Page 25 of A World Without You
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FOR THE NEXT HOUR,we catch up with the Hollands. The twins finally coax Bennett’s daughter, Josie, outside to play catch in the frigid and frosty grass of late November. Clint slices the brisket, Dad carves the turkey, while Shannon, Mom, Mel, and I unveil each warmed-up side dish.
I breathe deep, letting the aroma fill my lungs.
I loved my holidays with Graham—don’t get me wrong. His Grandma Mary can cook like no one I’ve ever known. But I missed Dad’s rolls and Mom’s yams—she’s the only one who adds the perfect amount of cinnamon and brown sugar. Not to mention the weird pearl onions in cheese sauce that are always served, but I’m certain no one eats. Those are for Clint—his very own family tradition.It’s not Thanksgiving without them,he always said when we were growing up, and yet he barely touches them, and the majority are sent home in Tupperware at the end of the evening to be thrown out the following week.
When we sit to eat, Mom makes us all say what we’re thankful for.
Most everyone says family. Josie says her Barbie doll she got last week. Matty says the Seahawks. Mason says Spiderman. But when the circle hits me, I’m struck by an ominous pause as if they’re all waiting on pins and needles because a poor girl like me couldn’t have anything to be thankful for.
“This,” I say. “This right here at the table. And all of you who’ve loved me for my whole life.”
I don’t cry—thank Jesus. But Mom does.
Then Clint shouts, “God is good!” and Dad quickly says grace, and we eat way too much food until it’s time for pie and games.
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MELANIE AND BRIAN DON’Tmake it past seven—early bedtimes in their house with the three-year-old twins—and after they say goodbye, Bennett sends Josie to change into her PJs in the bathroom while he plays one more round of Exploding Kittens with us.
“Important question,” Clint says, scratching the side of his head. “Best Christmas movie...ever.”
“Best or favorite?” I ask. “There is a difference.”
“Smart girl,” Clint says, pointing at me with spiked apple cider in hand. “Favorite.”
“White Christmas,” Mom says quickly.
“DefinitelyNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” I answer.
“No,A Christmas Storyis hands-down the best one!” Dad says.
Shannon rolls her eyes. “Not as good asChristmas With The Kranks.”
The crowd collectively silences with our jaws on the table, staring at her in horror.
“What? Tim Allen is hilarious,” Shannon adds with a helpless shrug.
“He is, so how dare you sayChristmas With The Krankswhen there isThe Santa Clause 1, 2, and3,” I almost gasp out the words.
“I like what I like,” she says with a shrug, pursing her lips.
“I’m so ashamed,” I tease, shaking my head.
“Hey, let her have her opinion,” Bennett defends his mother, then murmurs, “Even if it’s wrong.”
“What’s your favorite?The Santa Clause?” I ask, glancing at him from across the table.
“Miracle on 34thStreet,” he corrects, and I raise my eyebrows.
“The classic or the 90s version?” Dad asks.
“90s,” he answers quickly, and Dad and Clint pretend to stab themselves in the heart with their fists.
“Who raised you?” Clint asks.
Bennett shrugs with a sheepish, playful smile. “Susan Walker is the shit.”
