Page 12 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

“Levi tried to scoop the gravy off his plate and accidentally flicked it at Hazel, but I’ll clean it up,” I answered.

“Thanks, Lizzie. You’re a lifesaver,” my sister-in-law said.

“Aaron, honey, are you carving the turkey?” Mom called out as she brought the bird to the table. Emily followed close behind with the huge platter of stuffing.

“Hey, can you guys make sure you save me some of that stuffing?” I asked as I headed for the living room. “I’ll deal with the kids and then be right over.”

“No problem,” my mom said. “Aaron, you do the honors! Kyle, do you need a refill? Don’t give me that look, Allan. You’ve had enough until after dinner.”

The sounds of pleasant chatter and clinking plates floated from the dining room, but I hurried to deal with the kids. A few cousins’ kids looked happy with their food but needed new drinks, so I refreshed those and then dealt with Hazel’s dress. Levi sat and pushed his food around the plate—he hated gravy, and his plate had been drenched by my mother—so I told him to sit tight and that I’d make him a new one.

Then Zach asked me for another roll, and my cousin’s kid needed a napkin as a matter of emergency, otherwise every piece of furniture in the living room would end up covered in mashed potato and gravy. There were ten kids ranging from five to thirteen and only one of me, so I called out toward the dining room for some help. All I heard was laughter and the sounds of adults enjoying their meal.

“A little help! Emily?”

Utensils clinked on plates. One of my uncles told a joke and the room erupted in laughter. Then the kid with the mashed potato hands made a mad dash for Emily’s prized velvet armchair and I had to catch him around the waist and bring him to the bathroom for a wash.

“There you go,” I told him as I brought him back to the kids’ table. My stomach grumbled. “Everyone good? I’m starving, so I’m going to go get some food.”

“Mom,” Zach said. “I need more gravy.”

“Gravy’s gross,” Levi informed him.

“Gravy’s the best part.”

“Nuh-uh. Potatoes are.”

“No way. Potatoes are nothing without gravy.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Neither do you!”

“Boys,” I cut in. “Everyone has different tastes. I’ll grab you some gravy, Zach. And then Mom needs food.”

I ducked into the dining room and reached over my brother Kyle’s shoulder for a gravy boat. “Just need a bit of this. Hey, save me some of that stuffing! Been looking forward to it all day.”

One of my cousins nodded as she loaded a big serving spoon with a second serving of stuffing. “It’s so good, Lizzie! You’re amazing, as usual.”

“Turkey’s the juiciest it’s been in years,” my father said, lifting his glass toward me. The bird’s decimated carcass sat like a centerpiece in the middle of the table. “We couldn’t do it without you.”

“The kids okay?” Emily asked.

“They’re fine. A little low on gravy. I’ll be right back.” I darted back to top up Zach’s plate, refilled two glasses of milk and three of water, cleaned up a minor spill near the five-year-old, then took a deep breath, washed my hands, and brought the gravy back to the adult table.

And my eyes landed on the empty stuffing dish.

I froze, standing in no man’s land, staring at the plate that had been scraped clean. It was so silly that my eyes watered. After everything I’d been through, how could something like stuffing make me cry? I knew it was just food, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter.

But the feeling that came over me was exactly the same one I’d had at Isaac's place on the weekend. I felt so invisible, so trampled over, sotired.

I’d asked for one thing.Onething. I’d taken care of everyone’s kids, cooked everyone’s meals, and no one had the decency to save me even a tiny spoonful of stuffing.

But if I cried about it, it would be exactly like announcing that I was divorcing my husband of six years. I was the unreasonable one. I was overreacting. I was ruining everyone’sholiday for the sake of a side dish, just like I’d ruined my marriage and my kids’ lives for the sake of my own pride.

Blinking, I forced my lips into a smile and put the gravy back on the table, then sat between one of my aunts and cousins at the far corner of the table. The table leg was in my way, but at least I’d get to eat, finally. It didn’t matter that I didn’t get the stuffing I’d been salivating over all day. It really, really didn’t matter. It was just food.

And not one single person at this table had thought of me.

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