Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve
Author: Tinkerbell99
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.
Spoiler: 17 People
A/N:Chapter one led nicely to chapter two, even though I wasn't planning on it. I'm guessing there will be a chapter three as well. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 2: Bottoms Up
Following the drive back to my parent's house, most of which was spent negotiating my way through a game of congressional phone tag and ubiquitous potholes, I arrived home to relative peace and quiet. It was over my mother's objections that I went out in the first place, and I make a mental note to listen very carefully to every word she says from this day forward. She had wanted to, "talk to me before tomorrow." If I'd stuck around I could have avoided the whole Dr. Freeride debacle.
Boys and girls, listen to your mothers.
It was only after I tiptoed over the cats by the back door that I realized my now dripping and dented gallon of milk was still in the front seat of my car. After an unsuccessful journey back through the land of fur and tails and a trip to the medicine cabinet for some Bactine, I made my way to the liquor cabinet.
A plane ride, a piece of legislation, parents, previous boyfriends, and pacifying my boss. I deserve a drink and I've only covered the letter "p".
Bottoms up.
A rusty nail was always my father's drink. I suppose it still is, although I certainly haven't been around much lately to verify that fact.
Bottoms up.
I haven't been around much to verify any fact around here. I didn't even know Dr. Freeride was still in the area and I sure as hell didn't know he'd be in my aisle in my grocery store tonight. Although, all things considered, I guess visiting more often really couldn't have prevented that occurrence.
Bottoms up.
I try to tell myself that Miss Cleo herself could not have predicted Eric standing there in front of me and make a mental note to stay out of any and all public places in this town until my flight out on Friday. I'm just not good when confronted with ex-boyfriends. Look at Cliff Calley.
Bottoms up.
Glancing over, I see my mother's perfectly set Thanksgiving dinner table with it's silver and glass glinting in the moonlight. By the looks of it, tomorrow will be a full house. My mother, Martha Stewart, has a name card for everyone and full table service polished with precision. There's even a baby-sized version of nearly every pieceall ready for Suzanne and her baby. Looking at the tiny spoons I can't help but feel a twinge…jealousy?
Bottoms up.
Suzanne has never been my favorite cousin. She and I are the same age, born only months apart. We were in the same school, the same grade, and had completely opposite lives all through our younger years. Sure, I had my friends and my life, but I was always a little more reserved. Suzanne was…not. Tomorrow I'm sure I will have the pleasure of meeting and greeting her latest social conquest. This one just happens to be the father of her child. Possessing very little actual tact or social skills, Suzanne always managed to ingratiate herself into whatever social group would best suit her needs...and then drop them like a hot potato when the going got rough.
She reminds me of Amy Gardner.
Bottoms up.
Bottoms up again.
Taking a look at the VCR clock, I realize that the time is now 1:27 and I should be heading to bed if I want to be conscious any time tomorrow. Today. Whatever. It's past my bedtime.
As I get to my (admittedly wobbly) feet, I can't resist one more pass around the dinner table. I suppose it has something to do with returning to the security of one's childhood, but after you leave, your parent's home takes on a whole new appearance. I know I will never be the homemaker my mother is, and I'm not sure I ever want to be, but it doesn't mean I admire it any less.
Many years ago, my mother wrote out all her place cards on ivory colored stock paper. I remember watching her as a child while she completed painstaking calligraphy strokes on each one. They were beautiful then, and they are even more so now in the pale moonlight. In addition to the guest's name, each card also holds a small symbol, a picture representing that person. Mine was a tiny rosebud. I remember how my mother brushed wispy hair off my forehead when she told me how "a beautiful bloom begins with just a bud."
Amazing what you remember from your childhood.
Every time someone new joined our holiday celebrations, my mother would diligently create a new place card for them. Dr. Freeride, for example, had a blue stethoscope. My sister-in-law got a purple guitar. Layla, Suzanne's baby, already has one of her own - a black and white kitten.
As I wander dazedly around the table on my way upstairs, I take my own sentimental journey through this life I've left for so long. Maybe it's late, maybe I'm tired, I know for sure I'm drunk, but I miss this. I miss the connections. I miss the history. But at the same time, I miss my other family, my new life, and wonder if I'm really supposed to be here at all.
I miss Josh.
On my way upstairs, I pass through place cards with tiny flowers, cars, a flute, animals, a stethoscope, an apple, and other reminders of these people and this life. I see the names; Terri, Donna, Michael, Martin, Suzanne, Eric, Layla, John…Whack!
I do not actually see the high chair and take that as my cue to stumble upstairs and into bed.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Oh, God.
Morning.
Alarm clock.
My head spins as I flail wildly for the offending noise.
It's 6:30.
I'm hung over.
Who is making that noise downstairs? What did I do last night? Where is the damn alarm clock? When was I supposed to start the turkey? Why is there a cat on my head?
As I sit up, I start to remember bits and pieces of the last seven hours. Mom wanting to talk. Running out for milk. Dr. Freeride in the store, stopping for a beer. Josh on the phone. Dripping milk and vengeful cats.
Drinking. A lot.
Reminiscing at my mother's dinner table. Shiny place settings and swirls of colors on place cards.
Tiny kittens and a blue stethoscope…
A blue stethoscope.
Next to Suzanne's place.
Oh. My. God.
Out of my way, cat. I'm going to be sick.