Wednesday was chopping, slicing, brining, marinating. I scrubbed out a cooler in the bathtub just to fit the turkey and brine. The turkey looked like it was taking a spa day.
By Thursday morning, I could’ve fallen over from exhaustion, but the house smelled like heaven.
Garlic. Herbs. Roasting turkey.
The turkey was in the oven at 8 a.m.
sharp. I mashed potatoes with roasted garlic and heavy cream. I whisked gravy until my wrist hurt.
By 4 p.m., everything was done.
The table looked like something from a HomeGoods commercial.
White tablecloth. Cloth napkins. The good plates.
Little place cards with everyone’s names that Lily drew with crayons and tiny turkeys.
I just stood there, looking at it all, and felt that deep, warm satisfaction you get when your hard work actually looks like you imagined.
“You outdid yourself this year, babe,” he whispered.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
We called the kids.
“Hands washed, butts in chairs!” I yelled.
They were actually excited, which, if you have kids, you know is rare.
We all sat down.
I picked up my fork.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Elaine’s voice cracked through the house. Continue reading…
