I was a little startled to realize, last night, that Thanksgiving looms pretty large in both my books so far, and serves as a significant turning point in the first one. This surprised me a little because I’m not exactly a stickler for holiday traditions. My son and I are happily joining friends for Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant. Although I regret not being with either my grandkids or my brothers’ families today, I have a little bit of a cold and I am actually very content not driving long distances in uncertain weather, or cooking and cleaning.
These are not the most significant parts of the Thanksgiving events in each book — I don’t want to spoil anything major — but I thought you might enjoy these little excerpts in honor of the holiday.
From The Awful Mess: A Love Story
As Thanksgiving approached, the food pantry got hectic. November was prime time for food collections and for new volunteers, who naturally expected to be given something to do. The generous Thanksgiving boxes, a point of pride and competition among the local churches and civic organizations, had to be organized so that frozen turkeys didn’t defrost, stuffing mix didn’t expire, pies didn’t get squashed, and no one got lost trying to make deliveries.
Mary organized driving maps along sensible car routes for the approximate number of volunteers they expected to show up on delivery day, the Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving. She and Annie supervised the distribution of lists and boxes. She had just finished checking off one set of boxes into the care of a couple of Catholics, when she turned to find herself facing Winslow.
“Oh, hi.” She tried to ignore the rising heat on her face. “I didn’t see you on the list. Are you here for St. Andrews?”
“No, Chapel on the Hill.” His blue eyes met hers for what seemed like the first time in months. “Dad’s back is bothering him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Here are their boxes” — she walked him over — “and this is where to deliver them.” She handed over the packet with a tight smile. “Tell your Dad I hope he feels better.” She stepped back, anxious to avoid further awkwardness.
He boosted a box into his arms. “You’re not lifting these, I hope.”
“No, not me.” She patted her belly. If he had ever found her attractive, he must be safely past that now. Perhaps that explained the sudden willingness to talk to her again.
“My sister’s arriving tomorrow,” he said.
“Your dad told me she has big news.”
“She’s bringing Carla.”
“Does he know?”
“No.” He frowned and shifted the heavy box over to one hip.
“Don’t you think it might be a good idea to give him a heads up?”
“She didn’t want me to. She says if they have to leave, they will.”
“Well that sounds like a fun holiday for everybody.” Mary was annoyed on Bert’s behalf. “Was this your sister’s idea, or Carla’s?”
“Probably Carla’s. She can be a drama queen.”
“I could tell him, if you want.”
He looked astonished. “You?”
She suddenly realized how far she’d overstepped. There went her face, burning again. “Sorry,” she said wretchedly. “Dumb suggestion.” She turned away, blinking back tears of embarrassment, and stumbled over to another volunteer who looked like he needed direction. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Winslow staring after her. She turned her back and tried to focus on the man in front of her, who was geared out as if he were about to go climb Mount Monadnock.
“Hey, are you okay?” the man asked.
“Hormones,” she said.
The man looked alarmed. She tried to smile. “Which group are you?”
“Unitarian.”
Thankfully, the Unitarian boxes were on the other side from the God’s Chapel on the Hill boxes, over by the Kiwanis boxes. Perhaps Annie had mapped out the boxes by dogma, or lack thereof. Mary helped the Unitarian fellow and then hovered while he carried out one heavy box at a time. Winslow came in and out, too, loading his own boxes. She sensed him looking over at her, but carefully avoided making eye contact until his last box was gone and him with it. Then she checked both sets of boxes off her list and collapsed into a folding chair.
“You okay?” Annie asked, panting a bit herself.
“I’ll be all right.”
“Somebody say something mean to you? Tell me who it is, I’ll fight ’im!”
Mary just shook her head.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“I thought I might sign up to work the soup kitchen in Keene.”
Annie scowled. “Why don’t you let the once-a-year folks do that? I’m going to have a nice restaurant meal with my home girls. You want to come?”
“Home girls?” Lawson was not exactly a hub of hip urban street culture.
“Other divorced women from my support group. The few of us who don’t have families we want to hang out with on Turkey Day, anyway.”
Mary hesitated. “How expensive is it?”
“Pregnant unemployed food pantry volunteers get to eat free.”
“I can still pay my way!”
Annie laughed. “No you can’t. The restaurant is owned by one of the women in the group. She never lets us pay a dime for the food, just for the service.”
“Well, that sounds lovely, actually. Thank you.”
Annie did a little happy dance. “Excellent! Now everybody’s taken care of.”
From The Ribs and Thigh Bones of Desire
He arrived at three. He hadn’t really wanted to be that punctual. But he’d taken a shower, and shaved, and changed, and changed again. And then he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and it was still only 2:30.
It occurred to him that he should take something, so he drove to Stop n’ Shop. It was closed.
He tried the package store. It was open, of course. He bought a bottle of wine and felt like a grown-up. Elaine hadn’t even had to tell him to do it.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, and handed over the wine.
“Oh, thank you!” Cassandra looked genuinely pleased. “I hope it goes with turkey. I completely forgot about wine.”
“I think maybe anything goes with turkey,” he said, as if he had a clue, which he didn’t. Elaine would have known what wine went with turkey, or she would have asked the guy in the package store. David sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.
Colin came up to take his jacket. “This is my first Thanksgiving. We don’t do Thanksgiving where I come from.”
“No? Well, and why would you?”
Colin looked unsure whether that was a dig or not. David hadn’t intended it as one, but he enjoyed setting Colin back just a little anyway.
“We do have Guy Fawkes Day in early November,” Colin said. “We light bonfires and set off fireworks and roast bangers on sticks. Bangers are sausages, you see.”
“Sounds like fun,” David said.
“What I don’t understand about this holiday is the football part of it. Not that what you lot play is what I would consider football.”
Colin had already said some variation on this to him at least once a week since he’d met him. “Are you watching the game?” he asked hopefully. He had no actual interest in the day’s games, but having a television on would reduce the pressure to have conversation.
“Good Lord, no,” Colin said. “I did watch some of that parade, though. A bizarre tribal custom if I ever saw one. Huge inflated totems, dizzying drumbeats, virgins displayed like offerings to appease the gods!”
“So where’s Molly?” he asked Cassandra, who looked as if she’d had just about enough of Colin.
“At a football game.” She sounded tense.
“A football game?”
“The Turkey Day game. It’s home this year. Shadbrook vs. East Hadley. I assumed she would be home by now.”
“You see?” Colin says. “More madness. And on a day like this.” He gestured outside, to where the snow was falling more heavily.
“I hope he knows how to drive in this stuff,” Cassandra said.
“He?” David asked.
“Steven. Steven Bishop. A guy she used to know at the local high school. He looks nice enough.” Cassandra didn’t sound too impressed.
“She was very excited,” Colin said. “Our Molly hasn’t gotten out much.”
“I wish she would get home,” Cassandra said. “I’m glad she’s getting out, but I guess I’m really not used to this. Would you like a glass of wine before dinner, David? Or one of Colin’s imported ales?”
“Wine, please.” Yes, by all means, give him a drink. Had she invited him over here on purpose to make sure he knew about Steven? Maybe this was Cassandra’s way of saying it’s over, pathetic man, get on with your life.
x x x
He was glad he’d already downed that first glass when a beat-up old Plymouth pulled up outside. “I think she’s home,” he said.
But she didn’t come in right away. No, she stayed out there in the car with Steven.
Finally, Cassandra opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. Molly got out of the car. She tried to neaten her hair. She looked so excited and happy. She practically bounced through the accumulated snow to the door.
Despite the ache in his heart, David found it impossible not to think: This is good. This is right and proper. Look at her, isn’t she beautiful?
When she saw him, though, some of that animation drained away. She licked her lips nervously. They looked chapped. Her entire face looked rough and red. He could remember kissing like that, centuries earlier, back when kissing alone was amazing.
“Hello, Molly,” he said, and smiled bravely.
She smiled back. The happiness overspread her face again. She just couldn’t contain it, could she? “I didn’t know you were coming,” she said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“How was the game?” Cassandra asked.
“The game? It was fine.”
“Who won?” Cassandra asked.
Molly opened her mouth, then closed it. “I have no idea.”
Colin chuckled, then patted him on the shoulder and steered him toward the kitchen. “Let’s refill your glass, David.”
FYI — The price on The Ribs and Thigh Bones will rise after it’s released Dec. 9, so pre-order before then to save a dollar. Or pre-order because you want to help me make it more visible to other readers (pre-orders really do make a BIG difference). Or … don’t worry about it and go eat some turkey. It’s a holiday! Hope you have a nice one.
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Ava Chin, who used to write a column called “Urban Forager” for the New York Times, tells us about her foraging for wild edibles in Brooklyn. Her adventures in the field are entwined with tales of her Chinese American family and her love life. She not only shares the joy of discovering wild food sources (and love), she shows us how she turns it into yummy meals (and family). The result is a memoir that is charming and instructional at the same time.
It struck a chord with me because for the last few weeks I’ve been foraging off my neighborhood’s bounty. There’s an apparently abandoned apple tree one block over with apples that are just falling and getting piled up with the fallen leaves. They have a few tiny sooty blotches on them, but they taste wonderful. So I’ve often paused in my walks to pick apples from the branches overhanging the road and stuff my pockets.
