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Jenny's hands trembled as they pulled the turkey from
the oven and hefted it atop the stove. The aluminum pan bowed under the weight
of the twenty-two pound tom, and she grunted. She examined the bird and wanted
to cry. It still looked...pale. Like it needed a suntan. Mother's turkeys were
always perfectly brown. The insides were tender and pink, dribbling moisture
when a fork slid through a slice.
Forcing her mind from comparing her turkey to
Mother's, Jenny took a knife and sliced through the side of the turkey. It
looked wrinkled, and not at all smooth. She tore off a small chunk and tasted
it, grimacing at the dryness. The family would be disappointed in Jenny's first
turkey, especially when remembering Mitzi's.
Tears flooded Jenny's eyes, and she grabbed a
dishtowel to blot her eyes. "Stupid turkey," she hissed at the
helpless bird. Before she could spend more time dwelling on her imperfections,
the timer dinged, indicating it was time to start the gravy.
Jenny consulted her cookbook and tried to follow the
recipe, carefully ladling out the exact portion of the turkey drippings into the
old cast iron skillet her mother always used to make gravy. Then she added the
flour, thickening the mixture, and heating until it turned dark brown. When
Jenny stirred in the milk, there was a popping sound, followed immediately by
the hiss of boiling liquid. An acrid stench filled the air, and Jenny lowered
the heat, desperately stirring the gravy mixture and praying for a miracle.
The smell must have drawn Dirk away from the
pre-games, and he stuck his head in through the swinging door of the kitchen.
"How's it going, honey?"
Jenny forced a bright smile as her hand frantically
whipped the grayish-brown lumps. "Just great."
"Do you want me to send in your sister?"
She shook her head as she turned away from him and
shut off the burner. "No. Everything's under control." She would
rather burn everything on the menu than ask her little sister for help with
cooking. Angela was no more proficient in the kitchen than she, which was why
the duty of making Thanksgiving dinner had fallen to her.
When Jenny looked up again, she saw Dirk had gone,
probably back to the living room with the rest of the family. She briefly
thought about asking Marie for help, but the animosity between she and her
mother-in-law stopped her. It would be bad enough to be ridiculed when the food
was waiting on the table, but at least Marie would temper her comments if the
rest of the family were present. Jenny was too vulnerable to face a one-on-one
confrontation with her mother-in-law right then.
With a sigh, Jenny scraped the flour and drippings
into the disposal, watching as the water and motor whisked it all away, as if it
had never existed. Then she returned to the stove and started over. The next
batch didn't scorch, but it was full of lumps. When Jenny tasted it, she frowned
at the blandness, but a look at the clock told her she didn't have time to keep
trying until she got it right. Exactly how long was eternity, anyway?
When the second oven light went out, Jenny removed the
rolls and placed them on a wire rack, then returned to the turkey and tried to
remove the stuffing from its innards to put in the chipped, green ceramic bowl
Mother always used. The stuffing was soggy, but Jenny ignored the consistency as
she went back to the skillet of gravy that was rapidly cooling into dough balls.
She bent down to retrieve her mother's gravy boat and
was suddenly struck by the wrongness of having it in her kitchen, under her
cabinet, when Mother had kept it prominently displayed in her oak hutch, built
by Father right after their marriage. None of Mother's things fit in with hers
yet. Jenny hadn't grown comfortable using them, but they were as much a
tradition of Thanksgiving as the broccoli casserole.
"Oh, the casserole!" Jenny grabbed the boat
and set it on the counter before opening the toaster oven she'd used to make the
cheese layer crunchy. The once-yellow cheddar covering the broccoli spears was
now dark brown in the center and black on the edges. The broken timer on the
toaster oven seemed to grin evilly at her-still displaying 15:00. "How
could I forget it's broken?" she muttered.
Near sobbing, Jenny scraped off the cheese and left
the broccoli casserole without a topping. Everything else was ready, except for
being in serving bowls, and she hurried through the last-minute preparations.
Once the table, dressed with her mother's best finery, was loaded with her
meager offerings, she called in the family.
Feeling nervous, Jenny took a seat near Dirk at the
head of the table and waited for Arthur to finish the blessing. He thanked God
for everything that had happened in his life, especially forty-seven years with
Marie. Jenny's heart twisted and tears flooded her eyes. Her parents had only
had seventeen years together before Father was taken from them...
Abruptly realizing the prayer was finished, Jenny
raised her head and gulped a glass of wine, instantly feeling dizzy and even
less in control. She fell into silence as she watched her sister, husband, and
his family serve themselves. She listened with incredulity as they talked
boisterously and laughed heartily. How could they be so happy? Even Angela
seemed barely tinged with sadness.
Marie was the first to comment on the food, as Jenny
had expected. "You're certainly going to have to practice if you want to be
as good a cook as Mitzi was."
Jenny gnashed her teeth and forced down a bite of
lumpy gravy and heavy potatoes. Even knowing Marie was right didn't help
alleviate the sting from the remark.
"Mom," Dirk said in a soft voice.
She looked surprised. "What, dear?"
Dirk apparently decided to allow his mother to retreat
into deliberate obtuseness. He waved his hand and returned to sawing off a bite
of turkey from a slice from the breast.
Jenny yearned for silence, as their constant happy
chatter was giving her a headache. She wanted to scream at them for their lack
of respect. How could they pretend everything was normal so soon? Mitzi had
barely been gone any time at all, and they were all carrying on and having a
grand time. Didn't they have any feelings?
"Didn't Mitzi normally put cheese on this?"
Arthur asked of the naked broccoli casserole.
She forced a pleasant smile and said, "I thought
I'd try something new."
"Couldn't you have waited until next year?"
Angela's lower lip trembled. "You should have tried to make this year like
Mother would have."
Jenny's mouth dropped open as her sister dared
criticize her for changing tradition. It wasn't as if Jenny had planned it. She
had tried to honor their mother, and at least she wasn't sitting around laughing
like a loon.
When she would have retorted, Dirk squeezed her hand
under the table, and Jenny dropped her gaze to her plate once more, picking at
the marshmallows atop the yam dish-the only thing besides the rolls to turn out
perfectly.
"Do you smell something burning?" Marie
asked, and her blue eyes were sharp with eagerness.
"Oh, no!" Jenny dropped her fork and hurried
to the double oven. When she opened the left door, a roiling cloud of gray smoke
billowed out. She coughed vigorously while waving a cloth to dissipate the
smoke. When she could finally reach the pumpkin pie, she pulled it out and set
it on the counter.
Jenny's face crumpled as she looked at the horribly
ruined pie. The pumpkin filling was dark brown, and the crust was black. She
couldn't hold back the tears falling from her eyes. As Dirk came up behind her,
Jenny made no effort to staunch the flow. "It's completely ruined. I forgot
the timer," she wailed.
Dirk examined it critically. "Mom can make a good
one."
Jenny, in no mood to be rational, didn't even give him
credit for trying to comfort her. She jerked free from his arms and ran from the
kitchen as wrenching sobs tore from her chest.
She fled down the hall, into the master bedroom, where
she threw herself on the bed and buried her face in a pillow. She wept
unabashedly for ten minutes, completely alone. Apparently, they had decided to
give her some space. Jenny resented their distance as much as she had resented
their happiness.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
"Go away," she said forcefully, in a wet
voice.
The door swung open anyway, and Angela walked in, with
her delicate face twisted into an expression of concern. She sat on the bed
beside Jenny and smoothed away her sister's tangled red curls. "I'm sorry I
left you to do everything."
"I didn't mind," Jenny whispered, not
looking at her sister.
Angela snorted as she grabbed a pillow and stretched
out beside her sister. "I didn't think how hard all this would be on you.
Mother was such a fantastic cook, and..."
"I'm not," she said miserably.
"I didn't say that." Angela sighed.
"Okay, you need some practice, but I think you've done a wonderful job for
your first Thanksgiving meal. Mother would be proud."
Jenny swiped at the tears on her cheeks and met
Angela's eyes. "You really think so?"
"Oh, yeah. Mother knew how hard all this was. Do
you remember her telling us about the first year she made Christmas dinner for
Father's parents?"
Jenny shook her head.
"Really? You're three years older than I am. You
should remember better." Angela pushed back her auburn hair and sat up,
crossing her legs. "Mother burned everything but the turkey, which was raw
in the middle. It was a disaster, but unlike you, she had an understanding
mother-in-law, who helped her make turkey salad."
Jenny nodded slowly as the memory returned to her. For
some reason, it cheered her to know her mother hadn't been a natural chef.
"I'd forgotten all about that."
"There's something else you've forgotten."
"What's that?" Had she missed a side dish?
She had combed through Mother's cookbooks...
"How to smile," Angela said gently.
"Mother wouldn't want you to be so unhappy. Thanksgiving is supposed to be
about blessings and family."
"She wouldn't want us to forget her," Jenny
protested.
"No, of course not. And we haven't. I'm just
trying to behave in a way that would please Mother. Do you remember how much she
used to laugh at family gatherings, even if she was doing all the work?"
A soft smile curved Jenny's full lips. "Yeah. She
was always the life of the party."
Angela rubbed Jenny's back. "She still was last
year, even though she was so sick. Remember?"
She blanched, suddenly remembering how Mother had
drawn her aside and admonished her to have fun. "I'm not dead yet, Jenny.
Stop acting like I'm cold in my grave." Mother had always been a plain
speaker and always cheerful. She had never tolerated her daughter's more dour
moods, and Jenny knew she would be upset if she saw her today.
She looked down at her folded hands. "I can't
guarantee anything, but I'll try to be happier."
Angela hugged her and bounced up from the bed.
"Great. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for Mother."
Darn Angela for hitting her weak spot. "Shall we
go make turkey salad?" Jenny suggested with a weak grin. It felt alien on
her face, but she had a feeling if she practiced, the smile would eventually
feel natural again.
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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