– Four am -I repeated-.
“Start cooking at four in the morning,” she said more firmly this time, handing me the guest list. “And make sure everything is perfect this time.”
Hudson looked up then, but only to add his own emphasis.
“Yes, and make sure everything is perfect this time. The filling was a little dry last year.”
The stuffing she’d made while simultaneously juggling six other dishes while watching football in the living room. The stuffing everyone else had complimented. The stuffing her mother had specifically requested she make again this year.
“Of course,” I heard myself say. “Of course, I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
But as I stood there holding that list of thirty-two names and a menu that would put any restaurant kitchen to shame, a chill settled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t just the impossibility of the task I’d been assigned. It was the casual way it had been assigned, as if my time, my effort, my sanity were commodities they could spend without a second thought.
Later that evening, after Vivien had gone home and Hudson had fallen asleep, I sat at our kitchen table with a calculator, trying to work out the logistics. The turkey would only need to go in the oven at 6:00 a.m. to be ready by 2:00 p.m., but I would need the oven space for other dishes. The math didn’t work out. The timing was impossible.
I found myself looking at the guest list, really looking at it for the first time. Thirty-two people, but my name wasn’t on it. I was cooking for thirty-two people and they weren’t even considering me a guest at the dinner I was preparing.
That’s when I noticed something else. Hudson’s cousin, Ruby, wasn’t on the list. Ruby, who had been coming to the family for Thanksgiving for years. Ruby, who had recently gotten divorced and was going through a rough time.
I picked up my phone and called her.
“Isabella, it’s a little late. Is everything alright?”
“I was wondering… are you coming to Thanksgiving this year?”
There was a long pause.
“Well, Vivien called last week. She said that since I’m single now and going through such a difficult time, perhaps it would be better if I spent the holidays somewhere more appropriate for my situation. She suggested I might be more comfortable in a smaller gathering.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“Didn’t she invite you?”
“She didn’t put it that way, but yes, I suppose she did.”
Ruby had been family for eight years. But the moment her life became chaotic, the moment she might need support instead of being able to provide entertainment value, Vivien had taken her off the list.
After hanging up, I sat in the dark kitchen for a long time. The list of names blurred before my eyes as the tears I’d been holding back for hours finally came. But they weren’t just tears of frustration over the impossible task ahead. They were tears of recognition, because I saw myself in Ruby’s situation. I saw what happened when you stopped being useful to Vivien. When you stopped being the perfect daughter-in-law who could pull off impossible dinners and never complain. When you became more of a burden than you were worth.
I had a bad Thanksgiving, far from being an uninvited guest in my own life.
On Tuesday morning, the grocery store at 6 a.m. was a desert of fluorescent lights and empty aisles. I’d been there since opening, my cart overflowing with ingredients for a meal that seemed more impossible with each item. I added three turkeys, two hams, and pounds upon pounds of vegetables that I would need to prep, chop, and cook in the kitchen.
The total at the register made my hands clasp as I swiped our credit card, knowing Hudson would see the charge later and probably comment on the expense.
Mrs. Suzanne next door was in line behind me with a single bag of coffee and some muffins.
“Having a big dinner party this year?” he asked, looking at my overflowing car with concern.
“Thanksgiving for thirty-two,” I replied, trying to sound casual about it.
Her eyes opened.
“Thirty-two? By yourself?”
“My husband will help,” I said automatically, even though the words tasted like lies.
She looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the compassion creeping into her expression.
“Honey, that doesn’t help. That’s like watching someone drown while standing on the dock.”
Her words followed me home and echoed in my head as I began the prep work. I laid out ingredients in every available counter space, transforming our kitchen into something that resembled a commercial food preparation facility more than a home.
By midday, I had been working for six hours straight and had barely made a dent in what needed to be done. My back ached, my feet throbbed, and I hadn’t eaten anything except a handful of crackers.
That’s when Hudson came into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Wow, you’re really going all out this year,” he said, surveying the chaos. “The smell is already good.”
He was up to his elbows in turkey stuffing, his hands covered with a mixture of breadcrumbs, celery, and raw egg.
“Can you help me put this in the bird? I can’t handle it alone.”
He looked at his watch.
“Actually, I promised the guys I’d meet them for a quick round of golf. Pre-holiday tradition, you know. But I’ll have plenty of time again to help with the heavy lifting tomorrow.”
I looked at him.
You will find the rest on the next page.
“Golf today?”
“Only nine holes, maybe eighteen if we’re making good time. You know how it is.”
He was already heading towards the door .
“You’ve got everything under control here anyway. You’re like a machine when it comes to these things.”
Like a machine.
The words hit me harder than they should have. Machines don’t get tired. Machines don’t need help. Machines don’t have feelings that can be hurt by a casual dismissal.
She had left before I could answer, leaving me alone with thirty-two people’s food and the growing realization that I was invisible in my own home.
The afternoon dragged on in a blur of chopping, seasoning, and pre-cooking what could have been prepared in advance. Every surface in the kitchen was covered with dishes in various stages of completion. The refrigerator was so full I had to play Tetris with containers just to fit everything in.
