Page 13 of A Tinsel Tale

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you more,” he says, like he always does. The sameness is comforting. There’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. I’m so sentimental these days. Everything makes me want to cry. I do know that I will never ghost my father again no matter what. This trip has been revealing. We’re creating new memories and mom is still very much a part of them. She’s everywhere. In fact, I have her handwritten brussels sprout salad recipe out in front of me right now. We’re also making her corn pudding and sweet potato casserole as sides to go with the fresh turkey we bought from the Smith farm down the road.

“Are you nervous about your surgery?” I ask.

“Not so much the surgery itself. I have heard horror stories about the recovery though.”

“You’re a tough old nut,” I tease. “You’ll do fine.”

“I have the advantage of having a drill sergeant for a daughter. I’m sure I’ll be following the doctors’ orders.”

“I’ll take excellent care of you, Pops.”

He chuckles. “No doubt. Evie, you seem lighter this trip. I’m glad you dumped him. You deserve so much better.”

“You and Mom never liked Vance. Why?”

He looked sheepish. “Were we that obvious? We thought we were hiding it.”

“Don’t worry, Vance was clueless. He liked himself enough for everybody.” Dad belts out a laugh.

“I agree,” he says. “In fairness, we didn’t spend a whole lot of time with him. That was part of our gripe. He only visited here… what maybe two times? Then when he couldn’t even make it to your mom’s funeral, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. That showed his true colors.”

“Thank you for never judging me for my lousy choices.”

“We all have to learn on our own. It’d be pretty great if we could learn from others’ mistakes, wouldn’t it?” He turns his head to grin at me.

We continue in companionable silence, prepping what can be done in advance while bebopping to Taylor Swift. My dad is the coolest. I do feel better. Being home is good for me this time. I’m the happiest I’ve been in what feels like forever.

Around four o’clock, I throw more logs onto the fire then light a couple of candles, making sure they’re out of Eloise’s reach. I’ve kid-proofed the best I can. I set a huge Disney gift bag full of goodies from Chicago in front of the coffee table. I added the pig I scored at Barrington’s. This gift bag should keep her occupied for a while.

The dogs make a mad dash to the door before our guests even have time to knock. Their Christmas-bell collars jingle in time with their barking. The thrill of a mad dash to the door is comical. They don’t get much action around here.

I open the door and welcome our guests. “Happy Thanksgiving!” I say. The guard dogs immediately stand down and are now competing for attention from our intruders.

“Mm smells wonderful. I am so hungry,” Dee says. “We skipped a snack this afternoon so we could pig out.”

I take Eloise from Caleb so he can go back to the car and retrieve all the essentials every parent has to lug along. Glancing over at Dee, my jaw drops when she removes her jacket. “Is that a baby bump?” I squeal.

She beams. “Yes. Another girl.”

“Oh my God! Congratulations.” I catch the hint of wistfulness in my tone, and I can tell by Dee’s scrutiny she heard it too.Where is that coming from?That ship has sailed. With my busy schedule I’d never have time for a child, and I wouldn’t want to hire a nanny to raise my little one.

“I’m just glad we hung onto all of Eloise’s clothes. That’s going to save us some cabbage,” Caleb says walking back out for the second load.

“Smart move,” my dad pipes in from the kitchen, where he’s pulling a casserole from the oven.

Caleb returns, setting the booster seat and a diaper bag down, then takes off his coat. I take off Eloise’s coat and shoes and lead her over to the gift bag. I sit on the floor in front of the fireplace and point to the present. “This is for you,” I say.

She claps her hands, blue eyes go wide, sparkling with excitement. “Me?” she squeals in delight.

“Yes, my angel.”

She reaches into the bag and pulls out the pig. “Piggie!”

“Yes, are you going to name her?”

“Taywer,” she says immediately.

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