Ch 11 – Giving Thanks (1)

On Thursday morning, Angela was on airport duty while Tony stayed behind in Fairfield and prepared their Thanksgiving dinner.

Even though it would be only the two of them, he insisted on doing everything – turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, glazed carrots, green bean casserole, mac and cheese, cornbread, pumpkin pie, homemade cranberry sauce.

"Are you sure?" she had asked him under her breath when they were alone in the kitchen the night before.

"Ay-oh, Angela – it's Thanksgiving! Yes, I'm sure." He seemed almost hurt when he looked up from where he was stirring simmering cranberries in a saucepan.

Angela risked taking a step towards him and put her hand on his bicep. "I just thought … it's an awful lot of work, for just you and me."

"Maybe I feel that I have an awful lot to give thanks for this year," he said quietly as he continued to stir. With each motion of his hand, she could feel the muscles in his arm twitch slightly.

"You're so sweet." She leaned in closer, and the scent of hot cranberries mingled with what she considered to be the essence of Tony – a hint of aftershave, laundry detergent, and something earthy, musky that made her stomach drop. "And you're right. We both have a lot to be grateful for."

He nudged her shoulder with his, as if to say 'Ah, stop it', all the while keeping his focus on the cranberry sauce. In a low voice he said, "Besides, we can eat leftovers for the rest of the weekend. Makes life a lot easier if you ask me. Less time in the kitchen."

The implication was clear, and Angela's pulse quickened. "Good point."

"See, I know what I'm doing."

At that, he lifted the wooden spoon out of the saucepan, blew on it a couple of times, and offered it to her. Locking eyes with Tony, Angela closed her lips around the tip of the spoon and licked the warm, sticky mass off it.

Thankfully, the kids' flights were scheduled to leave New York around the same time that morning, so it only took Angela one trip to send them both on their ways.

Jonathan had the earlier flight. They were waiting at the gate, and she tried her best to keep her nerves in check. It was Jonathan's first time flying by himself, and while there was no reason to be worried – a flight attendant would be keeping an eye on him and deliver him to Michael, and only Michael, at LAX –, she still was. As his mother, it was her prerogative, even if he didn't like it.

Recently, Jonathan had begun to place greater value on his independence. "I'm not a little kid anymore!" was what he had screamed at her when she didn't allow him to go to New York with Todd a couple of weeks ago. And when she asked him to put on his mittens before going outside: "They're gloves, Mom!"

Angela sighed to herself, thinking back to the chubby, happy baby in Michael's home movies. Where had the time gone?

Jonathan stood in front of the large picture window that looked out onto the tarmac, jiggling his left foot. Trying to play it cool, but clearly nervous. Angela's heart squeezed. Her little boy might be growing up, but he was still only eleven.

When it was time for boarding, she hugged him tightly and was pleased to feel him hug her back. These days, Jonathan was embarrassed by her more often than not when they were out in public together, so this was nice.

"I'm going to miss you, darling. I mean, Jonathan. Have a great time with your dad and Heather!" She smiled at him and couldn't stop herself from giving his cheek a quick caress.

"I'll miss you too, Mom," Jonathan said magnanimously. "I hope you and Tony won't be too bored without us there."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something to do," Angela said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Was her face starting to feel a little hot there?

"Alright, Mom. Sam." Jonathan patted Angela on the back and acknowledged Samantha with a nod of his head.

"Bye, knucklehead," Sam said from where she was lounging on one of the benches, but it sounded affectionate.

Angela shook her head in quiet amusement. They were so much like siblings.

Ever since her movie night conversation with Tony and the chain of events that had followed, the idea of another baby kept popping up at the forefront of her mind, often when she saw Sam and Jonathan together.

Her and Tony hopefully becoming a couple was one thing. In the eyes of the children, it would probably only serve to cement what they already knew: that they were a family.

But how would Jonathan and Sam feel about a baby sibling? A new brother or sister would change their family dynamic in profound ways. This baby would be hers and Tony's, a little someone they were all related to, who would call her Mom and Tony Dad. Angela's spine tingled as she imagined Tony holding a tiny, sleepy newborn in his arms.

Maybe it was the winding down of her biological clock, maybe it was the intensity of her pent-up feelings for Tony – Angela's desire to have a child had never been stronger.

She had wanted Jonathan, of course. Back then, having a baby seemed like the thing to do after you started your career and got married. It took her almost a year to get pregnant, but she never worried. Her doctor said that could happen after going off the pill. She and Michael were in their mid-twenties, they had all the time in the world. Now it was different. Her yearning for a baby felt more visceral, and time was not on her side anymore.

Blinking forcefully, Angela brought herself out of her daydream and looked on as Jonathan picked up his backpack and walked over to the flight attendant. He turned around and waved one more time, then they disappeared around a corner towards the gangway.

ooooooooo

Samantha's gate was at the opposite end of the airport, but they still had about 20 minutes until she was supposed to meet up with Bonnie and her family.

"So," Sam said to Angela when they were slowly making their way there, "how are things between you and Dad?"

Since last Friday night, Sam had spent a lot of time out of the house, either over at Bonnie's, at school, or at the library, so they hadn't had many opportunities to talk. Angela should have known that Samantha would want to get her side of the story now.

"Everything is alright, sweetheart."

"Are you sure? You were pretty mad at him last week. And you had every right! That comedy club was such a dumb move."

"It certainly wasn't his finest hour. But it wasn't mine, either. I shouldn't have hit that poor comedian."

"I still can't believe you knocked him out cold. Just like that waitress at Marty's Melody Room."

"You still remember that?" Now that really hadn't been her finest hour. Getting into a cat fight in front of Tony and the children and half of Pitkin Avenue.

"Of course!" Sam said reverently, "That's when I knew I shouldn't mess with you."

Angela laughed, glad that they were talking about something that really happened and not about the fictitious events of last Friday night. "We've been through quite a lot together, haven't we?"

"I'll say," Sam agreed. Then Angela felt her hesitate briefly before she spoke up again. "Hey, Angela? Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Mona said you and Dad are not going to go out again. Is that true?"

So her mother had talked to the kids after all.

"She's right. We decided that we are better as friends."

"Oh, I see." Sam pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked off to the side.

"Are you … disappointed?" Angela asked carefully.

Sam shrugged. "A little, I guess. It would have been nice to see things work out between you and Dad. I mean, since you already live together, and you like each other. At least I always thought you did. I was kinda hoping that you'd- I don't know … get married someday or something. Because it looks like you make each other happy. Most of the time, anyway."

Angela was touched to hear this from Sam. And she was exactly right. They did make each other happy. Also, while she and Tony hadn't talked about marriage since the Ferguson-Schaefer wedding disaster, the issue was certainly on her mind these days.

"Thank you, Sam," Angela said and put her arm around Samantha's shoulders, "that's so sweet of you to say. I suppose I don't really know what to tell you. Except that I don't want you to be worried. Your dad and I will be okay. This is just … a temporary snag. I'm really not mad at him anymore. And who knows, maybe we'll decide that we want to try again a little further down the road."

"Yeah?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Yeah. Depending on how Thanksgiving goes," she winked at Samantha. "At least he's cooking at home and not taking me out again."

"That's good." Sam sounded relieved. "Because I think Dad would like that. To try again, I mean. He keeps acting like it's nothing, and you're just friends, but – just between us – I think he's got it bad for you. He's just scared somehow. And when he gets scared, he really screws up. Like last week."

Angela was floored by this much insight. She wasn't entirely sure if she was doing the right thing, but suddenly she felt that she could trust Samantha with some of the truth. If she was brave enough to speak this openly, she deserved not to be lied to.

"Sam, honey, I think that happens to many people when something is really important to them, and they don't want to do anything wrong."

"But I don't get it. You and Dad live together. You know everything about each other. What could go wrong?"

"Well, he and I have become such good friends. Maybe he doesn't want to risk losing that. I would be sad to lose him as my best friend."

An ironic turn of phrase, come to think of it. Losing Tony as a friend was exactly what Angela was hoping would happen over the course of the weekend.

"Do you mean if it doesn't work out and you break up?" Sam asked.

Angela nodded. "Well, yeah."

"Then Dad would probably have to quit, huh? And we would have to move?"

"No!" Angela said, suddenly afraid that she had made a huge mistake in talking to Samantha about this. "Never."

Sam gave her a quizzical look. "Come on, Angela. Everybody always says they're going to stay friends. But nobody ever does. I mean, I'd rather share a room with Jonathan's iguana for the rest of my life than live in the same house as Jesse," she finished with a melodramatic full-body shudder.

"You see? That's why things are a little complicated with your dad and me. There is a lot to consider. But no matter what happens between us, we don't want anything to change for you and Jonathan."

"Angela, you and Dad wouldn't break up."

"No? What makes you say that?"

Sam gave her another look, this time it was the nonverbal equivalent of 'Duh!'.

"I don't remember much from when I was little, but you know the way Dad sings when he works in the kitchen, or when he cleans? He used to do that when my mom was still alive. When it was only him and me, he was a lot quieter. Then he started doing it again after we moved to Fairfield. That was when I knew we were going to stay."

"I didn't know that," Angela choked out. Tony, quiet? It was hard to imagine. But then she thought back to the more pensive, even tortured side of him that she had seen in St. Louis.

"So maybe you can try and work things out?" Sam said earnestly. "Because I think you'd be really good together. And tell Dad he doesn't have to worry about me. I mean, I'll be going away to college soon anyway. I want him to have his own life when I'm gone."

Angela had to laugh in spite of herself. College was two-and-a-half years out, and yet, Samantha was already counting the days, she had seen them marked on a calendar in her room.

"I will, Sam. Thank you for being honest. It means a lot. I promise you that we'll do our best. If you promise me that you'll have fun in Colorado, and not think about your dad and me. We'll be fine." Angela squeezed Sam's shoulders as they were nearing the gate.

"Deal," Sam said and put her arm around Angela's waist, squeezing back.

ooooooooo

On the way home from the airport, Angela went back and forth over her conversation with Samantha, wondering whether she had gone too far in telling her one of the reasons why things were slow-going between her and Tony. But it was too late now, anyway. She could only hope that her little transgression would not come back to haunt her.

"Hey," she said when she pushed through the swing door into the kitchen and saw Tony sitting at the table, slicing vegetables. "Both kids are safely in the hands of American Airlines," she announced.

He sighed. "Did the planes look alright to you? You know, safe?"

"They looked like airplanes," Angela said, not without affection. "Everything is going to be alright. Sam is with Bonnie and her family, and Michael is picking Jonathan up at LAX. I asked them both to call from the airport."

"That's good," Tony said.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Angela's mouth. If she was worried, Tony was worried. His goodbye from Samantha had gone over in true overprotective dad mode: When it was time to let them leave for the airport, he made her promise multiple times that she would be careful, on the slopes and off them. Put on sunscreen. No boys. In bed by 11:00. Call every day. Write a postcard if possible.

"Right, Dad," Sam had said and given him a kiss on the cheek. "Love you, and happy Thanksgiving!"

"Has Mother been over yet?" Angela asked, stealing a piece of carrot off Tony's cutting board.

"After you left."

"Did she say when she'll be heading out?"

"Around five."

Angela nodded. Then they would finally have the house to themselves, and not just for tonight. As it turned out, Mona's mystery dinner party involved much more than just dinner: It was going to be a whole long weekend – after all, the Orient Express didn't make it from Paris to Istanbul in just one night.

It was entirely possible that Mona had made the whole thing up in order to give them some time alone. But for once, Angela decided not to question anything about their good fortune.

"So, what can I do?" she asked, looking around the kitchen. There were pots and pans, dishes and Tupperware containers on every available surface. Everything was very orderly – it always was with Tony – but it looked like a ton of work.

"Absolutely nothing," Tony said and made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go upstairs, take a bath, relax. Dinner is at five-thirty."

"But-"

"No discussion," he said, lifting his cutting knife and pointing it at the door. "If you want to do something, and if it will make you feel better, you can pick out some music."

Angela could handle that, and it did feel good to contribute. After going through the stack of old big band records that had belonged to Tony's dad and selecting a couple that she knew to be both of their favorites, she did as she was told and went upstairs.

Stepping into her bedroom, she wondered if she was being presumptuous in assuming that tonight would be the night. But if not tonight, or at least this weekend, when? They were so rarely alone in the house for more than a couple of hours.

Then her gaze fell onto the bed, which had been freshly made up, she realized. Normally, Tony changed the sheets on Mondays. Today was Thursday. And she had definitely not slept in these sheets last night.

Suddenly, Angela's heart was in her throat. She swallowed. This had to be it. Hands shaky with anticipation, she went through her dresser drawers. It was a good thing that they had agreed years ago that she would be washing her own 'unmentionables'. Tony knew all of her other clothes, at least the layer underneath would be a surprise.

She took her sweet time in the bathroom, getting ready for the night she was now fairly certain lay ahead of them. It felt strange and exciting to shave and pluck, comb and primp with Tony in mind.

Add to this that she hadn't been with anyone in more than two years, not since Geoffrey.

The curious thing about intimacy of this kind was that she actually missed it less the longer she went without it. It was always worst right after a breakup, when she was still used to the closeness. As time went by, the memory of the other person's touch and attention began to fade, and she almost forgot what it was like to have that with someone.

Although their marriage had been rocky for years, for the first couple of months after Michael moved out, she took long hot showers every night because she discovered that it alleviated the anxiety that would inevitably befall her before it was time to go to sleep in a large, half-empty bed. By the time Tony rang her doorbell, she had gotten used to single life, and for the first couple of weeks, it felt vaguely unnerving to live with a man again. Even though they were not living together living together.

Then there had been Geoffrey. Except for a couple of overnight stays at hotels in the country, she had never shared a bed with him. But after she declined his marriage proposal, she still found herself craving male ... companionship. And she thought a lot about Tony's role, and his motives, in bringing about her rejection of Geoffrey. Lying awake in bed at night, she fantasized about knocking on his door in her nightgown and asking him about it. But eventually, the thoughts and questions abated, and she settled back into her routine.

Until now. The past couple of weeks had rekindled the flame, and she was eager to feed the little fire that had begun to burn in the pit of her belly.