It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the first day of break. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, every year we switch from my grandparents’ house, to my aunt’s house, to my aunt’s house on my mom’s side of the family, to my grandparents’ on my mom’s side of the family, and this year, it’s at our house. I’m super excited because it means I finally get to try out all my Alton Brown recipes.
I brine the turkey overnight, and stuff it with an apple, an onion, some cinnamon, rosemary and sage. I make the mashed potatoes and, although I intend to attempt gravy with the turkey drippings, I make some of the packaged stuff for backup. I boil several ears of corn, we use a canned cranberry sauce because I’ve always though it tastes better than the homemade stuff. I also make the stuffing, two pumpkin pies, and a fruit salad.
Mom makes the deviled eggs because nobody can make deviled eggs like my mother, she also makes a chocolate and a banana cream pie. Dad smokes a ham, this is a tradition he’s carried on from his father, and our family has not, not had a smoked ham in forty years. It may very well be my favorite part of Thanksgiving, every hour he brushes more sugary, salty sauce on it making the skin sticky and crispy and delicious.
We started all this cooking on Tuesday when I got home from school, it continued all day Wednesday, and will continue all day Thursday until we start to eat.
Early Thanksgiving day, the family starts to show up, including my aunt Margie, my uncle Greg and their hellish children, Monty and Corey. Monty is thirteen, Corey eleven, and I have never met two children as terrible as they.
“You know, cooking makes you a tranny.” Monty tells me as I baste the turkey. “Because only women cook.”
“Yeah.” Corey says, because he thinks his sole purpose in life is to support everything Monty says.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, closing the oven and starting to chop up some apples for the fruit salad.
Monty shrugs. “Shouldn’t your mom be cooking?”
“Chefs make a lot of money.” I say.
Corey looks to Monty in confusion. “Nuh-uh.” Monty says.
I roll my eyes and throw the cubed apples into a bowl, followed by peaches I already cut up and some purple grapes. Then I walk to my stereo, where the Sum 41 album has ended. I put in System of a Down and crank it up to drown out the little twerps.
As is most of their music, the song playing is rather vulgar and at the slightest mention of cursing, the boys go running. I roll my eyes and groan. After a few minutes Mom and Margie come inside. Margie has her lips pursed and her eyebrows knitted together, an expression that is supposed to be disapproval, but instead turns her entire face into a butthole.
“Monty told me you’re listening to inappropriate music.” She says. It just so happens that “Needles” is playing, and he’s screaming about pulling tapeworms out of his ass. Margie shakes her head.
“Leo, please play something else.” Mom begs, and I know she hates Margie as much as I do but Dad loves her to death so she gets a pass. I take out System of a Down and play Bowling for Soup, which makes plenty of adult jokes with less vulgarity. Or at least less that they’d understand.
The boys get bored of my nonchalant-ness and leave me alone. As the turkey is finishing in the oven the last of the family shows up. All in all, there are around thirty people here. I know very few of them but I do know Nick. He’s a couple of years older than me but we’ve always been pretty similar. Too similar, in fact. We’re both so antisocial we never hang out unless we’re forced to at family gatherings.
Dinner is delicious and dessert is even better and, in the end, I’m just glad to see everybody leave and get all the leftovers to myself.
On Friday I tell my mom I’m going out to the desert but that's not where I'm headed. I pack some of Dad’s famous smoked ham and Mom’s legendary deviled eggs and some pie and I go to Benjamin’s. I drive over feeling super self-conscious, I feel sort of like I did the first time I went to his house. I don’t usually just show up unannounced and never with food.
I’d asked him on Tuesday what he was doing for Thanksgiving.
“Going to Fresno?” I’d asked.
“Nope, usually we stay in Tennessee and go to my grandparents’ but it’s just going to be us this year.” He told me.
“Didn’t you say you had family in Fresno?”
“Yeah, my on my mom’s side.” He said. “We don’t go up there often, they don’t really like Dad.”
“Why not?” I was surprised when he said that. I thought his dad was pretty great.
“Well, they think he ruined Mom’s life. When she got pregnant it was him who insisted they keep me. They think that Mom should’ve gotten an abortion, or at least given me up for adoption, so she could go to college and live her life.” He looked a little sad when he said that. “So, they don’t really like me either. It’s crazy to me because she went to college anyways and lived her life the way she always wanted to.”
That’s why I’m going over there now, since they’re in town I thought I’d give them some company. Bring them some food, even though I’m sure they have plenty. Oscar is an incredible cook and I am absolutely certain he went all out and made way too much for the three of them to eat in one night.
I knock on their door and wait, feeling so awkward on their front step with the Tupperware. “Hi, Leo, what’s this?”
Oscar opens the door and sees the food. “Uh, hey. It’s smoked ham and pie.” And eggs, but that felt like a mouthful.
“Thank you!” And he looks so happy, like he always does. I wonder what it feels like to be that happy all the time. It’s probably exhausting. I also wonder how anyone could hate him. “Come on in, did your parents tell you to bring this.” He winks at me. I just laugh and nod my head.
I follow him into the kitchen where Kelly and Benjamin are playing dice. “Hello Leo.” She says as I walk in.
“Sup.” Benjamin says, rolling the dice.
I nod my hellos. “Leo brought food!” Oscar says with child-like giddy.
Once Kelly destroys Benjamin in their first game of Ten Thousand, Oscar and I join in. After we play a couple games—Kelly winning the first, Oscar the second—we eat lunch. They love Dad’s ham and Mom’s deviled eggs, and their turkey and mashed potatoes are incredible. “What did you put in the turkey?” I ask because I’ve never tasted a bird like this.
“Well,” Oscar says, “I’ve always believed the best turkey is a simple one. I just used a couple of lemons and lots of butter. No brine necessary, it creates a false juice rather than a natural one.”
Color me impressed, I always feel the need to make things complicated. After lunch Benjamin and I go to the reptile room. I decide I want to hold Cooper since I’ve gotten used to him. I’m even beginning to enjoy the feeling of his weight on my shoulders.
“What’re your parents like?” Benjamin asks holding Mickey who has calmed down a lot in the past couple of months.
I shrug. “They’re normal I guess, nothing like your parents.”
He doesn’t say anything and he looks dejected. “What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I don’t really want to know.
“You’re over here all the time but I’ve never even been inside your house.”
“So?”
“Is there a reason?” I shrug, he pouts. He’s such a girl. “Am I weird or something?”
I start to laugh but stop once I realize he’s serious. “No, it’s not because you’re weird, Benjamin.” I’m not sure how honest I can be right now, it’s easier in the desert. In my space.
“Why not, then?” He’s starting to sound pissy.
“I don’t always like being at my house. I’d rather not spend my time there.” I do like my room, though. But my room is far more personal than the desert, it’s my most important place.
Benjamin’s face changes. “Oh. Are your parents. . . bad?”
Are my parents bad? What kind of a question is that? “No?” I say, not sure how else to respond.
“Why don’t you like spending time at your own house?”
I shrug. I like being there sometimes, but most of the time it feels like everybody’s always either in the garage or watching TV, there’s not much for me there. Not that I’m about to tell Benjamin that.
I'm surprised he lets it go, he's generally pretty pushy. Whatever the reason, I'm thankful he did. I hate talking about that shit.
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