Fern and Dave's First Thanksgiving

When Dave’s mother called with her invitation for Thanksgiving, he turned her down flat. “No way am I taking Grace on a plane. She hates flying.” 

“Imogen’s parents aren’t your family.” His mother didn’t think it was appropriate for him to hang around his late wife’s mom, dad, and brother. 

He could have argued that his brother-in-law, Isaac, who had been his friend before he even met Imogen, was legitimately someone he could spend a holiday with, but he didn’t, because he wasn’t going there for Thanksgiving either.  

“I’m still not ready,” he told Isaac when he brought it up for the fourth time on a weekend bike ride.

“We all miss her,” Isaac said. “We can remember her together.” 

“I mean it,” Dave warned. “Don’t bring it up again.” 

“Well, what are you going to do then?” 

“I’ll figure it out.”

The day arrived, and with Grace plopped down in front of the TV watching cartoons, Dave was elbow-deep in a turkey, pulling out giblets. Was it ridiculous to cook a twenty-pound turkey for one toddler and one adult? Absolutely. But he was going to do Thanksgiving on his own, and he was going to do it right. 

When Grace took a nap in the early afternoon, though, he started to feel the weight of his decision. Two years ago, with a beautiful wife and a nine-month-old baby in residence, this house had been full of joy. There had been guests, too, since Imogen insisted on hosting everyone. The beginning of a tradition, she had called it. Now, with at least an hour left until the turkey was done, he found he didn’t know what to do with himself in this empty house devoid of cheerful chatter. There should be people around on Thanksgiving. 

The knock at the door came as a pleasant surprise and a welcome distraction. He didn’t care who it was. Even a policeman would be good for a few minutes’ conversation.

When he opened the door, the lopsided pie caught his eye before he even registered who was holding it. He hated when the neighbors pitied him and brought him food. He had lost his wife, not his kitchen. But this wasn’t any old neighbor. This was Fern from next door. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “I know this is random, but my mom has the flu, and my sister is a nurse and she’s working, so my plans got canceled. I figure kids like apple pie, and you probably like apple pie, and I made this…” She held up the dish with the uneven dessert in it. “I thought we could share?”

Dave didn’t know how she did it, but he had known this woman for only a couple of months, and she kept finding ways to save him. “We are big pie people here,” he said, opening the door to welcome Fern inside. “What are your thoughts on turkey?” 

“It smells great.” Fern took off her coat and hung it on the rack just inside the door. “Are you expecting your family?” 

Dave shook his head. “Nope. I wasn’t feeling the family thing this year.” 

“But you cooked a whole turkey.” Fern laughed, but it was clear that she wasn’t being cruel. 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. But seriously, stay if you like. You make better conversation than a toddler.”

“Is that a compliment?” Fern laughed, and Dave smacked her lightly on the arm. 

“You know what I meant,” he said.  

Dave led the way to the kitchen, and they sat at the table across from the oven, so Dave could watch the timer. The numbers that had seemed to move so slowly all day ticked down with surprising speed as he and Fern chatted. Talking with Fern was always easy, as though they were perpetually in conversation, picking up where they left off each time without even thinking about it. It was such a relief to talk to someone who hadn’t known him when he was married, who could see him as something more than Poor Dave the Widower. 

When the turkey was done, Dave pulled it from the oven, and Fern, after hunting through several cabinets, found the plates and glasses and set the table in the dining room. 

“Shall I get Gracie?” Fern asked, and Dave was struck by how nice it was to be part of a team again, if only for an afternoon. Fern had babysat for Grace a couple weeks ago, but that was different. Now she was looking after him, and there was no way she could possibly know how much he needed that. 

“Sure,” he said. 

While she was down the hall, Dave wrestled the turkey onto a platter and mixed corn starch into the drippings to make gravy. When Fern and Grace approached the table hand-in-hand, Dave couldn’t help but grin. 

This wasn’t a house full of people. This wasn’t his life two years ago, before he knew the pain of loss. This probably wasn’t even the start of a new tradition. It was a too-large turkey and a poorly-shaped pie, one sleepy toddler, and two adults with nowhere else to be. But when Dave looked across the table at Fern, he knew he had something to be thankful for, and that he’d never forget the first hint of holiday happiness he’d experienced this side of grief.