Page 19 of A Class of Her Own

I held up a hand. “Today, you eat turkey, okay?’

He actually looked at me and nodded. “Always loved a good turkey.”

A smart choice on his part.

When I arrived back down in the living spaces, there was a fire crackling in the wood burning stove, and someone had placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on top of it. At least we all agreed that if something had to go cold, it would not be the potatoes. Cold potatoes are the total worst.

I walked into the kitchen with loose limbs and an easy smile. “Dad had a late night and overslept. He’s going to take a quick shower and be right down.” They all smiled back and offered words of relief, although my sisters’ eyes held some questions. “I’m going to run down to the basement and see if the furnace went out overnight.”

I hated the basement of this old house. As a child it had been the stuff of nightmares. As a teen I’d conquered my fears, mostly by channeling them into anger, and made peace with the place. But I still hated going down into the dank space. I knew it was a lost cause and that Dad had forgotten to pay the bill—or possibly didn’t have the funds to cover it—but I loved putting on a good show. TheMeredith Can Do Itshow had been playing for about a million seasons with no series end in sight. I startled as the pipes gave a loud groan, signaling that Dad had turned on the upstairs shower. The water heater sputtered, and I realized that with no gas, his shower would probably be short and cold.

So, sue me if I smiled a little about that.

It only took me about three seconds to discern that the gas was definitely off, and I pushed down my frustration as I went back upstairs. The others were in the living area gathered around the stove. The table had been set while I’d harassed Dad and checked the basement, and the food was waiting in the kitchen, laid out along the counter with serving spoons ready.

“Okay, we don’t have gas today,” I said in the most ‘isn’t this silly’ tone I could muster. “So, we’ll hang around in this room. The fire will keep us warm enough.”

“Cool. It’ll be kind of like camping,” Jake stated, rubbing a hand down Ash’s stiff back.

She relaxed a bit and smiled at him. “Yeah. Only with better food and a flushing toilet.” Then Ash jokingly looked at me. “The toilet does flush, right?”

We laughed, even if it was stilted, and all fell into our practiced roles of forced cheer. The thing was that over the years we’d come to realize that forced cheer often turned into genuine cheer, so we got comfortable and settled in.

“You’ll call the gas company?” Willow asked me quietly. I nodded. “He’s got to be a couple of months behind. They don’t turn it off after the first missed month.”

“Sad that we know that,” I replied.

“Agreed.”

“I’m ready for some turkey,” Dad’s voice broke into the room followed by his body itself. He was wearing an old green knit sweater and corduroy pants -- some sort of artist’s throwback outfit. His white hair was long around his shoulders, and his facial hair was scruffy, but he looked awake and alert and somewhat present in the moment. “Who’s carving?”

“Meredith,” Ash and Willow said in unison. “It’s tradition.”

And it had been, ever since I’d carved my first turkey at the ripe old age of eight. Nothing dangerous about that.

“Mr. Atwood,” Jake piped up, standing from the couch as Dad fully entered. “I’m Jake Baird. So nice to finally meet you.”

Dad shook his hand and then tugged him close, inspecting the face that was slightly below eye level with his. “Your eyes are the perfect example of russet brown.”

Jake blinked. “Thank you. I always thought they were hazel.”

Dad let him go and nodded. “Too many browns to be truly hazel, but what do I know about eyes? I’ve been working on a mosaic and been having a hard time nailing down the right color of brown. I think it’s russet.”

He looked at the back door and began to head that way, but Willow snagged his sleeve and sat him down at the table. “Food first, Dad. Russet later.”

“Sure, of course. Sorry. You girls know how it is when I get an idea in my head.” He looked around at us as we each took our seats. His smile was warm and kind, and I remembered many times feeling like my dad’s focus was the same as a sunbeam shining down on you. It was so glorious, so warming when it happened, that you managed to hang on until it happened again, no matter how cold it was in between. “Your mom would be so proud of all of you.” He didn’t mention Mom much, so when he did, we all tuned in. “She had a lot of hopes for you three.”

When he didn’t continue, I watched Ash’s shoulders slump before she forced a smile back onto her face and said, “I think we’ve smelled this food for long enough. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

“Carve it up, Mer,” Willow added.

“Don’t forget to save the wishbone,” Dad added. “Wishes are too important to throw away.”

If only I still believed in them at all.

CHAPTER SIX

Black Friday found me where it always did—helping at Willow’s boutique during the morning rush. Usually I had time to go to breakfast at Angie’s, where I got the Benedict Arnold breakfast—add avocado, thank you—and sipped hot cocoa while pepping myself up for the onslaught of cheery shoppers in a tiny space. Today, however, I’d overslept, thanks to Ash and Jake challenging me to a game of Monopoly after we’d returned from Thanksgiving dinner.

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