Page 6 of Single All the Way

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Thanksgiving prep,” he said with a noticeable amount of enthusiasm in his tone.

“At midnight? Four days out? I thought you went to bed.”

“I realized I forgot to take the bird out of the freezer. I bought a big one this year since you three will be here. It needs to thaw.”

There was indeed a frozen turkey taking up two-thirds of the generous farmhouse sink.

“I’m sorry to butt in on your family’s holiday.”

If we had any other options, I’d make alternate plans. I’d considered taking the kids to a restaurant, but I knew Ben well enough to understand that would never fly. He’d be hurt or offended, and that was the last thing I wanted. I had my tribe of girlfriends in town, but they had their families or other plans I didn’t want to shoe-horn my kids into.

“Emerson,” he said sternly. “Stop it. You and your kids are like family. And you’re living here. We’re looking forward to having you with us.”

He returned to doing something at the counter with his back to me, as if the case was closed, and I supposed it was.

“I’m not really a holiday person, I guess,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “What are you doing now?”

I went to the cupboard he’d shown me earlier for my tea storage and took out the box of lavender and chamomile, then tried to remember where the mugs were.

Ben pointed to the mug cabinet. “Cubing the bread and setting it out to dry for stuffing.”

“You make it from scratch?”

“I do. I go all out with Thanksgiving dinner. It’ll be even more fun with more people to feed this year.”

“Want some?” I held up a second mug.

“I’ll try it,” he said, his attention on the bread.

It occurred to me I should offer to help with the meal. Not tonight, but on Thursday. Wednesday? Whenever he’d be doing the work. I didn’t know because Kizzy and I had kept it simple every year since it was only the four of us and sometimes one or both of her other sons. Precooked ham, side dishes from the Country Market, pies from Sugar.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked as I put the mugs in the microwave and started it.

“Turkey with stuffing, green-bean casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, corn casserole, pie… What else would you like? Am I missing any favorites?”

“You’re going to make all that?”

“I can alter the menu if you guys have any traditions or there’s something the kids are used to.”

I stood there with my mouth gaping open for a few seconds as I tried to comprehend the trouble he was going to for one meal that would be devoured in less than an hour. I sensed him switching his gaze from the bread to me, waiting for an answer.

“We don’t have any traditions,” I said. In truth, I’d never had a big, homemade feast for Thanksgiving in my life.

“What kind of pie do you like?”

With a chuckle, I said, “I like all the pie. Not picky.”

“What’s your favorite though? Pumpkin? Apple?”

“French silk. Chocolate pecan. Oreo.”

He laughed. “Still with the chocolate after all these years, huh?”

I gave him a scandalized look. “That’s not something a girl grows out of.”

“I remember you brought a candy bar with you to biology lab nearly every day.”

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