stay with me, go places

We were having Thanksgiving dinner. It didn't matter to me that Jake was Welsh and probably couldn't care less about the founding of America. I wasn't even sure I cared all that much, considering how crappy we were to the Native Americans and how much of a farce a lot of that history was. But I needed Thanksgiving. Just like I had gone to that concert on the Fourth of July, for something homey, for something familiar, I needed a Thanksgiving to remind me of who I was. What I had lost but also what I had to be thankful for.

It was really hard to be thankful for anything in this city, considering, but I had tried. I had Jake, I had friends, I had a job. I had a roof over my head and enough money for whatever I wanted (mostly) and my health. I still had memories of home and what it meant to me. I had a lot, all things considered. I was going to take this one day -- okay, maybe a few hours of this day -- to be happy for that.

The only problem was I didn't know how to cook. Mom always managed this kind of stuff and I was regulated to the boring stuff that Lucy wasn't allowed to do because it involved sharp objects. Peeling potatoes, cutting up carrots and onions. I had no idea what even to do with a turkey. So I had cheated and bought a precooked turkey, one of the smaller ones (even though it seemed like no small turkeys existed, did they really evolve to be this fat and covered with feathers?), and then I cheated more by buying the pie, instant potatoes, easy bake biscuits and the kind of stuffing that you only needed to add water to and bake.

I did however make my own green bean casserole. That was way easier than I had expected, so I was proud of my work. After mashing up some cranberry so it wasn't that jelly-can shape, I brought the bowl and myself over to the table.

"Alright, time to say what you're grateful for. Then we can eat."

There were going to be leftovers for days.