INGREDIENTS OF THANKSGIVING

SOCIAL ANXIETY II

"It's the rain," Jeff was saying. "I'm sorry. Everybody's running late, you know?" He and Annie stood at the back door of Doreen's home, in her garage. Behind them the cold rain pounded the driveway, where Jeff's car was parked, and blew into the front of the garage through the open door.

"Oh, it's no problem, dear," Doreen assured him. "Come inside, come inside," she said as she reached up to hug her son. Jeff hugged her, a little awkwardly, and started through the door into the kitchen. "And you must be Annie," Doreen said to her.

Annie smiled as broadly as she ever had — she wasn't sure she would be able to relax the smile if she tried — and gave a stupid little half-wave. "Hi!" she said, like an idiot. "I'm Annie. I mean, you're right. Got it in one. Annie. Annie Edison."

Suddenly Doreen was embracing her. She was smaller than Jeff, Annie thought distantly, but bigger than Annie. Of course that was true of most of the people she met — bigger than Annie, smaller than Jeff. But Doreen was older than both of them. Maybe older than both of them combined, Annie thought. How old was Doreen when she had Jeff? Why was Annie thinking such inane thoughts?

"It's so good to finally meet you," Doreen said as she released Annie from her embrace. "You know I've been bugging Jeff for a picture for, oh, forever."

"Oh yeah?" Annie asked, still smiling like a fool. According to Wikipedia, Simon & Simon ran from 1981 to 1989. It was not actually a spin-off fromMagnum PI, which Annie had also never seen, but it aired immediately after that show, closely associated in promotions, and they did a crossover once. One of the stars of Simon & Simon later played George Hearst on Deadwood, which she had watched with Abed.

"He says his phone doesn't take or store pictures," Doreen said. "Ridiculous!"

"Yeah," said Annie.

"Still, what can you do. Please, come in. I can make some coffee," offered Doreen. She led Annie by the hand into an exceedingly tidy kitchen, where Jeff stood.

"Actually, Mom, we're running late, so we should get going…" Jeff began.

Doreen leaned into Annie and whispered conspiratorially. "You want to see his childhood bedroom?"

"You bet!" said Annie. She swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Winger, I'm not usually so inarticulate."

"Oh, I know that, dear. You're the only one at that school who can give Jeff a run for his money, from what I hear. And please, call me Doreen." Doreen smiled at Annie while eyeing her up and down, then turned to her son. "Did you just now tell her that you've been telling me about her for years?" She turned back to Annie. "He did, didn't he?"

Not knowing what else to do, Annie nodded.

Doreen sighed. "It'll be okay." She patted Annie on the shoulder. "Would you like to see some embarrassing pictures he drew in elementary school?"

"Yes please," whispered Annie.

Doreen took her by the hand and led her deeper into the house.

MEETING NEW PEOPLE

Despite Jeff's assertion, the light rain did not appreciably affect Britta's drive-time from Troy's apartment to Shirley's house. She pulled into the driveway and parked behind two other cars. "Before we go in," she began, but Abed had already opened a rear door and hopped out. "Damn it! Why did I splurge on a car with a four doors? I never use the ones in the back myself! I really only need two. Or one!"

"What's up?" Troy, in the passenger seat, asked her. "You seem upset about something."

"I just wanted to…" Britta craned her neck to see Abed already ringing the front doorbell, in the rain. "Never mind. Come on! Shirley will think we're weird if we just sit in the car while Abed goes in."

"Well, yeah, that would be weird," agreed Troy as he opened his door. "Why did you want to be weird?"

Britta shook her head as she, herself, exited her car. "You know, we're an interracial couple… Shirley's family might not be cool…"

"Is this about you fishing for drama again?" Troy asked her as they stomped through the rain to Shirley's front door.

"No!" Britta glared at him. "No," she said again, more gently, as they stepped into place behind Abed. "I just know that for a lot of people, commonly but not exclusively African-Americans…" Britta froze as Andre answered the door.

"Come in, come in," he said, waving them forward. "It's nasty out there. Happy Thanksgiving, let me take your coats…"

"'Hello Mr. Bennet. Thank you for inviting us into your home,'" Troy recited as he pulled off his coat. "'Your home is very lovely.' Hi, man. My grandma told me to always say that. Thanks, though," he added, handing the coat to Andre.

"Yes thank you happy Thanksgiving yes," Britta blurted out, as she followed Troy's lead. "It's really very kind of you to have us all over…"

As Troy and Britta fumbled at small talk with Shirley's husband, Abed, his coat already stowed, wandered forward into the house. He passed a short hallway that led to a large living room full, by the sound of it, of a football game and people watching a football game, stopping only at the top of a flight of stairs that led down into a finished basement. Somebody in the basement was playing some version of Mario, or else they were watching a video of someone playing some version of Mario, which, if you weren't the person playing Mario, was basically the same thing. He cocked his head, trying to identify which version of Mario it was from the sounds.

"Abed!" Shirley was on him, suddenly; she popped out from around a corner. She was all smiles in her apron, but she gripped his wrist hard and hauled him into the kitchen. "So glad you could make it. Ronette, this is Abed," she said to a pretty dark-skinned girl who had been leaning against the fridge with her arms folded.

"Hi," the girl said, in the uncomfortable way people sometimes did when they met him and they'd had some kind of forewarning about him, and they were trying to be nice but also trying to determine whether the forewarning had overstated or understated the extent to which Abed was weird.

"Ronette's a friend of mine from church," Shirley explained. She didn't have to say she wanted to set Abed up with her, because this was Shirley and Abed had known her for years and he'd been resigned to something like this happening, probably today, because Shirley had no doubt noticed that Troy and Annie had both coupled up. Troy and Annie's coupled-up partners were six and twelve years older than they were, respectively. Abed wondered, idly, whether Ronette was eighteen, nine, or three years older than he was. She looked the same age, but looks could be deceiving. Annie and Britta looked the same age.

"Nice to meet you," Abed said, because it was time for him to say something. He considered extending a hand to shake, but decided against it.

"Have some wine," Shirley told him, and held a glass of it out for him.

Abed accepted it, because that was polite, but didn't drink it, because he didn't like wine. "Thanks," he said after a moment. He smiled, not too broadly — he'd gotten better at that recently, Britta had been helping him — and avoided staring at anyone.

"Shirley tells me you're into movies," Ronette said. She played with her hair a little, either because she was nervous or because she was flirting or because she was having trouble selecting a shampoo that properly addressed her needs, depending on what kind of scene this was, or would have been if it had been in a movie or television show or commercial.

"Yes," said Abed. Small talk meant providing details. "I'm majoring in film at the community college. I enjoy sci-fi, fantasy, and horror media in particular. I went to a convention for Inspector Spacetime last month, with my friend Troy. Inspector Spacetime is a long-running British science-fiction show that neophtyes often confuse with Doctor Who."

"Oh, wow," said Ronette in a tone that suggested — Abed couldn't be sure but it seemed like a plausible guess — that she was not, in fact, wowed by his small talk. "I don't really watch much TV," she added.

Abed nodded. "Then I shouldn't try to talk to you about it; you'd find it boring and I'd find it frustrating." He reviewed what he knew about Ronette. Options for an appropriate small-talk question were limited. "Do you enjoy church?"

Ronette laughed in a way that Abed couldn't possibly parse more finely than 'either nervous/polite or relieved/entertained.' "I guess, yeah."

"Well, listen to you two," Shirley said, pleased. In context that probably meant Ronette had sounded relieved/entertained.

Abed asked himself what Jeff would do in this situation, but that was an unhelpful exercise: Ronette wasn't Annie, so he didn't know if Jeff would be her type. He decided to try a gambit instead. "I heard a video game downstairs," he said. "Care to join me in checking it out?"

"Sure," said Ronette. She moved forward, off the fridge and in his direction.

"The kids are downstairs," Shirley said, over Ronette's shoulder.

"Don't worry Shirley, we won't steal their toys," Ronette told her without turning around. She winked at Abed, but that could have meant anything.

Abed backed out of the kitchen and into the hallway, Ronette close at hand. He turned and started walking down the stairs.

Behind him, he heard Ronette sigh. "I'm sorry about this," she said. "I was going to go home for Thanksgiving but my ride fell through, and Shirley invited me…"

"Shirley's nice," said Abed.

"Oh, yes. Kind of pushy sometimes, but nice," Ronette agreed. "Anyway, you know how it is."

"Sure," said Abed, though he wondered which of the thousands of possibilities Ronette's 'it' referred to.

"Get the young, single people together," Ronette said. "Kind of heavy-handed."

"Sure," Abed said again, relieved she had provided slightly more context.

CATCHING UP WITH RELATIVES

Upstairs Annie sat in an oversized love seat next to Jeff's mother and felt especially small. Doreen was incredibly nice, was the thing. She'd given Annie a brief tour of her home, which was Jeff's childhood home, highlighting the adorable escapades of young Jeff. She'd learned that he went through a phase in elementary school where he drew dozens and dozens of pictures of professional wrestlers. She'd learned that he had once kicked a hole in the wall of his bedroom, which he'd tried to repair himself with spackle, without telling his mother. She'd learned that when he failed out of CU at nineteen he'd spent six years working a series of terrible retail jobs. During that time he'd told Doreen he was going to college, and then law school, in Denver. Doreen glossed over the failed-out-of-school and the lied-to-his-mother-for-six-years parts of the story and emphasized the part where Jeff passed the bar exam on his first try, despite not having any formal education. He'd only sat for the bar because Doreen had caught him in a lie and he'd needed to cover for it.

"And then, well, you know the rest. He's just lucky he didn't tell me he was in medical school." Doreen finished the story with a laugh.

"That would have been harder to fake," Jeff agreed. He eyed his empty wineglass with disappointment. "I'm going to get a refill," he announced, rising from the love seat's matching easy chair. "Either of you need anything?"

"Some water, please?" Doreen smiled at her son. "Thank you, dear."

"I'm fine," Annie said. Actually she was regretting turning down the wine Shirley had offered her, but Doreen hadn't been drinking and Annie didn't want the woman thinking she was a lush.

Doreen turned to Annie as soon as Jeff had walked away. "Annie, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Annie said, smiling brightly despite the waves of anxiety that were washing over her. Was Doreen going to ask where Annie saw herself in five years? Whether she expected to be the mother of Doreen's grandchildren? Whether Annie wanted the hypothetical grandchildren to be raised Jewish or Episcopalian? What the real story was behind whatever scrim of half-truths and innuendos Jeff had no doubt told his mother about Annie's reasons for being at Greendale instead of Harvard?

"How is he?" Doreen asked, surprising her. "Assuming, for the moment, that what he's told me about you is true, which it seems to be… well, you know him better than I do."

Annie stammered over the unexpected question. "I don't know if that's true…"

"You don't need me telling you, but he can be very tight-lipped," Doreen told her. "It was twisting his arm to get him to even describe or name you. I'm his mother; I can't help worrying about him. You'd know if he wasn't on track to graduate in the spring, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely," Annie said, relieved that the interview seemed to be going in a different direction than it might have. When was the last time you spoke to your mother? Why have you disappointed her so badly? Why did your parents divorce? To what extent was it your fault? When was the last time you took Adderall? Have you arranged to intern at St. Luke's yet? Why not? What else do you expect to do with a degree in Hospital Administration from a community college? "I would, and he is. Definitely. He's doing well."

"Oh, good." Doreen was visibly relieved. She craned her neck towards the doorway to the kitchen, checking for Jeff. "I worry, you know." She glanced back at Annie. "I don't mean to be invading his privacy," she said. "I just know that there are things he wouldn't tell me. I mean, he made it sound like a new thing, but… did you get together a year ago and he just recently thought to mention it?"

Annie smiled and was about to say no, but then she considered the last year's worth of interactions with Jeff. "No," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "We were friends, of course, but we only… got together… recently. It was kind of gradual. But mostly not."

Doreen looked like she had another question, but just then Jeff reappeared, holding three stemless wineglasses in two hands. "Sorry that took so long, Shirley waylaid me in the kitchen," he said as he sat back down. "Here's your water," he said to his mother with a wink, handing her one of the glasses of wine.

"Just the thing! Thank you, dear," Doreen said with a smile.

Annie experienced something she hadn't in a very long time — she was on the outside of an in-joke with Jeff Winger. It was a discomfiting experience. She picked up the wine Jeff had brought her — had he read her mind, or was it just part of the in-joke? — and took a deep swallow.

PARTY GAMES

In the basement Abed, Ronette, two of Shirley's sons, and two of their cousins all sat in a circle. "This will be fun," Ronette assured the children, unnecessarily. "Has everyone played Apples to Apples before?"

"Yes," the children said in a ragged chorus, while Abed shuffled.

"I'll deal first," he announced, and did so.

"So fun," Ronette repeated, apparently to herself. Abed couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or if she was a genuine Apples to Apples enthusiast.

"The first card is…" Abed drew a red card. "A Cabin in the Woods. A Cabin in the Woods," he repeated.

"You have to read all the words!" protested one of the children.

"Do you not know what a cabin is?" Abed asked him. "Fine. 'Henry David Thoreau went to Walden Pond for two years. All we want is one lousy weekend.' A Cabin…" he paused for effect, "in the Woods."

One of the children — not the mouthy one who'd demanded he 'read the words' but maybe his brother? — took longer than everyone else to pick a card. Finally he tossed one down.

Abed scooped up the pile of green cards and read them. "And my options are… Scary, Charismatic, Scenic, Dirty, and Masculine." He glanced up. "Charismatic? Really?"

One of the children looked uncomfortable.

"Somebody might not have had a very good hand to start with," Ronette suggested.

"Okay. Obviously the correct answer is Scary, in reference to the movie."

The children looked at one another. "Scary Movie?" hazarded one.

"Cabin in the Woods. Joss Whedon? Last spring?" Abed shook his head. "Kids today."

"That one was mine!" Ronette cried in a sing-song voice, either to cut off Abed from complaining, which is why Shirley would have done that, or because she really liked winning, which is why Annie would have done that, or maybe because she never won anything and was inordinately pleased with the minor accomplishment, which was why Britta would have done that. There was, Abed reflected as Ronette collected the trick and dealt, really no way to tell. "'Ginger & Mary Ann,'" she read a moment later. "And the read of it is 'here on Gilligan's Isle.'"

One of the children raised his hand. "I don't know what that is," he complained.

"Seriously?" Abed snapped. "You children are really lacking in media literacy."

"We can do another one," Ronette said quickly. She flipped another card. "'Hootie & the Blowfish.' Okay…" She flipped a third one. "'Lenin's Tomb.' Uh… 'Norman Rockwell…' seriously? 'Painting a Fence,'" she read off the fifth one. "Painting a fence?" she repeated, looking around for one of the kids to object. When no one did, she sighed. "'A good way to earn some money,' it says."

Abed reviewed the cards in his hand. It was an easy choice; he made his selection and placed it on the pile.

Again, the slow child took too long.

When he finally finished, Ronette picked up the cards. "Let's see," she said. "There's Square, Dull, Plain, Tempting, and Hardworking." She made a show of considering. "Painting a fence is definitely hard work, and you could call it square or dull or plain… but I have to go with Tempting. Tom Sawyer tricked a whole squad of boys into painting a fence, by making it seem tempting." She glanced at Abed, smiling in a way that was probably at least a little flirty, just based on context.

"That's me! Tom Sawyer!" said the largest and probably oldest of the children. Ronette's smile vanished as he took the trick.

"I was 'Hardworking,'" said Abed by way of apology.