And when Gretchen arrived at noon, as instructed, Thelma hurried to wipe her hands off on a kitchen towel before runningto the door like an excited girl. She did everything but throw her arms around her girlfriend and kiss her in front of Robbie, who pretended not to notice anything as he sat in his lounge chair, the cat pressed into his lap, ignoring all the strangers.
“Holy crap.” Gretchen was compelled to sit at the table, citing how sore she was from being outside all day, every day the rest of that week. “This is gorgeous. Did you put this together yourself?”
“I found the centerpiece in the attic.” She brought over some warmed apple cider for her guest to enjoy. “But the rest is my tastes, yes.”
“Gorgeous.”
Thelma blushed. “Thank you. Please tell Megan how important it is to appreciate the homemaking side of life, even if you have other things to do during the day.”
The girl in question also came to sit at the table. “It’s not that I don’t get it,” she protested. “I just have other things going on in life right now!”
“She still has a hangover from Vegas,” Thelma hissed in Gretchen’s direction.
“Do not!”
Nobody was surprised that Megan held her own head after saying that. Thelma brought her granddaughter some apple cider as well before rubbing her back and pretending to fuss.
Dinner was promptly served at three to grand fanfare. While holiday tunes played on the TV, six of them sat around the table to pass rolls and carve turkey. But, first, Thelma insisted on a prayer to give thanks to the Lord, or “whatever being you may or may not believe in.”
“What?” Robbie barked from the other end of the table. “A prayer? Since when?”
“Since I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, Rob.” Thelma took Gretchen and Pauline’s hands on either side of her. “Come on. Let us say grace for this bountiful feast. As the man of thehouse…” she cleared her throat, “and the eldest, you should lead.”
Pauline pursed her lips in amusement while Megan stared. Gretchen let out a heavy breath. Ethan remained oblivious.
“I ain’t said no grace at dinner in sixty years,” Robbie said. “Why start now?”
“Really?” Thelma dropped the hands on either side of her to sip the red wine she had passed around the table. “Not even when you were a little boy?”
He was ready for that question. “Not since my mom disappeared. We had no use for grace after that.”
Pauline was on the verge of making a comical sign of the cross while Megan covered her face in embarrassment. Thelma, however, leveled her motherly gaze on her son and said, “Well, maybe you have a reason this year, huh?”
She grabbed the others’ hands. Gretchen was uncomfortable with the scene playing out before her, but gave her girlfriend an encouraging smile when Thelma looked to her for support.
“Fine.” Robbie snatched Megan’s hand. “Let us say grace and give thanks to the Lord.”
He said it so blandly, yet somehow so sarcastically.
“Thank you,” Thelma said. “If you’d like, I’ll lead instead.”
“No, no! I got this!DEAR LORD…” Ethan nearly leaped out of his skin. “Thank you for this bountiful harvest that we have spread before us today. And thank you for all the fine people we have here with us today…”
“He sounds like he’s about to stab God right in the back,” Pauline muttered. Thelma shushed her.
“Thank youfor all the color-coded Fiesta stuff that was clearly so dang important our lovely Thelma had to spend taxpayer money on three more sets of Clara and Susan or whatever. Thank you for the wonderful weather we had this year, from sunny days to foggy nights.”
Thelma knew that was about her, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Anyway! Thanks for the grub, God! Amen!”
A chorus of “amens” was muttered around the table. Thelma opened her eyes and thanked her son for participating. At least now they were allowed to eat, she supposed.
She had a few rules for their meal that evening. Besides no swearing and no politics, she warned Megan that there would benodevices at the table.Drives me crazy!Oh, Thelma was a hypocrite, of course. Since getting her cell phone, she had become a bit of a texter herself, but with Gretchen there, it was easy to leave her phone on the kitchen counter and concentrate on the conversation at the dinner table.
“This is scrumptious, ladies,” Ethan complimented the cooks. “I haven’t had a meal like this in years.”
“Thank you, Ethan,” Thelma said. “The stuffing is a mid-century recipe I got from the back of a magazine. Back in, ah, the day.” She hoped she was saying that phrase correctly. Nobody looked oddly at her, so she was probably fine.
