No Turkey

“What do you mean, no turkey?” Surely, I had heard wrong. My dad did not just say there would be no turkey for Thanksgiving. 

              “No turkey this year” he repeated.  “Marie wants to cook and I agreed to let her take control of the menu. Jake and Tracey will be here too, and I think it would be a decent gesture to show them some courtesy and flexibility.”

              “Courtesy and flexibility for what?” I wanted to know. Jake and Tracey are my new brother and sister that I didn’t ask for, and I feel that I have already shown enough “courtesy and flexibility” by letting them call us family. Jake lives with his dad two hours away so luckily I don’t have to see him often. Tracey, on the other hand, lives in the same county about 20 minutes away. But, we don’t see much of her either. Tracey likes to pretend she is high class. She’s engaged to a guy that owns a foreign car dealership, so she gets to drive her choice of sports cars and act like she bought them. Insert eye roll here. 

              “They are vegetarians, Em. As in they don’t eat meat?” 

              “I know what a vegetarian is, Dad. What I don’t know is why we can’t have turkey. Can they just not put it on their plate?” Simple. Then everyone is happy, right?

              “Em, listen. Marie wants them to feel comfortable and at home here. We don’t want to offend anyone. 

              “Dad, listen to yourself. I’m offended. Don’t you want me to feel comfortable? Turkey is comfort food.” I know it’s just turkey. I know. But what will it hurt? That’s the only food I request at Thanksgiving. Turkey. Just turkey. And if there is dressing and potatoes then all the better.  Whoa. Hold up. I think I need air. Dressing is made with what? Yep, you guessed it. Chicken broth! I close my eyes and ask the question that correlates with the answer I already know I don’t want. “Um, Dad? Will Marie be making dressing? Does she even know how?” 

              He sighs, and leans forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “She wants to make rice pilaf instead, to go with the main dish. I don’t know what it will be yet, but I’m sure it will be good. Just please, make an effort here.” He pleads to me with his eyes, and I relent. But I’m not happy about it. 

              “Fine.” Knowing it will be useless to argue, I grab by backpack from the barstool and head upstairs to my room.  Some days I want to scream I’m so fed up with all the changes. Marie moved in after the wedding a month ago, and already my life has turned upside down. Dad is trying so hard to make her happy, he has gone along with all of her ridiculous ideas and decisions. Not once has he taken my thoughts and feelings into consideration. The only thing I have control over is my room. Actually, I don’t. As I look around, I see that she has been cleaning and rearranging. This will not do, so I spend the next hour moving everything back the way I had it. Is nothing sacred?

              So about me. I am fifteen, and my parents divorced a few years ago. If I had a choice, I’d probably live with my mom. But I don’t have that choice. She lives three hours away, and is in and out of rehab. It sucks that I can’t just call her up and ask her to come and rescue me from this nonsense. That’s life, I guess. Lemons and lemondade and all that. Dad met Marie last year at the Country Club after a round of golf. He and his buddies were having a beer and she was, you guessed it, the bartender. He must have left a big tip, because it didn’t take her long to get those sharp red claws into him and his wallet.  She latched on like a leech and hasn’t loosened her grip.

              Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a total grinch. Marie is nice enough, and she makes Dad happy. But Thanksgiving is about tradition. At least to me. We have always had turkey and all the trimmings. Dressing, potatoes, greens, pecan pie. I thought about offering to help to, you know, show my effort, but the last time I offered to help her in the kitchen we ended up with new countertops. If you must know, we were trying to make a fourteen-layer chocolate cake and we had some issues with the icing. Once it finally cooled, it took dad and a chisel to get it off of the countertop. Hey, I tried to tell her not pour the boiling concoction into a plastic bowl. 

              After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, I finally fall asleep and wake up to all kinds of banging and clattering in the kitchen. Great. It has begun. I take my time showering and getting dressed, not eager at all to join the festivities. I doubt my ‘siblings’ will be here before lunch. They are way to cool to lift a finger to help. 

              Dad and Marie greet me cheerfully when I enter the kitchen, Marie up to her elbows in some sort of flour mixture and Dad happily chopping vegetables. Against my better judgement I ask how I can help and get assigned the task of setting the table. Thankfully, I know how to properly set a table with fork, spoon, knife, and napkin. Within minutes I have a picture perfect Thanksgiving table all ready for the ‘family’ to appreciate.  A nasally voice draws my attention to the kitchen and I reluctantly go in to greet my stepsister. Tracey is tall and curvy, and looks great in her navy tunic and gray leggings with cute ankle boots that have just the perfect wedge. Her makeup is done to perfection, and today she has chosen to wear fake eyelashes. I sure hope a strong wind is blowing when she goes back outside. Or maybe I do. She might just take flight. She smiles and shows off her big white teeth, but I can tell a fake smile from a mile away. She is about as excited as I am to be here. 

              Before I can criticize her much more, enter Jake. What, no doorbell? They can just walk in at their pleasure now? Jake is also tall, but not curvy, thank goodness. He’s a noodle. Lanky and weak. He is wearing holy jeans and a flannel shirt, with a beanie on his head. He probably won’t take it off and we probably don’t want him to. 

              Somehow, we get through the awkward small talk while Marie finishes up in the kitchen, and make our way to the table.  Surprisingly, no one objects when Dad says grace, everyone but me eagerly reaches for various spoons and tongs to serve themselves. I do my best to keep my eyes dry. This is when Dad should be carving the beloved turkey. But I say nothing and follow suit. Chatter and the noise of silverware clinking on plates are like sandpaper on my ears until Marie asks for everyone’s attention. Great. Whatever it is, I’m sure I don’t want to hear it. 

              “I’m so happy that we are all here together for our first Thanksgiving. This past year has been full of changes and adjustments.” She looks at me and smiles. Don’t smile at me. It’s all been good for you. “Emma, I want to thank you most of all.” What? “Your world has been turned upside down. And you have been gracious enough to suffer through this vegetarian meal and experience what is important to Jake and Tracey. I know it was hard for you to give up your tradition and it was unfair to expect that of you.” What is going on here? Am I dreaming?”   “So at Christmas we will have a traditional meal, with ham or turkey. Whichever you choose. We will also have vegetarian options for Jake and Tracey.” 

              Glancing from Marie to Dad and back again, I am speechless. “I thought you didn’t care what I wanted,” was all I could choke out. 

              “Of course she cares, silly.” Jake this time. “And so do we. We’re not offended by meat. You can eat all you want.”

              “That’s right, Emma. Marcus eats meat and it doesn’t bother me in the least,” she says of her boyfriend. “In fact, he’ll be here shortly and he’s gonna be devastated that there isn’t any turkey.” Laughter erupted all around the table. Except from me. I am still in shock.

              “Wow. Okay. That’s cool.” I’m not sure what has just happened but I begin to rethink my attitude of late. I push my “dressing” around my plate with my fork and finally just decide to go for it. I take a deep breath and put the lump of brown in my mouth. And the eruption of flavor that explodes in my mouth is absolutely...delicious.