Count to Ten

When Tom sat down for Thanksgiving dinner with his mom, he knew it was going to be a long meal. For the past three years, he had always managed to find an excuse not to come. This year, however, he had messed up by one: teaching his mom how to use Facebook when she had pestered him about it, and two: by posting

how excited he was for the long Thanksgiving weekend and how he had zero plans.

"That's great to hear, sweetie! Can't wait to see you for Thanksgiving dinner!" his mom had commented, with lots of heart emoticons at the end.

   He had shown up later in the evening since he couldn't stand the thought of having to prepare Thanksgiving dinner with her since this would be their first Thanksgiving since the burnt turkey incident two years ago. He used getting stuck in traffic and forgetting his wallet at home as his excuse, and since Tom lived an hour away, it was a feasible excuse.

"How are things at work, Tom?" 

Tom rolled his eyes. "They're fine, Mom. I guess," said Tom, shoveling some of the slices of white turkey meat onto his plate.

"Aren't you going to help yourself to some green beans?" said Mary, nudging the steaming bowl of green beans towards him.

A long exasperated sigh escaped from Tom as he threw his head back, resting it on the back of his chair. "I don't want to eat any freaking vegetables. I already ate vegetables today."

"When?" she said.

Picking up his knife and fork, Tom stuffed turkey into his mouth, avoiding eye contact before giving an exaggerated shrug. "I dhunno, ghud. At lwunch owh whatever."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," said Mary.

Tom sighed. "I'm sorry, god damn."

"Language."

"I'm friggin' forty-two years old. Why can't I frickin' swear?"

"It's impolite."

"Oh my god."

"Do you want dessert or not?" said Mary.

"Yeah, I do."

"Then eat more green beans and behave yourself."

Snatching the bowl from his mom, Tom piled more green beans onto his plate, scowling. He played with the green beans on his plate, rolling them around, and when he got bored of that, smooshed down his mashed potatoes.

Mary sighed. "I take it work has been stressful. Though I wouldn't know since you never call."

"No, Mom. Being an accountant at a cat food company is never stressful. Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "Don't take that tone with me."

Tom looked at the glowing red numbers on the microwave clock. Barely three minutes had passed. "It's fine. I don't really want to talk about it."

Neither of them spoke, the only sound being the silverware that scrapped clanked against the cheap, white, glass Ikea plates. All of the aromas from the warm, steaming food made the air feel stuffy, suffocating. Another look at the clock and only one minute had passed. 6:02.

"How are things going with that girl you're dating?"

"It's fine. I guess."

" Why didn't you bring her to dinner?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"But-"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it. God!"

"I just want to know what's going on."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but you never tell me anything. I mean, I can't even remember the last time we had Thanksgiving-"

"Oh, c'mon. Like you don't remember the last time we had Thanksgiving together. Like anyone could forget

that friggin' shit show."

"I told you no swearing."

"I said friggin'!"

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, a faint murmur escaping from her lips. Tom knew that she was counting to ten, a common thing she did when Tom did something that infuriated her, like the time he broke one of her glass animals. It had been a bear or an elephant or something. He had been ten, so it was hard to remember. But he did remember her slumping down into the leather recliner by the TV, closing her eyes and counting before even saying a word to him. The glow from the TV set had turned the broken shards into tiny stars on the beech floor.

Something about it drove him crazy.  At least his dad had taken him out for ice cream that night to 'give his mother some space.'

Before his mom could finish counting, Tom stood up, his chair scraping across the linoleum floor.

"Whelp, that was a great meal, Mom. Thanks for everything. So glad I came."

His mother, breathing out the last number, turned to him with a look of absolute calm on her face. Her mouth even twitched up to a little half-smile that didn't reach her eyes, that condescending smile triggering more frustrating memories from childhood. "She broke up with you, didn't she?"

Tom scoffed. "No, what, she...no."

She sighed, putting her hand to her chest. "I'm so sorry, Tom." 

"Sorry about what? There's nothing to be sorry about. She didn't, I mean we didn't...ugh, whatever, forget it. Fine, we broke up. Happy?"

"Ah, well, that explains things, doesn't it?"

"Explains what?"

"Why you're acting like such a baby," she said.

Groaning, Tom stood up, grabbed his plate still piled high with green beans now soaked and mixed with gravy, and brought it to the sink. His mom remained silent as he washed the mini Thanksgiving feast down the drain, though Tom knew that

this wouldn't last. He could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she tried to think of a tactful way to get more information out of him.

"So...was it-"

Having washed the last of it down the sink, Tom turned on the garbage disposal, giving himself five more seconds of blissful peace as the loud mechanical whir drowned out his mom's voice. He would have let it go until he was out the front door and safe in his car again if that were remotely possible. Once he switched it off,

he sighed again before facing his mother.

"What was that?"

"I said, was it mutual?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"So it wasn't?"

"Mom," Tom groaned.

"She seemed so sweet from the photos you posted. I wish I had gotten to meet her."

"We only dated for six months."

"Still."

Something in his mom's tone made Tom stop washing dishes. Mary didn't move, choosing instead to stare at her plate, still holding the one scoop of mashed potatoes and slice of dark meat that had been on her plate since the start of the lovely meal they had been sharing.

"I wish you would include me more, but I get it."

"Mom..."

"I'm not as fun and easy to get along with as your dad was."

The sound of a single drop of water escaping from the faucet head and landing in the sink echoed in Tom's ears.

"And after last Thanksgiving-"

"Mom, don't-"

"No, if I hadn't burnt the turkey-"

"That's not-"

"You wouldn't have had your little outburst."

"Mom, no, none of that was your fault. I was...I was just still upset."

"And if your dad had been here, he wouldn't have-"

  "We broke up yesterday, okay?"

"What?"

Tom sighed as he sat next to his mom, still not looking her in the eye as he studied the lattice pattern of the rug that laid under their kitchen table.

"We broke up just yesterday. So, it's still a bit fresh." Tom swallowed a ball of saliva. "And I lost my job a few hours after that, so, yeah, not feeling super great right now. Especially since I broke up with Jenna since she wanted to move to Phoenix because of her job, and the only reason I didn't go with her is that I didn't want to leave my job. And, of course, we had a big fight about it, so yeah. That bridge is burned."

His mom sighed. "And this all happened yesterday?"

"Yeah, and I guess I'm still processing it. It still too fresh. And, well, frig, you know me. I'm not good at dealing with this kind of stuff. You know?"

Getting up from her chair, Mary went to her son and wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay not to feel a hundred percent."

"And with my job, shit, I just don't know what I'm going to do."  Tom gritted his teeth together, swallowing his emotions as he hugged his mom back. They stayed like that until Tom leaned back in his chair, his mother mirroring him. He had a feeling she would have stayed with him like that for as long as he needed.

"I'm going to start putting stuff away," she said, standing up.

"I'll help you," said Tom. Walking past the small island in the middle of the kitchen, Tom opened the cupboard and took out a bunch of different Tupperware containers. His mom brought over the bowl of green beans and the giant platter of turkey over to the island, and together they began the long, arduous task of scooping and putting away the remains of their Thanksgiving meal.

"Sorry," said Tom, as he put the last of the dark meat away.

"For what?"

"For swearing."

Mary shook her head, still smiling to herself.

"And...for the last two Thanksgivings."

"Tom-"

"I was embarrassed about what happened two years ago. Dad had just died, and I just couldn't take it. And last year, I was still embarrassed about it. I thought I could maybe manage this year, but I-"

"It's okay, Tom. You don't need to pretend around me. You should know that."

"I..." Tom closed his eyes, counting to ten as he fought back the sting of tears he felt coming. If his mom noticed, she didn't say anything. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the last of the green beans had been put away, his mom over by the sink washing the bowl.

"Thanks, Mom."

She turned to him, smiling. "How about some pie?"