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Did being mature mean you continued to work at a relationship that had lost its interest and its excitement, because you knew that ultimately the rewards of constancy far outweighed its disappointments?
Or did a fully realized human being cut her losses and move on when the glow had faded?
Kathleen hadn't been pursuing this goal of maturity long enough to know the answer. She was hoping that Thanksgiving at the Porter household would give her some clues-if not about what she should do, then at least about what she wanted to do.
She lingered as long as she could in bed, but when she finally got up, it was still only eight-fifteen. She wasn't due at Kevin's parents until three that afternoon. Kevin was already there-his parents liked their children and grandchildren to spend the nights before Thanksgiving and Christmas at their more or less ancestral home. Spouses and children were included in the overnight slumber party. Girlfriends-even those invited to the holiday di
With nothing else to do, Kathleen decided to go for a long run. By the time she got back, she was dizzy from exercising without having eaten anything. She searched her kitchen but could only find an ice-frosted pint of ice cream and some cheese that had turned green.
She figured she'd have better luck upstairs.
Sam was still in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. He greeted her with a scowl. “You don't have to beat the crap out of the door. I can hear you even if you knock like a civilized human being.”“I’m hungry,” Kathleen said.
“Good of you to come by to tell me.”
“Come on,” she said. “Get dressed. Let's go get something to eat.” She had showered and was now wearing torn jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She'd change into something nice before di
Sam shook his head. “It's Thanksgiving morning, Kathleen. Nothing's open.”
“I passed a McDonald's on my run and it was open.”
“I’m not going to McDonald's on Thanksgiving morning.”
“Why not?” she said. “Against your religion or something?”
“Just come in.” He stepped back with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll make eggs.”
“Good. I’ll go see if the Macy's Day Parade has started.” She headed toward the hallway.
“It's the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade,” he said. “There's no such thing as Macy's Day.”
“Whatever.”
“How you can waste your time watching that-”
She turned. “Oh, come on. It's an American tradition. Did you know my sisters were on a float one year?”
“Wow,” he said. “You must have been so proud.”
“I’ll be in the den,” she said. “Can you make my eggs su
“You're not eating ru
She rolled her eyes. “You spill something once and it's like some natural disaster.”
“You spill every time you're here,” Sam said. “That's not an accident, it's a pattern.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She went and stretched out on the sofa and watched the parade until Sam called that the eggs were ready. She ran back into the kitchen and was sitting down, reaching for her fork, before he'd even put her plate on the table.
“So why are you alone on Thanksgiving?” she asked him through a mouthful of eggs. She was crazy hungry.
“Put the napkin in your lap,” he said, glaring at her from under his thick dark eyebrows. “And remember to use it.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
“And stop talking with your mouth full. I’m not alone on Thanksgiving, Kathleen. I’m having breakfast with you, and, in just a few hours, I’ll be having Thanksgiving di
“Your former in-laws?”
“Yes.” When she just stared at him blankly, he said, “Patricias parents.”
“I’m confused.”
“Do you need me to draw you a chart?”
“No,” she said and stuck another forkful of egg in her mouth. She swallowed. “I get who you're seeing. I just don't get why. Do you like seeing them?”
He laughed out loud. He, of course, had carefully spread his napkin over his lap. He was still in his bathrobe, but his ma
She wiggled in her seat like a child given a compliment. “So why go?”
“Because I want to be with Joa
“Why not ask her to come and have Thanksgiving alone with you?”
“Because she likes being with the whole family. And I don't want to take something she likes away from her.”
“Huh,” Kathleen said. “Can I have some more eggs?”
“Did you finish those already? Jesus, you're a pig. That was three whole eggs. Extra-large.”
“I’ve been up since eight and I went ru
He sat back and regarded her. “Does it ever occur to you to stock the refrigerator with food and actually cook for yourself? You have a fully functional gourmet kitchen down there, you know.”
She shrugged. “I don't know how to cook.”
“It's not hard. You just follow directions. People teach themselves to cook all the time. All it requires is a tiny bit of effort and forethought-although it is possible you're not capable of either.”
“I’m capable of enough forethought to ask you for more eggs before I’ve eaten all my toast.” She tilted her head with a smile that showed all her teeth, top and bottom.
“Someone must have told you you were cute when you were little,” Sam said, “and we're all paying the price now.”
“No one ever told me I was cute when I was little,” Kathleen said. “That's what people said to the twins. I was the responsible one.”
“You've got to be kidding.”
“No, really, I was. Somewhere along the way, I got less responsible, I guess. But the twins are still cute. I don't know what that leaves me.”
“You have the biggest appetite of any girl I’ve ever seen,” Sam said. “That's something.”
“Does that mean I get more eggs?”
He stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you how to make them, so next time you'll do it yourself and let me eat in peace.”
“I don't want to learn how,” she said. “I want you to make them for me.”
“You're going to learn.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.
By the time she left his apartment, she could cook eggs three different ways. Sam said he'd teach her to do an omelet next, but added that he wasn't convinced it was within her capabilities.
II
Wow,” Lucy said as Sari's mother kissed her on the cheek. “You look great, Mrs. Hill.”
Lucy sounded sincere, so Sari squinted at her mother, trying to see her through someone else's eyes.
Eloise Hill was a small, pretty, well-groomed woman of fifty-nine. Her thick hair was dyed a streaky blond and cut in a neat bob, and had been for as long as Sari could remember. For Thanksgiving, she was dressed in precisely tailored khaki pants, a striped blue sweater, and a pair of dark brown loafers, all very neat and nautical. She looked, as she often did, as if she had wandered out of a Ralph Lauren family photo.
For a moment, Sari let herself believe her mother was as lovely and normal as she appeared and hugged her with real warmth. “I was so delighted when Sari called to tell us she'd be bringing you!” her mother said to Lucy over her shoulder. “It feels just like old times.” She released her daughter and stepped back. “I hope you two don't mind that I didn't cook the meal myself-I picked the whole meal up from Gelson's, right down to the stuffing and cranberries. It's a terrible cheat, I know.”
“Are you kidding?” Sari said. “We're both delighted you didn't cook.”
“Oh, you,” her mother said and pushed her arm affectionately.
Look at us, Sari thought. We're adorable. Maybe this time everything will be fine.