Thanksgiving is already an issue.
Mom called. “We don’t know what to do for Thanksgiving. Your father says Sam can’t make it. One of your sisters work. My house is a mess from the Christmas thing we had at our stake. They came to our house. It was great. You should have been there.” And I went numb and didn’t hear the rest of Mom’s conversation. “Sarah, did you hear me?”
“What?” My voice felt too soft as I scanned our small home.
“You’ve always wanted Thanksgiving at your house.” Mom said. “So, it worked out. This year…we are all coming to your house.”
I don’t remember what she said. I don’t even remember ending the phone. S.M. picked it up off the floor when he shuffled in from work hours later. How did I get to the couch?
He handed me the phone and kissed me. “You okay?”
“Thanksgiving.” I squeaked, “It’s at our house this year.”
“And my parents are coming up the next day as we already talked about so we’re having TWO thanksgivings?” S.M. looked shell shocked, too.
Be careful what you wish for, I once heard someone say.
Cue the funeral dongs…