“But, like, how much of a difference?” I ask, staring at the butter in the pan, slowly turning a darker shade. It was barely 8 am, and as much as I didn’t want to show up empty-handed to the day’s festivities, I was beginning to doubt the validity of my plan.
“Toni Joy, don’t question me.”
“Ok, ok,” I laugh.
“He won’t say it, but your brother is so happy you’re not alone today. The man’s been grumbling about it for the last two damn weeks.”
“Why?” I ask, eyes glued on the pan. “I’ve had some good solo Turkey Days. He doesn’t have to worry.”
Dianne makes a dismissive noise. “Family is supposed to worry.” For a moment, the sounds of the hospital cut through the background. “I gotta get back to it.” She’d be spending her Thanksgiving at work, being Super Nurse.
“Thanks for the help.”
“Any time, sugar! Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
Just as I pull what I have to admit is a beautiful pecan pie from the oven, I notice a text from Jac.
Jac
About today...The basement flooded because our neighbors are idiots. So we have no water.
Oh shit!
Jac
Yeah. Still trying to figure out where we're going. It’s not looking great, but I’ll let you know.
I look around my apartment. While not massive, I could easily move my easel and supplies into my bedroom, leaving the dining room free.
Jac answers on the second ring. “If you’re calling to tell me you’re somehow a plumber, I’ll become the embodiment of thankfulness.”
“Tragically, not a skill I possess. But, depending on the size of the RSVP list, I’m happy to host.”
“Ten...” They drag the word out, uncertain, “ish.”
“Think people could BYO chair?” I ask.
“Girl, we can BYO table, chairs, all of it.”
“Great! Might be tight, but we can make it work.”
“You sure?” They ask, excitement barely restrained.
“I’m sure.”
They let out a joyful screech. “When can we head over?”
Within the hour, Jac and I are hanging cheesy Thanksgiving decorations around my dining room while their nesting partner Finn—the frohawk guy I’d seen at the craft store and met at Jac’s drag show—fills my kitchen with better food than I ever would.
“Wanna taste?” he asks, holding out a wooden spoon with homemade cranberry sauce.
“Sure!” My eyes pop open as orange, cranberry, and spices dance across my tongue.
“Good?” His anticipation for my approval is adorable.
“Incredible.”
