"Honor the space between no longer and not yet." - Nancy Levin
o-o-o
Thursday, November 24th
The drive to the Forman house on Thanksgiving is uncomfortably quiet. It's for the best; Bud asked me to spot him some gas money on the drive over, and if he'd try to initiate innocent conversation afterward, I might've lost it.
Bud parks on the side of the road between The Pinciotti and Forman houses. We get out of the car, and I am about to start heading toward the Forman driveway when I notice Bud unlocking his trunk. He pulls out a very expensive-looking bottle of wine and a box of cigars.
"You drinking again, Bud?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.
Bud glances at me and then down at the bottle of wine. "Oh, you mean this?" He chuckles. "Nah, this is just to thank Kitty for having us. The cigars are for Red."
While it is a relief to hear that he didn't plan on drinking tonight, I am still left to wonder how exactly he afforded all of this but needed me to buy his gas. We're still playing this very delicate 'father-son' game, so I have to be careful how I broach the subject.
"That a new outfit, Bud?" I ask innocently as we make our way up the driveway. I eye his crisp blazer and polished shoes. "Looks nice."
And expensive, I think. But I don't say this out loud.
Perhaps I'm being a bit too innocuous, because the implication is completely lost on Bud. "Hey, thanks Steven. Yeah. I bought it this week. I really want to impress Red and Kitty, you know? Let them know you're in good hands with me."
I nod curtly and pull ahead of him to reach for the sliding glass door. I inspect my own outfit. Compared to Bud, I look shabby in my typical boots, jeans, and a button-down shirt. I'm wearing one of my older coats, the elbows nearly worn through, since I'd misplaced my denim jacket somewhere.
The Forman kitchen is surprisingly empty, although the air is warm and the aroma of home-cooked food makes my stomach rumble. I'm taking off my coat when Mrs. Forman enters, smiling from ear to ear.
"I thought I heard the door open!" she says. I walk over and give her a kiss on the cheek. Then she turns to Bud. "I'm so glad both you and Steven could make it to my Friends-giving!"
"Wouldn't miss it!" Bud hands her the bottle of wine. "I may be off the bottle, but I think after all the work you've done today, you deserve this."
"Well, isn't that sweet," Mrs. Forman says enthusiastically. "Okay, come with me, I'll show you your seats. The food is almost ready."
The three of us pass into a crowd of people in the Forman living room. All of the furniture has been pushed up against the walls and is replaced with the Forman's large dining room table and another smaller table.
"Bud, I put you here next to Bob," Kitty says, pointing to a chair. "And Steven. You're with Eric and your friends at the smaller table. Since there's six of you, I figured you could have your own table. Fun, right?"
"Thanks, Mrs. Forman," I say absentmindedly. Forman, Donna, and Fez are already sitting at the table, so I head over there to join them.
"Welcome to the kid's table," Forman says when I lower myself into the seat across from him and Donna. From the tone of his voice, I can tell he is not pleased by the seating arrangements.
"Kid's table?" I ask. "What, are we six?"
"I mean, that's what it feels like," Forman whines. "Why does Laurie get to sit over there and we're stuck with this flimsy folding table?" He grabs the table by the corner and shakes it to demonstrate its flimsiness. "I didn't see Laurie helping my mom in the kitchen all day. No, that was me."
"Looks like someone forgot to take his mid-afternoon nap," I tease, and Donna and I share a chuckle.
"Ai, Eric, relax," Fez says cajolingly. "At least it's better than what Mr. Red called our table."
"Let me guess, the dumbass table?" I say.
"The dumbass table? Where's that?" Kelso appears and plops down in one of the two remaining seats.
"Wherever you are, man," I say, grinning cheekily.
"Ohhh." Kelso nods. "Nice burn."
We goof off for a bit more until Mrs. Forman saunters up to our table. "Everyone hungry? Red's taking the turkey out of the oven right now."
We all nod in assent, but after a moment Mrs. Forman frowns. We all watch as she lifts a finger and counts. "Wait. One, two, three, four, five. There's supposed to be six of you." Mrs. Forman plants her hands on her hips. "Where's Jackie?"
Donna glances briefly at me and then back down at the table. "Jackie couldn't make it," she tells Mrs. Forman.
"Huh," Mrs. Forman says and looks at me. When I don't offer any information, she draws her attention back to the whole group and wrings her hands through her apron. "Well, that's too bad, but I'm sure she'll have a nice dinner with her family."
"You know, I asked Jackie to come to Friends-giving and she totally shot me down," Kelso says once Mrs. Forman is gone. The ignorant surprise in his voice makes me laugh.
"You laugh, Hyde. But this is your fault," Kelso accuses.
"My fault?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Yeah." Kelso grabs a dinner roll from the center of the table and digs his index finger into it. "If you hadn't taken her on a date, then we wouldn't be in this mess."
"And what mess would that be, exactly?" I cross my arms.
"Well, for one thing, she would've been my date tonight and it's your fault that she's not!"
"No, it's not, you moron." I can't help it; I reach over and frog him in the shoulder. "Jackie wasn't your date tonight because she broke up with you. Because you cheated on her."
"Yeah, well…" Kelso thinks. "She totally would've - "
"Dumbasses!" Red's voice booms.
We all jump, and Kelso drops his bread roll on the floor. "Aww, man!" he grouses.
Red jabs his thumb behind him to the dining table. "You want turkey? Then get up and go get it."
Red turns to leave but pauses. With his other hand, he is holding the carving knife. He points it at Kelso. "And Kelso. Don't drop food on my carpet."
That effectively ends Kelso's whining about Jackie. The five of us get up to grab food from the main table before returning to our seats. Nobody brings up Jackie again, and I figure I'm in the free and clear until Kitty corners me rinsing dishes in the sink after dinner is over.
"Any idea why Jackie didn't come today?" Mrs. Forman asks, her voice deceptively innocent. She sets a pile of dishes next to the sink.
"Nope," I add, keeping my voice just as casual as hers.
"I've noticed that she hasn't been around much lately," Mrs. Forman muses, leaning her hip against the counter to look at me.
I keep my eyes on the dish I'm currently rinsing. "I hadn't noticed," I say, disinterested.
Mrs. Forman tsks. "Oh, come on Steven," she says, dropping the false pretense.
I grab another dish and remain calm. Despite her interrogation, Mrs. Forman was the one person I could never lose patience with. I just had to ride this out.
I tilt my chin toward the pile of dishes she'd set down. "Need me to rinse those, too?"
Mrs. Forman is quiet for a long moment. "Yes, please," she says. But then she places her hand on my forearm. "What happened? You and Jackie were getting along so well."
I just shrug.
"Have you thought more about what I said during the barbecue?" she inquires.
Mrs. Forman, if I like her, shoot me.
Pow!
Yeah. I'd only replayed that conversation in my head a thousand times, her Pow! firing off in my mind several times a day. Although I didn't want to like Jackie, especially not in that way, it was getting harder to pretend that she didn't mean anything to me. The glimpses of her that I saw when she was away from the cheerleaders and Kelso, when we were at Sizzler, or practicing Zen, or on that freaking date? Those parts of her were impossible not to be drawn to.
But it didn't matter. Because along with Mrs. Forman's words, I'd also been playing through my mind the numerous ways Jackie had said she was 'over' her crush on me, and - new since yesterday - that the date, that I, was a 'mistake'.
"Jackie doesn't like me that way, Mrs. Forman," I say, not willing to directly admit my own feelings. I grab another dish. "So, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
o-o-o
Smoke, low light, incense, haze. The best part of Thanksgiving, aside from Mrs. Forman's food, of course.
And also, the only way to take off the edge after that less-than-pleasant conversation with Mrs. Forman in the kitchen. My head had been spinning.
I couldn't understand how I had somehow come away with feelings for Jackie.
It stung that Jackie felt nothing toward me.
I felt guilty that Jackie hadn't come today because of me.
But most of all, I was bothered by the fact that any of this even bothered me to begin with.
So, I'd grabbed Forman, Fez, and Kelso - Donna had been busy with her parents - and had hauled them down in the basement with the sole intention of using the Circle to forget about Jackie.
And it worked. Now my biggest concern was that I was starting to get hungry again…
Then, as if on cue, Mrs. Forman's voice sings from the top of the stairs. "Time for dessert!"
Fez is up the stairs in a flash, Kelso right behind him.
"All right, I'm starving!" Forman says, his voice slow and dramatic.
"Hey, play it cool, wastoid," I say, elbowing him as we ascend the stairs. "We did just eat a massive Thanksgiving dinner. If Red sees you inhale an entire pie, he'll get suspicious."
"Good call." Forman salutes me dramatically and dives into the kitchen. Honestly, it was a wonder we didn't get caught smoking more often.
Fez and Kelso have practically licked their dishes clean by the time Forman and I get back to the kid's table. Donna is politely picking at a piece of pumpkin pie and shaking her head ruefully.
"What, you guys were so full after dinner that you had to go downstairs to make room for dessert?"
Kelso grins, revealing teeth and lips stained purple from blueberry pie. I glance down at my slice of apple pie and Donna's slice of pumpkin pie. Just how many pies had Mrs. Forman made?
"Hey, Forman. You think your mom'll let me bring some of this pie home? Bud never has anything in the kitchen." I look up. "Forman?"
He's staring dreamily at his last forkful of pie. "What?"
"Never mind," I say. I'll just ask Mrs. Forman directly.
Mrs. Forman is happy to oblige, and when Bud and I are getting ready to head out later that night, Mrs. Forman hands me a mountain of Tupperware, all filled to the brim with turkey, stuffing, pie, and more.
"Wow, thanks Mrs. Forman," I say, juggling the food in my arms.
She grins and gives me a peck on the cheek. "Well, I feel a little guilty about upsetting you earlier," she explains. Then her smile shifts into a slight frown as she tugs on my jacket sleeve. Plus, you're looking thinner. Maybe you and Bud should come to dinner more often."
I avert my eyes. I loved Mrs. Forman's cooking, but I wouldn't be responsible for the financial burden of two additional mouths to feed. I'd make do with Bud. Eyeing the tower of food, I figure we can make this last for a whole week. Two, if we were careful about it.
On the way to the car, Bud clears his throat. "Hey, you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"Sure, what's up?" I ask.
Bud points at Bob and Midge who are carrying their own (much smaller) pile of leftovers up the driveway to their house.
"During dinner, Bob mentioned that Midge is making him sell some of his hunting rifles now that the store is closing. I want to see how much he wants for 'em."
"Are you sure you can afford that right now, Bud?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. And the judgmental sound of it even makes me cringe.
Bud's eyes harden and he clenches his jaw. "I know the timing isn't ideal, but when will another opportunity like this present itself?"
"Shouldn't you try to pay your bills first?" I say, keeping any trace of accusation out of my voice.
Now Bud's ubiquitous jovial nonchalance is gone. "Hey, I'm the father here, Steven. I'll handle the money. Now, just…wait in the car while I go talk to Bob."
He hurls the keys at me despite the fact that I'm carrying a pile of food and have no free hand to catch them with. I don't move a muscle when the keys hit my shoulder and fall to the ground. Bud nods once and makes his way to the Pinciottis.
I stand there frozen and let the fire of anger burn through me. When I've sufficiently cooled off, I head back into the Forman house.
"Steven?" Mrs. Forman asks. She's still in the kitchen, arranging what's left of the food in the fridge.
"Yeah, Bud's talking with Bob and its cold outside," I say sheepishly. I set the food down on the table. "Can I do anything to help?"
"You know, actually," Mrs. Forman says, putting her hands on her hips. "I have this one slice of pumpkin pie left that I don't have room to store anywhere. Can I interest you in eating it?"
"I'm actually really full, but thanks."
She nods and then pulls out a knife and cuts the slice in half. "How about we split it then?"
I can't help but smile. "Yeah, okay."
She brings the two small slices and joins me at the table. We eat in the comfortable quiet.
Note: Chapter 7: Dreams & Plans will be posted Friday, March 8, 2024.