breathing in the smells of Sandi's cooking. It had always been like this. She moved around the small kitchen like she moved in her own skin. The gray hair dusting her temples was the only marker of passing time.
I watched Sandi sprinkle flour into the bubbling gravy and stir it with a large spoon.
She turned to face me. “I'm glad you came, we're all glad you came. It's important to be with family for Thanksgiving.”
“I should drive out to visit more often…” My half-promise sounded weak as soon as the words crossed my lips.
Josh and I had only moved sixty miles away, but somehow the time just flew by. Sandi's house was a safe haven, my surrogate family. I almost forgot how much I'd missed them.
Her smile told me she understood.
In the early years, I knew I served as a walking cautionary tale for her daughters. They had the chance to observe the trials of a young woman who was living outside of their Mormon lifestyle. Way outside. But it didn't bother me because Sandi treated Josh with the same love that she showed for her own children. After time, the distinct lines of our differences faded. Sandi became a mentor, a mother, and a friend.
Her daughters, now with families of their own, moved between the hot stove and the dining area, setting the long table, and tending to their spouses and gurgling babies.
Josh sat on the carpet and set up a block tower with three-year-old, Shay. “Is she my niece or am I her nephew?” he asked.
“You're her uncle,” Tina, Sandi's eldest daughter said.
“I can't believe I'm an uncle three times already.” Josh watched the two babies crawl across the carpet.
I sat quietly and soaked it all in. I wanted this. Kevin and I could've had this.
We sat down as a family to a hand-passed parade of All-American tastes. The conversation buzzed around me like the hum of a favorite song. I felt so close to everyone and yet so far away.
The tangible love in the room left me feeling more alone than ever.
envy pie
Crust :
1 box pre-made pale green covetous dough
Filling :
3 cups pre-soured craving berries
1 cup pre-sifted jealousy
2 tbsp. pre-softened longing
Mix jealousy and longing by hand until thick, hard lump forms in your throat. Slowly crush craving berries into mound of narcissistic pulp.
Roll pastry dough until emotionally flat, press firmly into pan pre-greased with unfulfilled dreams. Pinch edges.
Dump filling like a rejected girlfriend into unprepared crust.
Burn at an insanely high temperature. Prick center with something sharp to determine level of lingering hunger.
Serve alone.
Yield: Intense yearning.
Unlimited servings.
Nutritional Value: None.
Guaranteed 2 lb. weight loss.
five hours in purgatory
Monday, November 26
“I'm coming by to pick up the last of my clothes, the golf pictures in the living room, and a few things from the garage. Are you going to be around?”
Absently, I wrapped the phone cord around my index finger until it turned magenta. I hadn't seen him in over a month. “I'll be here,” I said quietly as my stomach twisted and bucked.
“I was hoping maybe you could be somewhere else while I'm there. It would be easier for me,” Kevin said.
Fuck easier. What part of this is supposed to be easy for me?
I should have said it, but “Okay” came out of my mouth instead. I think I meant: “Okay, I understand it will be easier for you.” But it really didn't matter because I had no intention of going anywhere. I hoped that maybe if Kevin saw me again, he'd change his mind.
“I'll be leaving here in about ten minutes,” he said before hanging up.
As soon as the handset hit the cradle, I ran to the closet and scanned the racks. I wanted to look good, but didn't want to look like I was trying too hard. That would be too humiliating.
I changed outfits five times, finally deciding on something that was simple and casual. I surveyed my reflection in the mirror: a pair of relaxed-fit Calvin Klein jeans that showed I'd already lost
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