Chapter 15 Natalie #3
“I think that’s precisely why we should do it,” I say. “Let’s all load up the kids’ plates, and then we can stand around the kids’ table to name one thing we’re grateful for.”
Caitlin claps. “Oh, good. This is better than turkey.”
“The turkey’s usually pretty good,” Bryce mutters.
“And for those of you who are super sad that there’s no turkey. . .” I uncover the small platter with the limited leftovers. “In addition to the Irish stew, we have a little bit of turkey from yesterday.”
Bryce cheers, and so does Paul for some reason. I didn’t think Paul even liked turkey. Maybe he’s more influenceable by big boys than I realized. As they go through the line, I help him make up his plate, and he takes two largish pieces. “Are you really going to eat that?” I ask.
He nods. “I promise.”
“You better, because there isn’t much,” I say.
“If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure it doesn’t go to waste.” Mason’s walking along behind Blaine, helping her pick through the line. Like me, not making his plate yet.
It takes a long time with this many people, but we all share something we’re thankful for, and even the kids do a pretty good job.
Hannah’s thankful for Sam and her new horse, which isn’t really hers yet.
Clara’s thankful for new friends. Blaine’s thankful for Pudge.
Amelia’s thankful for her mom, which is nice to hear, and Paul’s thankful for turkey.
That was predictable.
But Mason manages to do alright, too. “I’m thankful for my children and the chance I had to sell my company so I can be here in this new place with them.”
He didn’t even make it awkward.
Cillian says, “I’m thankful for new beginnings and old friends.”
The rest of the gratitude circle goes just as well.
When we finish, the adults all fill their plates and take seats, which is also fairly simple and low-drama. Mason winds up being the second to last person to fill his plate, and I’m right behind him.
“Thanks for helping Blaine,” I say. “That was nice.” He never helped when the kids were younger, but I can appreciate that he’s improving, even if it’s late.
“Of course.” His dimpled smile is still ridiculously handsome.
I hate that some people are just effortlessly good-looking, and it always seems to be the bad ones.
Of course, Cillian looks like a movie star too, so that’s possibly a red flag.
Maybe I need to be looking for the more average-looking guys.
If things go bust with Cillian, that may be my new plan.
Cillian has saved me a seat, and once I check on the kids one last time, I fill my own plate and take it. The roll’s still warm, and everyone at the adult table has waited for me to start eating. “You guys shouldn’t have waited,” I say.
Mason tosses his head, and Rían and his date shift down one, letting him have the seat on my other side.
Why on earth he wants it, I don’t know. I suppose maybe he’ll feel more comfortable sitting by the only other person he really knows well here.
I’m not sure that qualifies as him being on his best behavior, though.
“Of course we waited. We can’t eat before the chef gets here,” Vanessa says. “I feel kind of bad, really. All I made was a pie.”
“All I made was a figgy pudding—really, a sticky toffee pudding. It’s made with dates, so I figured that was close enough.” Sam’s smiling. “And I know that’s British, but Richard got me the recipe, and I knew you girls loved it, so I figured, why not?”
“To our Irish-British-American Thanksgiving,” Rían says. “Cheers.” He holds up his glass, and it starts a clink-fest that sweeps the table.
As the bottles start pouring more freely, the conversation speeds up too. “You should all be thanking me for bringing nothing but wine,” Mason says. “And I grabbed some Guinness, because, Ireland.”
“Not much of a cook?” Cillian asks. There’s an undercurrent in his tone, which I hope stays muted.
I drop a hand on Cillian’s knee, and he slides his over mine, not realizing it was at least half-warning.
“I can make quite an assortment of things,” Mason says. “I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.”
“Which passes for a meal, I guess,” Cillian says. “In America.”
“Oh please,” Jack says. “Cheese toasties are a staple here, too. I might starve without them.”
Richard laughs. “They’re pretty common in England as well.”
“And I can make mac and cheese, from both a cup and a box.” Mason smirks. “Plus I can make nachos.”
“You can only make those because they’re Paul’s favorites. Without those and hot dogs, he’d have starved to death already.”
“Hot dogs?” Cillian looks sick. “Truly?”
I laugh. “Kids’ tastebuds grow in slowly. The younger the child, the less adventurous they are with food. I feel like kids think broccoli is poison until they’re at least ten.”
“Trace always liked broccoli,” Vanessa says. “He called them ‘little trees.’”
“So your child’s a freak,” Sam says. “Good to know.”
Jack laughs, but Rían looks afraid to react.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Once you have kids—if you ever have kids—you’ll learn that food jokes are to children what lameness jokes are to horses.
Kids will have a complicated relationship to food, and horses will hurt themselves or go inexplicably lame.
The two are just a given, but there is the odd unicorn like Trace who makes us all feel like terrible mothers. ”
“Actually, when Bryce was born and wouldn’t eat anything, I felt like a total failure.” Vanessa’s smiling. “I had no idea that was a normal behavior.”
“For me,” I say, “that was having a baby who slept at night. Clara was up every hour on the hour for months and months. I didn’t get a five-hour block of sleep until she was almost a year.
Then when Hannah was born, and she slept four hours through at a week, I must have checked her a dozen times.
By two months, she was sleeping five or six hours every single night. It was insane.”
“Trace slept great, too,” Vanessa said. “He was basically perfect until he got older.” She’s frowning now, and I hate seeing it.
“They all have rough patches,” I say, “but they pull through them.”
“I mean, some people don’t,” Rían says. “Right?”
Jack’s glaring at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Half the kids we went to school with are still a total mess, right?” He’s looking at Caitlin, who has realized that wasn’t the right thing to say, though I doubt she knows why. I bet they don’t know that Trace has had some rough years.
“I think most people do figure it out,” I say. “I’m sure with parents like the ones sitting around this table, they’ll all be fine.”
“Oh, your kids are great,” Rían says. “I certainly wasn’t saying they weren’t.”
“So how about the All Ireland semi-finals?” Cillian asks. “What do you think about Galway? Can they beat that Ulster team?”
Jack, Rían, and Cillian are off after that, talking so fast about things I don’t understand and people I’ve never heard of that I just sit back and enjoy.
“He was quick to change the subject,” Mason says softly while the conversation revolves around hurling. “Guess he’s not much for kids, but I have to say, I kind of like that. Nice work.” His smile isn’t malicious. In fact, Mason almost seems. . .supportive.
It’s nice that Mason feels less threatened, I guess.
But I can’t get his comment out of my head for the rest of the night, because I think he’s right. Mason may like that Cillian doesn’t much like or take an interest in children, even mine. But it bothers me more than I expected it to, and eventually I’ll have to deal with that.