6. Lizzie
SIX
LIZZIE
My mom, Emily, an uncle, and a couple of cousins came to help set the table. The kids’ table was in the living room, and while the others made sure the dining room was ready, I went outside to call the kids in for food. Then came a rush of serving plates and customizing them for every picky child, and I found myself darting between the kitchen and the living room while the adults made their way to the main table.
“Everyone good over there?” Emily asked, glancing toward the living room.
“Levi tried to scoop the gravy off his plate and accidentally flicked it at Hazel, but I’ll clean it up,” I answered.
“Thanks, Lizzie. You’re a lifesaver,” my sister-in-law said.
“Aaron, honey, are you carving the turkey?” Mom called out as she brought the bird to the table. Emily followed close behind with the huge platter of stuffing.
“Hey, can you guys make sure you save me some of that stuffing?” I asked as I headed for the living room. “I’ll deal with the kids and then be right over.”
“No problem,” my mom said. “Aaron, you do the honors! Kyle, do you need a refill? Don’t give me that look, Allan. You’ve had enough until after dinner.”
The sounds of pleasant chatter and clinking plates floated from the dining room, but I hurried to deal with the kids. A few cousins’ kids looked happy with their food but needed new drinks, so I refreshed those and then dealt with Hazel’s dress. Levi sat and pushed his food around the plate—he hated gravy, and his plate had been drenched by my mother—so I told him to sit tight and that I’d make him a new one.
Then Zach asked me for another roll, and my cousin’s kid needed a napkin as a matter of emergency, otherwise every piece of furniture in the living room would end up covered in mashed potato and gravy. There were ten kids ranging from five to thirteen and only one of me, so I called out toward the dining room for some help. All I heard was laughter and the sounds of adults enjoying their meal.
“A little help! Emily?”
Utensils clinked on plates. One of my uncles told a joke and the room erupted in laughter. Then the kid with the mashed potato hands made a mad dash for Emily’s prized velvet armchair and I had to catch him around the waist and bring him to the bathroom for a wash.
“There you go,” I told him as I brought him back to the kids’ table. My stomach grumbled. “Everyone good? I’m starving, so I’m going to go get some food.”
“Mom,” Zach said. “I need more gravy.”
“Gravy’s gross,” Levi informed him.
“Gravy’s the best part.”
“Nuh-uh. Potatoes are.”
“No way. Potatoes are nothing without gravy.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Neither do you!”
“Boys,” I cut in. “Everyone has different tastes. I’ll grab you some gravy, Zach. And then Mom needs food.”
I ducked into the dining room and reached over my brother Kyle’s shoulder for a gravy boat. “Just need a bit of this. Hey, save me some of that stuffing! Been looking forward to it all day.”
One of my cousins nodded as she loaded a big serving spoon with a second serving of stuffing. “It’s so good, Lizzie! You’re amazing, as usual.”
“Turkey’s the juiciest it’s been in years,” my father said, lifting his glass toward me. The bird’s decimated carcass sat like a centerpiece in the middle of the table. “We couldn’t do it without you.”
“The kids okay?” Emily asked.
“They’re fine. A little low on gravy. I’ll be right back.” I darted back to top up Zach’s plate, refilled two glasses of milk and three of water, cleaned up a minor spill near the five-year-old, then took a deep breath, washed my hands, and brought the gravy back to the adult table.
And my eyes landed on the empty stuffing dish.
I froze, standing in no man’s land, staring at the plate that had been scraped clean. It was so silly that my eyes watered. After everything I’d been through, how could something like stuffing make me cry? I knew it was just food, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter.
But the feeling that came over me was exactly the same one I’d had at Isaac's place on the weekend. I felt so invisible, so trampled over, so tired .
I’d asked for one thing. One thing. I’d taken care of everyone’s kids, cooked everyone’s meals, and no one had the decency to save me even a tiny spoonful of stuffing.
But if I cried about it, it would be exactly like announcing that I was divorcing my husband of six years. I was the unreasonable one. I was overreacting. I was ruining everyone’s holiday for the sake of a side dish, just like I’d ruined my marriage and my kids’ lives for the sake of my own pride.
Blinking, I forced my lips into a smile and put the gravy back on the table, then sat between one of my aunts and cousins at the far corner of the table. The table leg was in my way, but at least I’d get to eat, finally. It didn’t matter that I didn’t get the stuffing I’d been salivating over all day. It really, really didn’t matter. It was just food.
And not one single person at this table had thought of me.
I shook my head. Now was not the time to get weepy. Definitely not in front of the whole family, and not in front of?—
I looked up and found Sean watching me. His brows were drawn as his gaze flicked to the stuffing dish, down to his almost-empty plate, over to the plates around him, and back to me. His lips parted slightly, and even with the chatter of conversation drowning out any noise he made, I knew he was pulling in a breath. He could tell I was upset about the stuffing, and that was just the most utterly humiliating thing I’d ever experienced. He probably thought I was ridiculous. Isaac sure did whenever I got upset about this kind of thing. My parents always told me to brush it off and not sweat the small stuff. They were probably right, and it was probably some character flaw that it hurt so damn much that not one single person ?—
I forced my lips into a smile as I shrugged. It was fine. It was really, truly fine. I probably didn’t need the stuffing, anyway. A moment on the lips, as Mom so enjoyed reminding me. My own generous hips brushed against the chairs on either side as I shifted forward to grab a roll from the basket in front of me.
The turkey carcass had been picked over but there was enough for me, and I preferred the dark meat, anyway. The green beans were still going strong, and I’d made a truckload of potatoes, so between that and the rest of the sides that had been brought, there was more than enough food. Some of it was a little cold, and it wasn’t exactly what I had wanted, but it was food. I was surrounded by family and friends, and this was a happy occasion.
This was Thanksgiving. I was thankful. I was . I wasn’t some hysterical, unreasonable woman who threw tantrums over stuffing. I had a big, loving family. Friends. Food. Life was good. I just had to keep reminding myself of it, and this pit in my stomach would go away, just like it always did.
I tucked in, and when I heard screeching from the kids’ table, I pretended not to. After a few long moments, Emily got up to go check on them, cracking jokes and acting like a martyr the whole time.
Never mind that I’d spent the entire day ?—
No. I was not a bitter woman. I would not let this day get to me. I was just hungry, that was all. Focusing on cutting my turkey into tiny, bite-sized pieces, then loading up my fork with the perfect bite, I let the anger drain away. I would not make a scene. I wouldn’t ruin everyone’s day.
“So, Sean,” my dad said from his spot at the head of the table. “Are you in Heart’s Cove to stay?”
“That’s the plan,” the man said.
“How wonderful,” my mother added.
“We’re glad to have you back,” Dad agreed. “And Sandra told me that Lizzie was going to set you up with someone! A New Year’s kiss!” Dad chuckled. “Not a bad idea. And we all know how scatterbrained Lizzie can be, so it’s nice to give her a real deadline.”
Scatterbrained? I blinked, probably more offended than I should be. If I sometimes forgot things, it was because I had so much to manage on a daily basis! It wasn’t some innate character flaw. “Well—” I started.
“You have to put yourself out there, honey,” my mom told Sean. “Lizzie, you’ve already thought of some options for Sean, haven’t you?”
All eyes turned to me. My skin felt hot and tight, and I forced my aching cheeks into another giant smile. I would not cry. I didn’t even know why I wanted to cry. Everything was fine . “I’ll see what I can come up with,” I said, adding extra cheer to my voice.
“If there’s a woman out there who can cook half as well as you, I’m sold,” Sean said to raucous laughter and agreement. He met my gaze until my brother thumped him on the back, then he smiled as someone refilled his glass of wine.
He probably meant it as a compliment, but his words stung. It was just another reminder that it would never be me who was chosen, who was seen. It was some other woman who could cook like me, who could clean like me, who could fit the role and the look that I had never quite managed to squeeze into.
The turkey turned dry in my mouth, and I gulped it down. By the time the day was over, my entire body ached. I brought my dishes home along with my small plate of leftovers, got the kids ready for bed, then sat on the couch feeling completely, utterly drained.