We stay another night, soaking up the final hours in the house and fight sleep as we lie tangled together so long our breaths and heart beats become singular.
“Happy Thanksgiving Eve!” Sharon calls from the kitchen as Max and I arrive home. She and my mom stand at the kitchen bar where they share a bottle of wine.
I give her a warm smile and wrap my arms around her in a big hug. Sharon is quite possibly the world’s best hugger. She always holds on for a few extra seconds, as if she is giving you an extra piece of love. I’m grateful to have her as my boyfriend’s mom. She’s comfortable and sweet, constantly reminding me how happy she is that Max and I are dating, but also independent and strong to where she supports me going to school and taking my time in making a decision and reminds me not to let Max get away with anything.
“So your dad says we need to be here by nine because in order to start Thanksgiving off right, we need to experience your pumpkin pancakes and brown sugar bacon,” Sharon says, sitting back at the counter and smiling at me as she wraps an arm around Max’s waist, resting her head on the side of his bicep.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I sing, standing beside my mom and tightly hugging her side, leaning my head on hers. She wraps a delicate arm around my waist. Her comforting scent wafts over me, and she lightly kisses my cheek as her perfectly manicured hand wraps around mine.
I know that I have some of my mother’s qualities, like her love for cooking and ability to talk to nearly anyone and make them feel comfortable, but standing beside her reminds me of the qualities I didn’t receive: beautiful blue eyes that are so clear they look like crystals and self-discipline for the way that she looks and carries herself. I can’t stop mentally comparing us as we stand so close—her perfectly manicured nails beside my short clean ones; her hair perfectly styled and sprayed in place, mine up in a ponytail with several strands falling loose around my face; her elegant dress and heels with my jeans, hoodie, and Converse shoes.
“Ace, did you watch that documentary last week on space travel?” Dad asks, puncturing my barrage of thoughts as he enters the kitchen followed by Jenny, Lilly, and Zeus.
I lean down welcoming Zeus as he buries his head in my hands. “I feel they grossly took some facts about the government conspiring out of context. I was looking up some of the remarks that they made the next day and even though they were calling themselves a documentary, they had to retract it because there were so many opinions stated that it’s now classified as a mockumentry. I can’t believe how many of these are being made!”
“I know I was watching something on mermaids—”
“No geek talk. It’s a holiday,” Jenny interjects with a warning, eyeing us both.
“This isn’t geek talk.” Dad scoffs innocently.
“Yes it is. You’re going to begin discussing theories and people that we’ve never heard of, and how they somehow relate to something political. Then Caulder will be here, pounding his chest about how republicans would never have let blah, blah, blah happen. Then Ace will start pulling out facts that most of us have never even heard of, and Caulder will be demanding proof and people will start Googling dates and quotes, and then Caulder will lose, because Caulder always loses, and then he’ll start on his anti anti-gun control spiel and get Mom on board to try to take back some of the control, and then it just becomes a free for all. No geek talk.”
“She’s right. Save it for next Sunday,” Mom says, pulling groceries from the cupboards.
“Can I just hear about the mermaids?” I plead.
“In the den. You have fifteen minutes.” She turns to rummage through the spice cupboard. “Ace, before you go can you come see if there’s any crystallized ginger up there, sweetheart?” My shoulders fall. My mom’s notorious for forgetting groceries and I know that a store run is about to be requested. So much for mermaids.
Standing on a barstool, I hear the door open followed by Kendall yelling “Happy Thanksgiving!”
A chorus of greetings echo from the kitchen as Kendall, Jameson, and Wes make their way into the kitchen. Max had invited Wes when he learned his parents had gone to Barbados and he was planning to spend Thanksgiving alone at his apartment.
“How was Yakima?” I ask as I climb down empty handed and hug each of them.
“It was so cold! Seriously, like frigidly cold! But it was a good time. Jameson’s mom made some of the best pies and jams, and we got to visit a lot of his friends and family. I’m really glad I went,” Kendall says, smiling at Jameson for a moment as though they’re sharing a secret.
“I’m glad you guys had such a great time!” Dad remarks.
Kendall beams in return, looking blissfully happy for a moment, before she claps her hands together. “Alright, the boys are prepared for cookie making.” She rubs her hands together with excitement.
“Oh good, I made extra dough since there will be so many this year. It’s in the fridge ready to go.” Mom runs her nails over her forehead, “I need to run to the store. Sharon do you want to join me?”
“I think I’m going to go take a nap. We had a late accident that required me to go in and I want to make sure I have all my energy for tomorrow.”
Max looks at her, concern etched across his defined jaw scrunching the skin between his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Do you want me to go with you?”
“Just one of the many side effects to getting old,” she says with a grim smile. “I’m fine, you stay and have fun.” She kisses Max’s cheek before saying goodbye and following my mom to the front door where dad’s waiting to go with her.
“You were serious about the cookies?” Wes’s eyebrows rise.
“Yes!” Kendall cries exasperated. She goes to the fridge and pulls out multiple large discs of dough, wrapped in plastic wrap.
“I carved a pumpkin last month for the first time in like fifteen years. They mean business when it comes to the holidays and traditions,” Jameson confirms.
Jenny washes her hands and gets straight to rolling out a disc of cookie dough after sprinkling some flour on the countertops as Kendall retrieves cookie cutters and I set the oven to preheat and retrieve cookie sheets and sprinkles. Kendall instructs the guys to wash their hands and arranges them in an assembly line, giving them each a job. I smile and shake my head as I make a watered down egg wash so that the sprinkles will adhere to the cookies. It amazes me how easily Kendall can get others to follow her lead.
“If you do this, you’re in trouble,” Jenny says, keeping her eyes focused on the large cylinder of dough in front of her. We all turn to look at her.
“Do what?” Jameson asks, leaning forward to see over Wes’s shoulder. Kendall and I begin giggling before Jenny throws a handful of flour at Jameson, dusting Wes in the process.
“You knew she was going to do that!” Wes cries accusingly to Kendall who’s standing on Jameson’s other side. He grabs a handful of flour and doesn’t hesitate before throwing it. It disperses into a white cloud. Kendall moves surprisingly quick, avoiding nearly all of it as she ducks. Max is exposed. The flour lands on his chest, leaving a large white mass on his dark shirt. My hand instantly covers my mouth as I work to stifle a giggle as Max stares at Wes with contempt.
“Okay, okay, enough with the flour,” Kendall says, lifting up a cookie cutter.
“Yeah, enough, boys,” Jenny says, rolling another disc of dough.
Kendall begins demonstrating how to get the most cookies out of the dough, when Jenny flings another handful of flour at Kendall, who squeals as the white powder dances across her chest and neck. She instantly heaves a handful of flour at Jenny, hitting Wes and Jameson in the crossfire. Flour flies in all directions, coating everything with a silky white powder.