The Good Life (12 page)

“Emma cooks in here all the time,” said Ann defensively.

“How about with supervision?” asked Eileen, who had walked back to the griddle where she was browning lunch sandwiches.

“Mom would have no more interest in supervising me in the kitchen than she would in eating anything I made,” said Lauren. “She’s much too busy for that.”

“That’s enough, Lauren,” said Ann, moving the pot of soup to the granite countertop to cool.

“You can ask me, then,” said Eileen, flipping four ham and cheese sandwiches on whole wheat, revealing perfectly toasted undersides. “Anytime you want to cook something, find me and I’ll do it with you. I love to cook.”

“Thanks, Gran,” said Lauren.

“Is anyone hungry?” asked Eileen, looking at her watch.

“I couldn’t eat a thing,” said Ann, hand to her stomach. “We’ve been looking at food all morning.”

“I am,” said Lauren.

“Good,” said Eileen. “Put a coat on and find your father. He said something about chopping wood. And then stop by the guesthouse for Nate and your grandfather. I’m just about done with these sandwiches. I’ll set the table. Ann, will you find the condiments? I think we’ll need ketchup, pickles, and maybe a little mustard. Do you have any potato chips?”

“Chips?” asked Ann, washing her hands. “I haven’t eaten chips since I was eighteen.”

“How about the rest of the family?” asked Eileen, moving the warm sandwiches onto a porcelain serving plate with the others.

Lauren walked to the large cupboard next to the fridge and pulled out a big bag of corn chips. “Will these do?” she asked.

“Where did those come from?” asked Ann.

“Perfect,” said Eileen to Lauren. “Now run along and get those boys.”

Lauren did as she was told; Ann stared, blankly, after her.

“Well,” asked Eileen, putting the platter of sandwiches back into the warm oven, “are you going to get the condiments or not?”

Ann looked at her mother crossly. “I don’t think pickles
are
a condiment.”

“How about just getting them anyway,” said Eileen, putting the chips into a large plastic bowl.

“Coming right up,” said Ann, with false cheerfulness. “But don’t count me in for lunch. If I don’t get some exercise, I’m going to explode.”

“I would imagine,” said Eileen, her back to her daughter.

Mike, red-cheeked and smelling like the fresh cold air, walked into the kitchen just as Lauren returned from the guesthouse. “They’re on their way,” she said. “Nate said to tell you that Gramps is vertical and moving.”

“Excellent,” said Eileen.

“Something smells good,” said Mike, shedding his barn coat and then rubbing his hands together. “Eating after working outdoors is such a treat.”

“That’s what Sam and his boys used to tell me,” said Eileen. “You should have seen the lunches they put away after a hard morning’s work.”

“Where’s my lovely wife?”

“Exercising,” said Eileen, taking plates down from the cupboard.

“Well, good for her,” said Mike, taking the plates from his mother-in-law and setting them down on the table.

Nate opened the back door and walked in, followed by Sam. “What kind of restaurant is this?” asked Sam, looking around. “I hope it’s casual.”

“Very casual,” said Nate, helping his grandfather take off his coat. “You’ll be happy to know, Gran, that I’m actually hungry.”

“I’m glad,” she said, retrieving the platter from the oven and setting it down on a pot holder at the center of the table. “Everyone please sit.”

Sam took a sandwich from the platter and moved it directly to his mouth. After he had taken too big a bite, he said, “Where’s that woman?”

“Exercising,” said Eileen, grabbing a stack of napkins from the holder next to the fridge before sitting down.

“No surprise there,” said Nate. “She’ll have to get a couple of hours in if she’s even going to
look
at Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Is that much exercise good for you?” asked Eileen, passing the chips to Nate.

“No,” said Lauren, “but it’s essential if you want to remain a size two.”

“What’s a size two?” asked Eileen, just before she took a bite of a sandwich.

“Think thin and then cut that in half,” said Nate. “It’s a prerequisite for rich, attractive women.” Mike smiled.

“You know, it used to be just the opposite,” said Eileen, squirting mustard onto her plate. “If you were prosperous, you showed it by your girth. Wealthy women were rotund.”

“No kidding?” asked Lauren, taking another half sandwich.

“No kidding,” said Eileen.

“I would love to have lived back then,” said Lauren. “I get so tired of watching my weight.”

“That’s because it only goes up,” said Nate, chewing.

“Very funny, jerk,” said Lauren, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a sandwich like this,” said Mike, putting more chips on his plate.

“What do you normally eat for lunch on the weekends?” asked Eileen.

“Whatever we feel like,” said Nate. “We grab a menu and order in. Just about everyone in town delivers.”

“I don’t know if anyone delivers grilled ham and cheese,” said Mike, who usually stopped at a deli when he was running errands.

“Anytime you want a homemade sandwich, just ask me,” said Eileen.

After he had eaten another half sandwich and handful of chips, Mike stood, thanked Eileen, and then put his coat back on and walked out the door. Next, Nate stood and announced he needed a shower. Lauren took the lunch dishes to the sink, and then headed into the dining room to set the table as promised. And Eileen was left alone with her husband and the glob of ketchup on his pajama top.

Dressed in casual but clean clothes, everyone gathered in the living room at four o’clock for a cocktail. The wood Mike had chopped was blazing in the fireplace, and a silver platter of Ritz crackers topped with liver pâté and corn relish sat on the coffee table—an hors d’oeuvre Ann remembered having at her grandmother’s house on Thanksgiving. When everyone had a drink, Sam stood and lifted his glass. “I’d like to say something,” he said. Everyone looked at him, fooled for a moment by his thick white hair wet-combed into place and his flannel shirt ironed and tucked into pressed khakis. “The vote was unanimous. I was elected the new chairman of the board,” he said, a humble smile momentarily lifting his lifeless cheeks.

“Hear, hear,” said Eileen, raising her glass in Sam’s direction.

“And to the rest of you,” Sam said to the others. “Watch out, change is coming.”

An hour and two drinks later, Mike ushered the family from the living room to the dining room. They all lingered a moment behind their chairs, giving Eileen a chance to snap Sam’s freshly laundered bib into place. As soon as everyone sat down, Mike popped up, insisting on serving the soup. Protesting, Ann followed him into the kitchen. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she said, closing the swinging door behind her. “If it’s an attempt to humiliate me, it’s uncalled for, Mike.”

“I’m doing it because I want to do it, Ann.”

“You’ve never wanted to serve anyone before. Why start now?”

“Maybe I don’t want my seventy-two-year-old mother-in-law to have to do it,” said Mike, removing the lid from the pot of soup on the stove.

“Oh, here we go,” said Ann, holding on to the edge of the counter. “Now we’re getting at it.”

“Getting at what?” asked Mike, looking at his wife.

“The fact that she does everything and I do nothing,” said Ann, tipping the last of her fourth champagne into her mouth.

“Did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to,” said Ann.

Mike took the empty glass from Ann’s hand. “Enough,” he said.

“Are you cutting me off? In my own house on Thanksgiving?”

“Let’s not make this about you,” said Mike, setting the glass down on the island. “We’ve had a wonderful day. Four people we love dearly are in our dining room waiting for a meal. Let’s focus on that.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Ann.

“You will be,” said Mike. “This looks and smells delicious. Here, you can help me. The bowls are next to the pot; do you want to ladle the soup or bring the filled bowls to the table?”

Ann narrowed her eyes at her husband. Still sullen, she said, “I’ll ladle.”

Soup in front of everyone, Mike and Ann sat down. Mike suggested they all hold hands for the blessing. Nate made a face at his father before slowly reaching out to his mother and grandmother. Lauren held her father’s hand firmly and her grandfather’s hand gently. “Thank You, Lord,” began Mike, “for this wonderful, homemade meal. Thank You for the hands that prepared it and for the mouths that will enjoy it. Help us to remember how very fortunate we are, and that the less fortunate need our help.” Ann looked up at her husband. “And help us to be truly thankful,” added Mike, looking at Ann, “for our special guests this Thanksgiving. Help us to welcome them into our hearts as well as our home. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Eileen aloud. “Thank you, Mike. That was lovely.”

“And thank you, Eileen,” said Mike, “for preparing our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Ann and Lauren,” Eileen said.

“And thank you as well, Lauren and Ann.”

Ann tasted her soup; it was warm and buttery, with satisfying texture. The nutmeg and cinnamon subtly presented themselves mid-tongue and lingered, and a quick bite of pepper hit the back of her throat as she swallowed. The soup at the country club wasn’t this good.

“Unbelievable,” said Mike after his first spoonful.

“Ann made it,” said Gran, smiling at her daughter.

“This is really good, Mom,” said Lauren. “You should cook for us more often.”

Ann smiled at her daughter. “That’s why we have Emma.”

“Without Emma,” said Nate between bites, “we’d starve.”

“Your mother’s a wonderful cook,” said Eileen to Nate. “She’s just out of practice.”

“Yeah, she’d get cut from JV at this point,” said Nate. Lauren laughed.

“That’s enough, Nate,” said Mike.

Ann stood, laid her napkin on the table, and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Mike told everyone to continue eating and then followed Ann. He found her leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ve had enough,” said Ann. “I’ve had enough of the graces filled with innuendoes. I’ve had enough of the cracks about my cooking, and I’ve had enough of the adulation for my mother, who’s put on no less than forty Thanksgiving dinners in her life. It’s not a huge deal, for God’s sake.”

“Let it go, Ann,” said Mike. “We’re in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and you’re in here moping because you’re not getting the kind of attention you want.”

“That’s not true,” said Ann.

“It is true,” said Mike, putting his hands on his wife’s tiny shoulders. “You have to put your needs aside today and focus on your parents, your mother in particular. She needs all the praise we can give her. Do you think your dad’s been thanking her for taking care of him? I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get an idea of how difficult her life has been—and continues to be. I know it’s hard on you, but think about how hard this has been on her.” Ann looked at the floor. “Take a good look at your father, Ann,” said Mike. “Does he look anything like the man you grew up with? Does he look anything like the man your mother married?”

“No,” said Ann quietly.

“Okay, then,” said Mike, “can we just move on for now? I know you have issues and we can discuss them later.”

“It’s always later, Mike,” said Ann. “You spend more time with your computer than you do with any of us. Maybe if you gave us more attention, we wouldn’t have issues.”

Mike ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think we want to have this discussion now. Let’s go back with the others and eat our dinner.”

“Fine,” said Ann, walking past Mike toward the dining room.

“Is everything all right?” asked Eileen when Ann stepped into the room.

“Yes,” said Ann. “I just have a bit of a headache.”

“Well, no wonder,” said Eileen. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“And I’m about to change that now, aren’t I?” asked Ann, sitting down and putting her napkin back in her lap.

“Who’s ready for turkey?” asked Mike, opening the swinging door from the kitchen just wide enough for his head. Like a schoolboy with the answer to a classroom question, Sam raised his hand. “Great,” said Mike. “I’ll carve that good-looking bird. Lauren, will you get everyone some salad while they wait?”

“I’ll do that,” said Eileen, pushing back her chair.

“No, I’ll do it, Gran,” said Lauren, standing. “You sit.”

 

As Mike carved, Lauren spooned the pear, cream cheese, and iceberg lettuce salad onto her mother’s Spode wedding china. She brought the salad plates two at a time into the dining room. When she was done with that, she donned the oven mitts sitting next to the stovetop, took the matching casserole dishes out of the oven, and set them along the top of the granite counter. “Keep the lids on,” said Mike, turning to his daughter, “so your culinary efforts will stay warm until we’re ready to eat.”