"Fuck Thanksgiving," A head of blond hair was pushed behind ears red from the irritation of putting her heart and soul into an inedible meal.
The charred turkey mocked her as it marked her incompetence in the kitchen and the only person she had to blame for this was Lettie Mae Thornton. The woman practically taunted her questioning her prowess in a kitchen. Alone in a room she could ignore, Tara's presence it was still forgivable, but in front of several other family members after the early morning service at Lettie Mae's church—it couldn't be ignored. She and Tara occasionally attended the services.
The older woman always found a way to comment about Tara's weight skirting around her eating habits only to send a sly look her way as if Pam's thin frame was somehow a bad influence on her daughter. When in actuality Tara was a health nut when they began dating and exercised religiously. However, it seemed a theme with Tara's mother that everything about her daughter suddenly became the unscrupulous influence of her white partner. She didn't want to bring race into it, but it was there haunting every step her pale feet took in her Prada heels. In Pam's defense she hadn't jumped immediately on the race bandwagon. At first she assumed it was because of her daughter's relationship with a woman until very recently she began inviting a certain African American nurse over for Sunday dinner. The nurse happened to be a friend of a friend's niece who also liked women and who Pam had a sneaking suspicion had Lettie Mae's blessing to do whatever was necessary to steal Tara away from Pam.
Glaring at the clock in her black dress and blue apron dinner was scheduled to begin at three. There was no way she could get another turkey done on time and still salvage the rest of the meal she feared she may have ruined as well. She hated to cook. And yet here she was slaving away to prove to an old woman that she deserved her daughter—when the only woman whose confirmation she really needed shared her bed and loved her despite her faults.
She heard the front door open and the casual steps of her guest and for him alone she reiterated her first statement, "fuck Thanksgiving."
"Well that ain't no way to be talking on gobble gobble day," Lafayette climbed the two steps into the kitchen, "damn what you do to that bird?"
Sagging shoulders may have belied defeat though her eyes held determination, "I ruined it," she waved her hand as if he couldn't see it for himself, "that's why you're here."
"Oh no honey," he shook his head circling the pathetic bird sitting on the island in a gray pan, "I've worked miracles in the kitchen before. But not even my culinary powers can bring this thing back to life."
"I meant," she began collecting her temper, "are you still friends with that chef?"
Brown eyes glued to her with a look of recognition as he retrieved his phone from his pocket. Sliding his fingers on his touch screen he finally found Jesus' number then called it. He walked away, but Pam heard the majority of the conversation glad she didn't have the other side of the conversation to put a few questionable comments in context. Out of all the family members that supported their relationship Lafayette's support was palpable and she knew that while her predicament wasn't ideal there was at least one person she could call for support.
"I'll pay him," Pam stated when Lafayette returned.
The dark skinned man shook his head, "that won't be necessary. But you are in luck; he's practically got a whole Thanksgiving meal prepared because of some charity event he was supposed to cater. But the company and the restaurant owner had a falling out fifteen minutes ago so they've got all this good food with nowhere for it to go."
Blue eyes widened in hopeful surprise.
"Jesus is on his way and I'd like to point out, because I think it should be said that I just performed one big motherfucking favor."
"A huge motherfucking favor," Pam corrected.
"Now," Brown eyes scanned the kitchen. "We'll need to destroy the evidence of this…." he trailed off gesturing to her attempt at a Thanksgiving meal.
She'd planned the morning out so well and all she had to show for it was a mess. With a bruised ego, a raised head, and an urgency to fix her problem she grabbed one dish after the other and collected them in several scented trash bags she and Lafayette stored in the garage beside dust covered pant buckets. All that was left was setting the table and waiting impatiently for Jesus to arrive.
Kelis' 'Milkshake' startled Pam before she grabbed at her phone answering it, "hey babe," she stated giving Lafayette a look when Tara asked about dinner, "dinner? It's almost ready." She rubbed her arm as Tara filled her in on the service and warned her that family and friends were already headed over. Her heart sank, it would ruin her ruse if one of them rolled up as soon as Jesus.
"I love you for doing this," Tara's voice warmed and lowered. "I know you're strong suit isn't in the kitchen—"
Pam stopped her there, "people change," she said with irritation mostly because no one believed she could navigate a kitchen and they were right.
"I didn't mean—" Tara tried to back pedal before it got out of hand, but she feared she was too late.
"I know exactly what you meant. If you expected to come home to a burnt turkey and questionable potato salad you thought wrong. See you in a few," she ended the call with the entitlement to feel pissed off that her own girlfriend questioned her abilities in the kitchen. That is until Lafayette raised eyebrows and curious expression landed on her then to the kitchen silently reminding her how she had no right to feel that way.
"He's here," Lafayette read a text.
Releasing a sigh of relief Pam followed him to the front door and for the next two hours they began staging the dinner table and kitchen. Sweet potato pies, apple pies, and pecan pies sat on the island in rows and the golden brown turkey sat in the oven. The table in the dining area was rented. It was long enough to cater to a large group of people because the table it replaced was good enough for Tara and herself and a few guests. They didn't host many dinner parties. The table she had to say was a masterpiece in crimson red filled with white plates and silverware wrapped in pastel napkins thanks to Jesus' cater company.
When everyone arrived, because they arrived at the same time, there were hugs of joy and wary greetings and Pam knew that they had suspected that Lettie Mae was right. Tara's girlfriend couldn't cook, but the look of surprise on their faces selfishly satisfied Pam. They wouldn't see her fall flat on her face this Thanksgiving, but the reaction she really anticipated was Lettie Mae. She and Tara should have been there already—she wondered what was taking them so long. Church members, who she wouldn't have invited on a whim, were seated in her den enjoying the game on her fifty two inch television. Tara loved that thing.
"This is amazing," Pam stiffened in the kitchen as she picked an apple pie to showcase in a glass pie container for aesthetic affect. Since she had last minute details to tend to she handed over the reigns as hostess to Lafayette. It shouldn't have surprised her that Lettie Mae would have invited the nurse and she turned to greet her chocolate rival with an insincere smile and welcome.
"Thank you," Layla stated then looked over the spread, "like I said this really is amazing Pam. And you did all this yourself?"
"My house, my kitchen who else would have done it?"
The woman shrugged, "well I only thought that—I'm not the only one who assumed that you might've paid for someone to help you cook."
A brow rose.
"Don't be offended," the woman rushed, "Lettie Mae bless her heart can be a little, overbearing," she offered, "for your sake no one would blame you if you did. I mean you are going to spend the rest of your life with Tara. If you ruined Thanksgiving there's no way that woman would let you live it down."
The woman was fishing and Pam noted and her poker face didn't give anything away because of it. "Dinner will be out there shortly," she answered.
Seeing as she wouldn't be getting any information if at all from her Layla gave her one last impromptu smile before she turned on her heel and joined everyone else.
"What that bitch say?" Lafayette came up to Pam when he saw the nurse leave.
Before Pam could answer the front door opened and from the sound of everyone else who had arrived earlier Tara and her mother had arrived. "Showtime," she whispered. In the middle of taking off her apron Tara met her halfway on a step to kiss Pam. She aimed for her lips and landed on her cheek with blue eyes moving past her to Lettie Mae whose surprise filled her with pride. Though the woman shut her mouth and true to form found some way to turn the tables with one of her backhanded comments.
"My my my," she looked around.
"Mother," Tara whispered in warning.
The dark skinned woman didn't say anything and joined her church members. Pam suggested everyone convene in the dining room where she was met with awes on presentation. There was one last piece to complete the welcoming table and that was the golden brown turkey Jesus had provided like a godsend. Insisting everyone sit as she brought it to the table, Lafayette took the bird instead suggesting she take a seat at the end of the table. Layla commandeered the chair to Tara's left and on the other side Lettie Mae sat giving every dish a suspicious look.
For the longest time after grace, which Lettie Mae made inordinately long and painful, the only sounds that could be heard were the clacking of porcelain and glass and people enjoying their meal. Pam had no right to feel happy when all of this was a lie, but she took the compliments with genuine smile occasionally sending one to Tara's mother who she knew was watching.
"This really is delicious," the dark skinned woman agreed. "It's like a Thanksgiving miracle. If I didn't know better I'd think that you had this catered," Lettie Mae looked at her pointedly.
Mirroring her reaction when Layla practically suggested the same thing she shrugged, "that would defeat that purpose of seeing that disappointed look on your face now wouldn't it?"
Forks slowed their ascent and eyes flicked from mother to girlfriend and the person who was most worried chewed slowly on a bite of cranberry sauce.
"It's ok," Pam offered sounding very magnanimous. "The only thing that matters is now you know Tara is well taken care of in and out of the kitchen."
On the surface Pam confidently dodged suggestions to contribute a dish or two for various functions for the church. On the inside she was anxiously counting down to the time where it would be appropriate to start suggesting people go home. Lettie Mae was especially determined to find out the recipe to her apple pie because there was a distinct ingredient that nagged at her as it more than satisfied her taste buds.
Tara sensing her girlfriends reticence grabbed her by the waist pulling her away from her mother and her prayer circle. The noise receded as they moved down the hallway to their bedroom and closed the door for a little privacy.
"You're mother's relentless," Pam growled.
"She's just trying to make up her bad behavior," Tara stated. "You really impressed her—you impressed all of them."
Pam eyed her lover stalking towards her, "and what about you. You were looking ready to burn with gluttony burned on your forehead when you tasted those devilled eggs…how many did you have again?"
There was a knock at the door when Tara was closing in to shut her girlfriend up.
"Pam?" Dropping her forehead on Tara's chest the blond groaned, "What have I done?"
"Ruined any and every chance for some alone time until after they all leave," Tara didn't sound happy which was understandable since Pam insisted on doing this all on her own. The blond could be prideful that way. For most of the day she'd been worried over Pam's dinner because she could sense the blond's worry. Her girlfriend and her mother fed off a rivalry to please Tara and while it pleased her to no end to have so much attention showered on her she wished it wasn't at the expense of a meaningful relationship between Pam and Lettie Mae. Though, this Thanksgiving changed that. Finally they found they had something in common and Lettie Mae wasn't going to let it go.
"There you are," the older woman stated grabbing Pam's arm leading her down the hall.
Tara leaning on the doorframe of their bedroom door smiled at the odd pair the duo made arm in arm walking back into the throng of people enjoying desert. Speaking of desert she couldn't wait to get a piece of that sweet potato pie. She'd already plotted on one pie she hid from everyone else. Her family had fat tendencies and she highly doubted that there would be many leftovers to fuss over when they were all gone to their respective houses.
The door opposite the bedroom opened revealing Lafayette and a embarrassed looking Jesus stumbling from the bathroom.
"Hi," he waved awkwardly, "great dinner."
Tara looked between the two men, "you would know you're the chef," Tara stated innocently until she read his surprised expression.
"She told you?" he asked.
Lafayette's lips pursed, "no sugar, but you just did. Go on out there with there and look cute, I'll meet you there in a minute."
Tara crossed her arms penning her cousin.
"The whole truth and nothing but the truth your girl can't cook. And that turkey was looking mighty pitiful before Jesus donated the whole spread for a good cause."
"I knew it."
Lafayette raised his brow.
"I love her," she defended, "but I know she's no Susie Homemaker. And I sure as hell know she didn't become one overnight. Thanks for looking out."
"The time for giving is just around the corner might as well get a head start."
With Tara's mother practically attached to her hip Pam spent more time with the woman in all the three years since Tara introduced her Pam felt sufficiently suffocated. It made the night drag on just a little slower and she breathed a sigh of relief when the last guest left a few minutes after midnight. Lettie Mae caught a ride with a cousin thankfully and everyone else eventually took their leave one after the other until it was only the two girlfriends left. Pam plopped on the couch taking off her heels rubbing her feet while Tara put the last load of dishes in the washing machine to wash.
When she was done she knelt in front of her girlfriend swatting her hands away gently replacing Pam's pale hands with her own to massage her, "thank you."
"For what?" Pam moaned laying back into the couch.
"For dinner, it was delicious. You really impressed everyone."
Pam didn't comment considering telling Tara the truth, but enjoying the massage too much to risk her lover stopping. Instead she moaned unintelligibly.
"I can't wait til Christmas," Tara began.
Blue eyes popped open.
"Those yams, I never had the like that before—you gotta make them next time. I was talking to my mom and she has no problem with us hosting again. You really blew us away."
"Babe," Pam inched, "I wouldn't dream of taking the glory for the second time. You're mom always does Christmas," she attempted to dissuade her half moaning in the process. Tara's hands were amazing.
"No way, she's not goin to want to follow this," Tara shook her head, "besides I like bragging my baby can cook."
Sighing Pam pulled her feet from Tara's expert hands, "I cheated."
"Cheated? What do you mean cheated?"
"I didn't cook any of that food."
Tara's brow furrowed in confusion, "then wh…?"
"Jesus—he did everything—you can find my disaster of a dinner in trash bags in the garage."
Leaning on the back of her ankles Tara studied her girlfriend, "oh."
"I just didn't want to hear another lecture on a home cooked meal and that question 'how are you eating Tara?' etcetera etcetera. I can tell her the truth in the morning."
"The hell you will," Tara disagreed, "if it takes a little lie for you two to get along then so be it. You'll take cooking classes have private lessons with Jesus if you need to," she suggested.
"You're not mad?"
"No baby," Tara grabbed for Pam's feet again. Her hands slid up Tam's calf then her thighs.
"What are you doing?" Pam shifted eying her lover through hooded eyes.
"Giving thanks."