Chapter 16 #2
“We’re thankful for the service of all who’ve worn the uniform, for those who continue to serve, and for the freedoms they protect. Amen.”
“Amen,” we echoed, and Ellen immediately began the complex choreography of passing dishes and serving portions that could’ve fed several people each.
The food was extraordinary—rich and flavorful in ways I hadn’t expected, each dish representing some aspect of American comfort cooking that I’d never experienced.
The turkey was perfectly moist, the stuffing savory, the green beans delicious with bacon bits and pieces of walnuts, and the sweet potatoes so much better than I could’ve hoped.
But it was more than the food; it was the atmosphere, the easy conversation, the way this family had opened their home to someone they didn’t know and yet treated like he belonged.
“So, Gregory,” Jim said, passing me the cranberry sauce, “what’s been your favorite part of the American college experience so far?”
I considered the question while spooning the tart-sweet sauce onto my plate.
“The academic collaboration has been fascinating. American universities have a much more interactive approach than what I’m used to.
The group projects and the classroom discussions are different from the more formal lecture-based system in Britain. ”
“Bash mentioned you two did a presentation together,” Ellen said. “Something about humor in diplomacy? That sounds right up your alley.”
“It was Eddie’s idea,” Bash said quietly, the first time he’d spoken directly about me all day. “He knows more about diplomatic history than the rest of us combined.”
There was something in his tone—pride, maybe, or admiration—that made warmth flutter in my chest before I ruthlessly suppressed it.
“Well, you’d have to be pretty smart to get into Oxford,” Jim observed. “That’s quite an achievement.”
“I was fortunate to have excellent preparation,” I replied diplomatically, not mentioning that royal connections might’ve played a role in my admission alongside academic merit.
The conversation continued through the meal, touching on everything from American football—which I was gradually beginning to understand—to the differences between British and American television.
Ellen asked thoughtful questions about my impressions of America, while Jim shared stories about his own limited travels during his military service.
Bash participated but remained aloof in addressing me, contributing enough to avoid seeming distant but never allowing the conversation to become too personal.
It should’ve been perfect, this warm family meal, the incredible food, the genuine hospitality.
And in many ways, it was. But underneath the pleasant conversation and comfortable atmosphere, I was acutely aware of the performance I was giving, the way I was holding myself at a careful distance from these people who were trying so hard to make me feel welcome.
Just like Bash was holding himself at a distance from me.
After dinner, we moved to the living room for what Ellen insisted was the most important Thanksgiving tradition: falling asleep watching football while complaining about being too full to move.
Ellen settled into the recliner with a satisfied groan, while Jim started the job of collecting plates.
“She cooks, I do cleanup,” he said with a warm smile to his wife.
“Can I give you a hand?” I asked, but Jim firmly shook his head.
“You’ve helped enough. You sit and enjoy being overfed and lazy.”
So I settled on the couch next to Bash, both of us supposedly watching a game between two teams I couldn’t identify, while the afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows and the comfortable sounds of a family holiday settled around us.
Bash was careful to maintain space between us, his attention focused on the television screen with the kind of concentration that suggested he was working very hard not to look at me.
“The food was extraordinary,” I said to Ellen. “I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.”
“Oh, you’re just being polite,” she said, but she looked pleased. “Though I do make a decent turkey, if I say so myself.”
“Mama’s being modest,” Bash said. “She’s won the church cooking contest three years running.”
“Hush, you. Gregory doesn’t need to hear about my competitive streak.”
“On the contrary, I find it quite admirable,” I said. “Passion for one’s craft should be celebrated, whether it’s cooking or anything else.”
I felt Bash’s eyes on me as I spoke, and when I glanced in his direction, there was something almost puzzled in his expression, like he was trying to figure out why I sounded so formal, so carefully polite.
The afternoon passed peacefully, with Jim providing colorful commentary on the football game and Ellen sharing family stories prompted by various photographs scattered around the living room.
I learned about Bash’s high-school achievements, his decision to enlist, the pride his parents had felt when both their sons chose military service.
“They were always competitive with each other,” Ellen said, showing me a picture of two young men in dress blues who looked remarkably similar. “Glenn was bigger, but Bash was faster. Glenn was more outgoing, but Bash was more thoughtful. They balanced each other out.”
“They must’ve been close,” I said, studying the photograph. Bash looked so young there and yet so solemn.
“Thick as thieves,” Jim confirmed. “When they were deployed in the same area that one time, their commanding officers said they were working together like they could read each other’s minds.”
I glanced at Bash and he was looking at the photograph with an expression of such profound sadness that I had to resist the urge to reach for his hand. “He sounds like an exceptional person.”
“He was,” Bash said quietly. “The best of us.”
By the time we made our excuses to leave, claiming exhaustion from the enormous meal and the time difference, I felt emotionally wrung out from the effort of maintaining my public persona for so many hours.
The Pullers sent us off with the same warmth they’d shown all day despite my careful formality.
“Thank you,” I told them as we stood by the rental car, preparing to leave. “This has been one of the most memorable Thanksgiving experiences I could’ve imagined.”
“You’re welcome any time, honey,” Ellen said, giving me a hug that made me smile as four generations of ancestors were probably rolling around in their graves now, horrified at such over-familiarity, but I loved it. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The drive back to the motel was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
I stared out the passenger window at the familiar landscape, trying to process everything I’d experienced during the day.
The warmth of the Puller family, the genuine hospitality, the way they’d made space for me at their table and in their traditions despite knowing so little about who I really was.
It had been wonderful and heartbreaking in equal measure.
Wonderful because of their kindness, heartbreaking because it highlighted everything I’d never had in my own family.
The easy affection, the comfortable traditions, the sense that everyone belonged exactly where they were.
It made me miss my mum with a fierceness I hadn’t felt in years.
“You were different today,” Bash said as we pulled into the motel parking lot.
“Was I?” I replied, gathering my jacket and preparing to exit the car. “I thought I was perfectly appropriate.”
“That’s just it. You were appropriate. Polite, gracious, charming…” Bash turned off the engine and turned to look at me directly. “But you weren’t you.”
I met his gaze steadily, letting him see the careful blankness I’d perfected over years of public appearances. “I merely played the role you asked me to play, Bash.”
Something flickered in his expression, but I didn’t let myself care about his reaction, didn’t let myself soften or explain or apologize for protecting myself the only way I knew how.
“Eddie,” he started, but I was already getting out of the car.
I waited until he’d opened the door to the apartment, then walked past him and said over my shoulder, “Thank you for today. Your family is lovely, and the meal was exceptional. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I walked into my room without looking back.
Professional distance indeed.