Drinks in the kitchen, just that way."
