Chapter 33 Thanksgiving Day
Thanksgiving Day
“Why can’t we just skip Thanksgiving dinner this year?” I ask Carole as we drive over to Aunt Sarah’s house. “It’s not like we have anything to be thankful for.”
“Wrong,” she says. “You still have a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes to wear, and friends and family who love you. With your mom gone, it’s more important than ever to be with family this year.”
I don’t respond. I frown and go back to brooding, looking out the window, biting my nails, and scratching the fresh hives appearing rapidly on my arms and legs.
The alien turns over and over in my stomach.
Neither he nor I have been getting any sleep lately.
I’m not sure what’s changed; I lie awake most of the night.
When I do fall asleep, I wake up soon after in a state of terror.
I jump out of bed and pace the room. The alien scratches to get out.
Yep, it’s back. The mourning period is over, and it wants out.
Again. Is it the lack of sleep? Or is time short before it makes its final appearance and ends my life in the process?
I’m depressed. Not only is today the first holiday without Mom, but things are still frosty between me and PJ.
When he finally confirmed my fear that his parents don’t know about me, I was crushed.
I was hoping we might spend Thanksgiving together.
I shouldn’t have been surprised knowing the relationship he has with his parents, but a boy can wish.
Will I ever meet his family? How can we have a real relationship if it’s a secret one? I pull out my phone and text him.
Happy Thanksgiving, Pajamas. I miss you. Wish you were here with me today.
No response.
I text Happy Thanksgiving messages to Neel, Mags, Paul, Latica, Hector, and Jamal. I bite my nails and stare out the window. PJ responds as we pull up to Aunt Sarah’s house.
Happy Thanksgiving. I miss you too. xxx ooo
Well, I guess that’s about as good as the day is going to get.
I retrieve Carole’s casserole dish from the back of the car and carry it into the house for her.
Carole has been creatively repurposing shiva leftovers since the fruit salad pancakes success.
However, not every dish has been a winner.
Her lox noodle casserole was a real low point.
It’ll be good, she had said. Like tuna noodle casserole.
But it was inedible, and we both spat out our first bites and immediately ordered pizza.
It was the first time we laughed since Mom died.
There has been no laughter since, but it was a much-needed moment of levity.
Today’s shiva leftover creation is bagel stuffing.
I haven’t tasted it yet, but I watched Carole make it, and it looks pretty darn good.
She made it like a traditional Thanksgiving stuffing, but with bagels instead of bread.
Who knows, maybe this will become a new tradition.
The front door is open and through the glass storm door, an apron-clad Aunt Sarah is pulling an armful of serving dishes out of a cabinet.
“Come on in,” she calls.
The house smells delicious from the food preparation. I drop off the bagel stuffing in the kitchen and Aunt Sarah joins Carole in the dining room where they lock in a lingering embrace. When they pull apart, their cheeks are wet.
“I miss her so much,” Carole says to Aunt Sarah.
“I miss her too. My poor baby sister,” Aunt Sarah says back. “Enough tears. Carole, come help me set the table.”
I sit down on the couch, put my feet on the ottoman, and take out my book. Aunt Sarah pops into the living room and waves to get my attention.
“Simon, your dad will be here soon. He called about an hour ago to say he is running a little late.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Dad,” I say.
“Why don’t you go downstairs to wait? Brian’s in his man cave. You can keep each other company. It will be nice… Like old times.”
“I’ll wait here if that’s okay. I want to read my book.”
Aunt Sarah taps her fingers on the doorjamb. I take my phone out to text PJ again when she stops tapping her fingers, walks over, and takes a seat next to me on the couch.
“I don’t understand what’s happened between you and Brian. You were two peas in a pod. You used to go to concerts together and hang out all the time. What’s changed?”
“Um, I don’t know. I grew up, I guess.”
“Is it the drinking? It’s the drinking, isn’t it?
I know it’s a problem. But I have good news for you.
I hid the booze last night after he passed out.
He won’t ruin Thanksgiving today. He’s in a foul mood about it, but at least he’s sober.
He’s listening to music, so go keep him company. It will be good for both of you.”
Just when I think there’s no way out of this, I’m saved by a knock on the door.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Sorry I’m late,” says Dad in his familiar faded accent.
I greet him with a big hug. “You’re not late.
We just got here too,” I say, feeling relieved for my timely rescue.
From the corner of my eye, I see Carole watching me hug Dad.
I’m not sure she has ever seen us do this before.
I’m still getting used to it. We have only hugged a few times, but it started in the hospital when Dad found me in the bathroom.
“I brought cranberry sauce,” he says cheerily, holding up a can.
“Oh, how lovely,” Aunt Sarah says, but I catch her rolling her eyes at Carole, and the three of us share a secret smile unbeknownst to Dad who is taking off his coat.
Carole and Aunt Sarah disappear into the kitchen with the can of cranberry sauce, so I take the opportunity and chat with Dad to avoid having to head down to the man cave.
“So have you thought about my offer?” Dad asks almost immediately. “We can start house hunting this weekend!”
“No, Dad. I need more time. I want to. I do. But what about Carole? She will be all alone, and I’ll miss her.”
“Miss her? I don’t understand. It’s not like you’ll never see her again. I’m not asking you to break all contact with her.”
“Dad, I don’t want to talk about this today.
Okay? Mom hasn’t even been gone for two weeks, and today is Thanksgiving.
I’ll decide in the new year—after Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and my seventeenth birthday.
I’m not deciding until after all that. I refuse to leave Carole alone during the holidays. ”
I leave Dad alone on the couch and head into the kitchen. That felt good. I took a page from the book of PJ. I can procrastinate with the best of them.
“Can I help set the table?” I ask with fake enthusiasm.
Dinner was horrible. Not the food; the food was fine.
It was the company that was a nightmare.
I hate Brian! He didn’t speak. He just grunted and pointed to the dishes he wanted passed to him.
He glared at Aunt Sarah the whole time, and the rest of us pretended we didn’t know what was happening.
Dad tried to make awkward small talk, but no one was having it.
Carole cried twice, and at one point during the meal, Aunt Sarah threw down her napkin and stormed into the kitchen.
I just stared at my plate the whole time wishing for the day to be over with.
Now, I’m sitting on a closed toilet seat hiding from everyone, scrolling through Thanksgiving messages from my friends.
Mags: This is my goodbye text to you. I’m dying from overeating. I bequeath to you my entire book and stuffed animal collections. Please remember me fondly.
Neel: Next year, I don’t care what my father says, I’m coming to Thanksgiving dinner at your house. As much as I love Aloo Gobi, Chana Saag, and Naan, this is not what you are supposed to be eating today. Please save me some stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce.
Latica: Can I have Mags’ phone number? I probably won’t call her or text her, but you never know. It will be good to have, just in case. Oh yeah… Happy Thanksgiving to you and Carole too.
Paul: It is highly unlikely that turkey was served on the first Thanksgiving. It is ridiculous that we serve this every year. The meal should consist of a duck, goose, or swan along with onions, herbs, and nuts. That would be a traditional Thanksgiving.
Hector: Feliz día de accíon de gracias
Unfortunately, there are no new messages from PJ, and I decide I’m not going to text him again.
I’m not! He is with his family, and Suzi, and I’m not going to get too depressed about it.
I shut off my phone and push a cat toy around the tiled bathroom floor with my foot.
I’m stalling, I know, but I don’t want to go back out there.
A knock on the bathroom door jolts me from my meandering thoughts.
“Hello? Simon, are you still in there?” Dad asks while knocking on the door.
“Yes, I will be out in a minute,” I say breathlessly. Ugh, I can’t seem to find any peace. When will this day be over?
“Are you okay, son? You have been in there a long time. We’re waiting on you for dessert. Sarah is serving pie in the living room. I’ll tell them you will be right out, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, and I take a few deep breaths. The alien stirs as if the food isn’t agreeing with it. I wake my phone one last time to see if PJ, by any chance, has texted back… Nope. I take another deep breath, put a fake smile on my face, and head back to the living room.
“There you are. We were getting worried about you,” Aunt Sarah says sweetly. “I hope you don’t have an upset tummy. I made homemade pumpkin pie! You don’t want to miss that, do you? Here, have a seat on the couch next to your father and I’ll serve you.”
“Hey, kid, don’t believe it. She’s a damn liar, that one,” Brian says, finally opening his mouth to speak.
Everyone looks on in horror, wondering what off-color thing he might say next.
“It’s not homemade. The crust came frozen from Walmart, and the filling is from a can.
She made me go to the damn store to pick up the ingredients. She is lying to you, kid.”
Sarah throws her slice of pie at Brian. It hits him in the chest and splatters everywhere.
“Fuck! You’re crazy. You’re not right in the head,” Brian yells as he tries wiping the pie filling out of his hair and off his shirt.
Aunt Sarah alternates between screaming and crying. Carole jumps for a roll of paper towels and wipes at the splattered pie that’s all over the hardwood floor and area rug. Dad remains seated looking shell-shocked.
“How dare you?” Aunt Sarah yells at Brian. “I’ve been cooking for two days—two fucking days—to make a nice meal for all of us. So, forgive me if the entire pie is not made from scratch. At least I didn’t buy a premade one.”
“Well, you might as well have. It tastes like shit,” Brian spits back at her.
Aunt Sarah turns scarlet and looks like she is about to have a stroke.
She lets out one more blood-curdling scream before running up the stairs and slamming the door to her bedroom leaving the four of us staring at one another, not knowing what to do next.
Carole is first to break the silence and asks me to get a trash bag and a wet rag to help her finish cleaning up the pie.
I do as she asks, grateful for something to do.
Dad turns to Brian. “Was it necessary to say that to her? You know, everyone is hurting here.”
Brian jumps to his feet and flings his chair against the wall with a loud bang. “Fuck you,” he says, getting in my dad’s face. “Fuck you, you big British poof. This is my house, and you don’t tell me what to do. You hear me?”
Dad stands up, but Brian pushes him back on the couch. Carole runs to get between them. I cover my eyes. I’m terrified about what could happen next.
“Enough, Brian. Stop it!” Carole yells.
I hear a loud crash and peek through my fingers to see what’s going on.
Dad is back on his feet and standing with Carole in the middle of the living room.
Brian is now screaming obscenities from the kitchen and knocking pots and pans off the stove.
Dad comes over and protectively puts his arm around me.
Carole disappears upstairs and after a few minutes comes back with Aunt Sarah and a small duffel bag.
“Let’s go, now!” Carole says.
The four of us walk out of the house to Carole’s car where Aunt Sarah takes the passenger seat, still crying. Dad stands protectively while Carole and I get in.
“What the fuck? Sarah! Sarah!” Brian yells, joining us outside. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He tries to push his way past Dad. Carole locks the doors and turns on the car.
“Brian, let it go. Walk away,” Dad says. “She is coming with us for a little while. Just until you cool off.”
Brian gets right in Dad’s face and spits on him. I hold my breath wondering what will happen next. But Dad just takes the sleeve of his jacket and wipes off his face.
“Damn faggot,” Brian says. He is walking back toward the house when he stops and turns around.
“You’re all just a bunch of fucking faggots and lesbos.
No wonder the kid turned out that way he did.
Go on, get the hell out of here. What the fuck do I care?
I’m going to burn this whole fucking house down if I don’t find where you hid my drink, you stupid bitch.
” And with that, he goes back inside the house and slams the front door.
Carole quickly drives away; Dad gets in his car and follows us. I’m now crying along with Aunt Sarah, but Carole holds strong.
“Everything will be all right,” she promises.
I don’t believe you, Carole. Everything is not all right. Happy Goddamn Thanksgiving to me!