Crazy in Love (20 page)

Dad’s home, too, now and has already gotten the fireplace roaring. He’s standing over a giant bowl in the kitchen, tearing up pieces of bread for stuffing, while Mom and Sandy get boxes out of cupboards. “How’s Alicia doing at school?” Dad asks.

“Good,” I answer, although what would I know about it?

“Come on in!” Sandy shouts as if the three of them are in a swimming pool and I’m shivering on deck.

I wash my hands in the sink and start pulling lettuce, carrots, peppers, and cheese out of the fridge. On the night before Thanksgiving, we each know our appointed duties. I make my veggie and cheese salad that has to sit in the fridge overnight. Sandy stirs water into her bread mix, then dumps it into her bread loaf machine. Dad chops celery and gets the other ingredients ready for his famous Ettermeyer stuffing, which he’ll prepare at dawn. And Mom pretty much does everything else.

“Who all’s coming tomorrow?” I ask, checking out the twenty-four-pound turkey Mom has thawing in the fridge.

“Well,” she begins, “there’s us. And Uncle Jim. Grandma and Grandpa Ettermeyer left for Florida too early this year, or they’d be here. It’s not going to be the same without them.”

“We’re making all this food for five people?” I’m pretty sure we could feed fifty.

“Ah,” Dad says. “Five of us eat tomorrow, but four of us eat for months.”

Mom snaps him with the dish towel.

It’s true, though. We’ll be eating turkey until Christmas anyway. And I really don’t even like the stuff. Dark meat’s too greasy, and white meat’s too dry. I usually fill up on stuffing and potatoes. And Sandy’s bread, of course, because she keeps track.

At least, keeping busy in the kitchen helps takes my mind off how mad I am at Alicia and how much I miss Jackson.

When I come downstairs on Thanksgiving morning, I can already smell the turkey in the oven.

“Marwyjan!” Sandy yells. “Come and see!” She sounds like she’s been up for hours, in spite of the fact that she’s still wearing her purple pajamas. Sandy is sitting on the floor in the living room, using the coffee table as her desk.

I peer over her shoulder as she presses her hand down on a piece of white construction paper and traces around her fingers. This is the worldwide trick for drawing turkeys on Thanksgiving, but it’s not quite working for Sandy. The turkeys look pretty much like shaky hands, with varying numbers of finger-feathers. And every feather is, of course, purple.

“Wow! Turkeys! Great idea, Sandy!” I exclaim, picking up one placemat and admiring it.

“Turkeys for Thanksgiving!” she explains. “One for everybody eating.”

“Another great idea.” I ruffle her hair and join the kitchen crew, where I peel potatoes until I’m released for my shower.

Alicia doesn’t call.

Jackson does. He wishes me Happy Thanksgiving and starts to say something romantic, but his grandmother says she needs the phone, and he has to hang up without saying he loves me.

But he does.

Turns out there are six of us, instead of five, for dinner. Uncle Jim bravely brings a date, although he didn’t even bother to tell my mom. Dad is quick to point this out to his little brother as soon as they’re alone in the hall. I take Uncle Jim’s coat, so I get to hear the first of the sibling squabbles of the day.

“Are you ever going to get married, Jim?” Dad asks.

Uncle Jim shrugs and winks at me. “Too busy making money. And living the good life.” He spreads out his arms to Sandy and me. “So where are my hugs?”

Sandy and I hug Uncle Jim. His suit feels like silk. But what I try not to stare at is his head, which is miraculously covered with hair after a decade of hairlessness. I can only imagine the kind of restraint it takes for my dad not to comment on this new addition to his brother’s head. This is not a cheap rug or anything. I’m sure my uncle has purchased the most expensive hair money can buy, plant, or plug. So you might not even notice if you didn’t know Uncle Jim in the
before
mode.

I watch as Sandy frowns at Uncle Jim’s head. I’m waiting for her to say something about it, but she doesn’t.

Uncle Jim’s date joins us when Mom’s through taking her coat.

“This is Rena, my executive secretary,” Uncle Jim announces as if she’s a gift to us.

Rena is wearing a silk evening dress that makes Mom, Sandy, and me look like bag ladies by comparison. I try to smile at her without laughing, but it’s not easy. When Alicia’s second stepfather was having an affair with his executive secretary, we used to call her the Ex Secs.

“Sandy,” I say, leaving before I crack up, “let’s make another placemat.”

When we’re all seated at the table, where Mom has quickly and discreetly added a sixth place setting, Uncle Jim reaches for the mashed potatoes.

Mom stops him. “Just a minute, Jim. We haven’t expressed our thanks, and it
is
Thanksgiving.” She turns to Dad, appointing him Sayer-of-Grace. “Honey?”

“Can I do it?” Sandy raises her hand like she’s in school.

“Sure!” Dad exclaims. I think he’s relieved. “You go right ahead, Sandy.”

I catch a condescending look exchanged between Uncle Jim and his Ex Secs, but they bow their heads like the rest of us.

“Hi, God,” Sandy begins. Nobody on earth prays like Sandy, although I’ve always imagined everybody in heaven does. My whole life I’ve loved eavesdropping on her chats with God. I used to volunteer to put her to bed at night—no small ritual—just so I could hear her prayers.

“Aren’t you happy that everybody’s taking today off to tell you thanks for everything?” she continues. “I guess we should do this every day, huh? Because we had food yesterday, too.” Her words become clearer as she prays. “This is good food we’re about to eat, maybe especially the bread. So thanks for making the stuff that goes into all of this food. Like that water and the white powder in my box of bread that makes it bread. And we’re sorry about that turkey who had to die for dinner.”

I peek around the table. Even the Ex Secs is smiling, and it’s not a making-fun-of smile either. Sandy’s eyes are the only ones wide open, as if she’s talking to somebody sitting at the table with us, instead of somebody you have to close your eyes to see.

“Thank you for basketball and M&M’s and my pillow and that red bird on the window at breakfast and for breakfast and for Mommy’s kiss on my forehead and Daddy’s hug, the one that isn’t too short or the one that isn’t too tight, and for Uncle Jim having all of his hair back and for his pretty friend having a pretty dress, even though it isn’t purple, and for Marwyjan’s stories where I get to name the horses Apple and Betty and Wally and Goldie and—”

“Thank you, Sandy,” Mom says. “We all have lots to be thankful for. Amen.”

Inside my head, the voices have soaked up the Sandy-ness, and they’re telling me I should be as thankful as my sister.

25

Alicia at Last

We eat too much
and talk too much, especially Uncle Jim. His cell goes off half a dozen times during dinner, and Dad tries to make him turn it off. They get into it a little bit when Uncle Jim tries to give Dad advice on the stock market. Dad comes dangerously close to making fun of Uncle Jim’s new hair when he asks if he’s using hair gel these days. But they don’t argue as much as usual, and Mom’s good at changing the subject at just the right time.

After dinner, Dad and Uncle Jim and Ex Secs watch football games while Mom and Sandy and I wash a million dishes. Ah . . . those Thanksgiving traditions.

The phone rings.

I drop the dish I’m wiping, which, luckily, is plastic. “I’ll get it!” I’m not sure if I’m thinking it could be Alicia or Jackson. I’ll take either one, though.

I pick up the receiver and step out of the kitchen before saying hello.

“Mary Jane?”

“Jackson! Come home!” I plead.

“Wish I could. I’ve got thirty-two relatives here, and they’re all serious Bellevue candidates. Can’t believe I ever swam in the same gene pool as these people. I miss you, babe.” He says this low, sexy, and it makes me tingle, which is a stupid word, but there it is.

“I miss you, too,” I say, low and sexy, going for the same tingly reaction.

In the background I hear someone yelling for Jackson to come and eat.

“I’m going to have to go,” he says. “Are we all set for tomorrow? ”

“You bet,” I say. I haven’t cleared it yet, but I don’t think there’ll be a problem. Lots of times I go out with friends after Sandy’s games.

“Well, Happy Thanksgiving,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you, Mary Jane. It’s all that’s keeping me going here.”

When I hang up, I want to go directly to Alicia’s and talk out everything. I’m dying to call and see if she’s home. But I won’t do it. She said she’d call me. I’ll just have to wait.

Hours later, when the kitchen’s back in order, the Ex Secs is flipping through magazines, and the menfolk are still watching football, I can’t stand it anymore, and I dial Alicia’s number.

“Hello?” It’s Alicia, and she’s answered on the first ring.

“You’re home!” I don’t add,
Thanks a lot for letting me know.

“Oh. Mary Jane.” She actually sounds disappointed. “Hey.”

“Yeah. Hey.”

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “what’s up? You have a good meal?”

“Fantastic!” I exclaim, hoping she’ll be sorry she didn’t get in on it. “You?”

“We’re not eating until later. Ed’s kids are coming.”

I soften a little because I know she can’t stand her current stepbrothers. They only show up once or twice a year, but it’s always a free-for-all. “That’s rough. So when are you guys escaping and coming over here?” I can’t imagine that she and Colt would want to spend quality time with her stepbrothers.

“I can’t get away for a while.” She doesn’t sound that upset about it.

"Well,” I continue, "Sandy’s been bugging me all day, wondering when you’ll be here.” It’s true that Sandy’s asked about Alicia. She really misses her.

“Tell her I’ll be over later.”

We don’t say much else, and when I hang up, I’m flooded with things I should have said, like “What’s the big idea? You’re acting like you don’t even want to talk to me!” And “You’re being a crummy, rotten friend, just when I need to talk to you the most.”

Maybe it’s good I don’t say everything in my head after all.

Another hour passes. Then another. I made the mistake of telling Sandy that Alicia and her boyfriend are coming over, so now she asks me every five minutes where Alicia is.

Finally, the doorbell rings. Sandy runs to answer it. When she sees Alicia, she lunges at her and almost knocks her down. " ’Licia! ’Licia!” she cries, hugging her. Sandy’s four inches taller than Alicia, so I can’t see Alicia until they stop hugging. I don’t see Colt anywhere.

“Is Colt coming?” I ask, peering out at the driveway.

She shakes her head. She’s wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt and looks thinner than when I saw her last. Her hair is short, short, and it makes her eyes pop out. But that might be related to the fact that she’s wearing so much makeup. She really does look college.

“Better come on in,” I say, holding the door open. “Mom will yell at us for—”

“—letting in winter,” Alicia finishes. She’s heard my mom say this a million times. “You look good, Mary Jane.” She walks in and hugs Sandy one more time. “And you look terrific, Big Sister!”

Sandy giggles and won’t let go of Alicia’s hand. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He couldn’t make it,” she says.

I’m not sure if she means he couldn’t make it to our house or to Alicia’s.

She shrugs over at me. “He had to go to his house. His mom threw a fit.”

Secretly I’m glad, because I think it will make it easier for Alicia and me to talk. But I feel guilty for thinking this. I couldn’t stand it if I had to be away from Jackson that long. “That’s whack,” I say. “Sorry.”

“Yeah. Well.”

Mom comes out. “Alicia! It’s so good to see you!” She gives Alicia a hug, so now I’m the only one who hasn’t hugged her. “Can I get you something to eat?” Mom asks.

Alicia grabs her stomach. “Absolutely negative. But thanks, Mrs. Ettermeyer. It’s good to see you, too.”

Dad leaves the game long enough to come over and say “Hi” and ask Alicia about school, but Sandy’s looking restless. She bounces from one foot to the other, still holding on to Alicia’s hand.

“Cards!” Sandy shouts. “Want to play cards?”

“Are you kidding?” Alicia says. “Why else do you think I came over here?”

I love the way Alicia is with my sister, but the comment cuts a little. She sure isn’t acting like she’s here on my account, even though she knows how much I want to talk to her.

But Sandy is so excited that I shove my feelings to the back of my brain. Alicia and I will have plenty of time to talk after Sandy goes to bed, especially since she won’t have to hurry back to Colt. “Let’s play cards,” I agree.

Sandy leads us to her room, where we sit at a small card table. The three of us have played at least a hundred million hands of cards at this table. Sandy’s won every game.

“So,” Alicia says, scratching her chin like she’s trying to think of something, “what should we play?”

Sandy pulls out a deck of purple cards with white cats on them. “Go Sandy!” she suggests.

“My favorite game,” Alicia agrees. “I forget. How many cards do we get in this game?”

“Duh,” Sandy says. “Eight.”