42
U sually, Micki and I do Snacksgiving and movies at her place for Thanksgiving, but this year Harvey has invited us both to the holiday meal Dalebrook puts together for residents who aren’t going home for the weekend. When we arrive, the lobby is decorated with leafy garlands, turkey crafts, and pumpkins, and in the common room, two long tables have been covered in checkered, rust-red tablecloths with centerpieces in cardboard that spell out GIVE THANKS .
Micki and I help ourselves to some apple cider while we wait for Pop to join us. He’s changing into the button-down shirt and tie he insisted I bring him for the occasion. I also think he wants to show off his newfound independence. While he’s still using a walker, he is no longer requiring someone at his side when he moves around.
“Pretty festive for a rehab home,” Micki says, nodding toward the table.
There are about thirty other people in the room, not including the staff, and everyone is dressed up and in good spirits. Sylvia and Charles are already seated, and I wave and nod to her when she raises her eyebrows in question and gestures to the chairs next to them.
“Come on,” I tell Micki. “Let’s grab seats.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sylvia says when we reach them.
Charles says nothing. According to Harvey, his roommate hasn’t spoken again since the Cholula incident, though his overall health seems to be improving.
“To you as well.” I sit down a chair away from her, saving a spot for Pop. Micki sits down on my right.
We’ve made small talk for a few minutes when Micki calls out, “Harvey, over here!” She waves to Pop, who has paused in the doorway.
He grins when he spots us, and, if I’m not mistaken, his smile widens further at the sight of Sylvia.
I get up to help him into his chair. “Saved you a seat,” I say with a wink.
“Thanks, kiddo.” He adjusts his tie.
Sylvia nods in approval at Pop. “You’re looking very snazzy today.”
“As do you,” he responds. “That is a lovely scarf.”
Micki and I exchange a knowing look but don’t have time for much else before a man I’ve never seen before introduces himself as the director of the facility and invites everyone to the table. Once the commotion settles, he calls a toast to family, friends, and the food service staff and wishes everyone a festive night before he disappears out of the room.
Before long, the din of conversation mutes as everyone dives into heaped plates of roasted turkey, stuffing, buttered corn, mashed potatoes, gravy, and more. Even Micki, who is not a huge fan of the holiday, admits it’s a great meal, and when Harvey points out that there’s also a dessert table loaded with cookies and pies, she groans out a wish that she’d worn bigger pants.
“Why don’t we all say something we’re grateful for,” Harvey suggests after I pour him a cup of coffee. “I’ll start.” He gathers himself up, shoulders straight, and then he pats my hand. “Cora, I’m so thankful for everything you’re doing. Not just picking up the slack at the store through all this, but taking care of the dogs, preparing for the contest, being here tonight… You are truly one of a kind.”
I’m not prepared, so for a moment I just blink at him while trying to dislodge the words that stick in my throat. I want to tell him I don’t deserve the praise, but before I can say anything, he pulls me in for a hug and then keeps going.
“Michaela, thank you for being here tonight and for being such a good friend to Cora.”
Micki clutches her chest. Then she reaches out to squeeze Harvey’s hand. “You’re the best, Harv,” she says. “I’m grateful for you.”
“And Charles,” Pop continues, “we may not have known each other long, but I am thankful for your quiet companionship, nevertheless.”
“And for the extra puddings,” Micki whispers so only I will hear.
I suppress a snort.
Harvey faces Sylvia. “And finally, I’m very grateful for your company, dear Sylvia, which has been vital to my improvement and day-to-day morale.” He nods. “What a blessing. Oh, and the food. Can’t forget the food.”
We all laugh, but I also can’t help but notice the flush of color on Sylvia’s cheeks.
I go last, and because there’s a real risk that I’ll crack if I delve too deep into what Pop means to me, I keep it generic by proposing a toast to the people and things I appreciate most. “To this lovely evening, the bountiful food, our dogs, Micki, and the best grandfather a girl can have. Our health! Cheers!”
I almost get away with it, but when Pop and Sylvia resume their conversation to my left, Micki breaks a snickerdoodle in half and nudges my elbow. “Not Leo?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t mention him in your toast. I would have thought you were grateful for him, too.”
The word complicated blares in my head. I will it to quiet down. Things are fine. All fine. “Of course, I am. But tonight feels more like it’s about family.”
“But I’m not—”
I cut off her protest. “Oh, you are definitely family.”
It works, and instead of pushing it, she hugs me tight. “Right back at you.”
Again, I think I’m in the clear, but when I return a few minutes later with slices of pecan pie for us both, she returns to the topic. “Leo asked about you when I cut his hair the other morning, by the way.”
I pause with my fork halfway to the dessert. “What about? Not asking for gift suggestions or anything like that, I hope. I told him to give that a rest.”
“No, he seems to think you’re stressed about something. He said you’re distracted.”
He’s noticed then. “What did you tell him?”
She pops a pecan in her mouth, which she chews with studied care as if she’s stalling. “I may have let it slip that you’re behind on orders, so you have a lot to do.”
I put a finger to my lips and glance over my shoulder to make sure Harvey didn’t hear. No need to worry—he and Sylvia are deep in conversation. Phew.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “You are, though. I figured Leo would already know that, as much time as you two spend together.”
I shrug.
She leans back in her chair. “Is something else going on?”
Her question triggers a montage in my head. Leo in his crown, Leo carrying Boris, Leo scared of a mouse, Leo with his hands on me in his bed. But also Leo as a hotshot Wall Street guy jet-setting around the world in his spare time. Leo looking down his nose at Happy Paws. Married Leo. Leo, larger than this life.
“Hello? Earth to Cora.”
I shake my head and focus on my friend. “Sorry.”
She frowns and then lowers her voice again. “Why do you look like life has shoved a bushel of extra-sour lemons down your throat? We’re talking about your new squeeze. The best sex you’ve ever had. Do not tell me you’re having second thoughts already.”
I sigh and brush a stray crumb off my sleeve. “No, of course not.”
She rolls her eyes. “But?”
“But I don’t know.” I don’t want to do this now. I am happy about Leo. I’m thankful for him. When he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only person in the room. When he touches me…
No, putting words to the worry-weevil in my belly will bring nothing good. I push the unwelcome images out of my mind and hold on to the ones that matter. “It’s fine. I’m just in my head. The show is coming up, and I’m nervous.”
“If it makes things any better, I told him there’s no way he’ll beat you.” She pulls out her phone. “And did you see his Insta today?” She shows me his feed, and there he is in the doorway of Canine King wearing my Happy Paws T-shirt. The teal color makes his irises pop in a mesmerizing way. The caption reads: When engaged in friendly competition, don’t lose.
I smile even though the heaviness inside me still lingers. I know that, for him, there’s truth to those words. “No matter what you told him, he’s not going to give up without a fight.”
“Neither are you.” Micki squeezes my arm. “And from where I’m sitting, you’re consistently one step ahead of him.”
“I don’t know about that. Did you see the town newsletter? Best New Business nomination?”
She shakes her head. “But I also don’t see you wearing a Canine King apron. And now that Jaz has given her notice, there’ll be one available.”
“Never. I can’t believe she’s moving back in with her ex.”
“She seems happy about it, even though Leo probably isn’t.”
She’s right. I suppose I’m not the only one with my plate full. No pun intended. I look down at my dessert, suddenly certain that, if I eat even one more bite, bad things will happen.
“What’s with the serious faces, girls?” Pop asks on my left. “Everything okay?”
I conjure up a smile. “Yes, fine. Just so full. Do you want this pie?”
“Oh no, I’m all right.”
Behind him, Sylvia pushes her chair back and stands. “I’m going to bring Charles back to the room. Again, happy holidays to you both.”
“I’ll follow shortly,” Harvey tells her. Then to me, “It’s going to take a good night’s sleep to digest all of this, eh?”
And man, he sure is right about that.