Baby proof

move into the family room to watch the football game that only Tony really cares about. I keep my mind off Ben by observing Scott and Maura. He is pandering to her every need-refilling her wine glass, rubbing her shoulders, handling the kids when they act up-and I find myself thinking of one of Annie's theories on relationships that she calls the 'benevolent dictator' theory. She says that in an ideal relationship, the balance of power is equal. But if someone has to have more power, that someone needs to be the woman. Her reasoning is that when most men wield the power, they abuse it and succumb to their innately self-serving, self-indulgent instincts. Women who have power, on the other hand, tend to rule in the interest of the family unit rather than their own self-interest. Which is why matriarchal societies are peaceful, harmonious ones. And why societies ruled by males are ultimately destroyed in war.

Of course when Annie first shared this theory with me in college, I tried to debunk it with tales of my own parents. I told her my mother held all the power-and was all about self-interest-while my father was the well- intentioned good guy. Yet, upon looking around, I had to begrudgingly admit that Annie was onto something and that my family seemed to be the exception to the rule. My friends with divorced parents almost all had passive martyrs for mothers; and the ones with parents in strong marriages all seemed to have forceful mothers and doting husbands.

I watch Maura now, imagining her coronation as benevolent dictator. The ruler who could have cruelly left Scott at home with a Swanson frozen dinner after usurping him from the throne. Instead, she brought him along to our family feast. She showed him a drop of grace and at least short-term clemency. Some might say this makes her a fool or a coward. I might have said the same thing last week. But as I watch her today, I think it has more to do with strength of spirit, of wanting to do what is best for her children and struggling to find that answer. Still, children or no children, I also know that she's reached the end of the line. If Scott is lucky enough to survive this incident, I am certain that she will not tolerate another betrayal, even a small hint of one. This is his final, final chance at redemption. I can tell Scott knows it, too.

I just wonder if sheer force of will to forgive can be enough to set things right for my sister and her family. Because after all, power is one thing. Love is a different creature altogether.

When the turkey is done, we are told to migrate to the dining room, despite Tony's request that we watch the end of the game and eat on TV trays. Daphne doesn't dignify this with a response. Instead she ignores him and says, 'Everyone grab a beverage and c'mon!'

Dwight leads the charge, a glass of wine in one hand and a can of diet Dr Pepper in the other. As he rounds the corner, he booms, 'Whoa! Look out! Assigned seating!'

Sure enough, Daphne has set the table with little place cards made out of brown construction paper and pilgrim stickers. She has placed smaller ones at a card table for Zoe, Patrick, and William.

Maura eagerly circles the table, inspecting the names, as people do at a wedding reception. She quickly plucks Scott's up and switches it with Dwight's so that she is no longer seated next to her husband. Meanwhile, Scott frowns and the rest of us pretend not to notice as we take our seats.

Tony says the blessing, and afterward, Daphne insists on adhering to our family tradition-we all must name something we are grateful for. I personally think that that is a mighty dangerous activity considering the tenuous circumstances that comprise our lives on this particular Thursday. But I'm not about to rock the boat. Instead, my mind races with generic possibilities for my own offering.

Daphne gives a final instruction, 'Remember. No repeats.' Then she says, 'Dwight, you can start.'

Dwight smiles and says, 'Okeydokey. I'm grateful for the food on this table that Daphne prepared for us. Everything looks great!'

'Dammit, Dwight,' I say. 'You took mine.'

Dwight laughs and says, 'I'm also grateful that I got to go first!'

Zoe clamors to go next. She says she is grateful that her head is better and that she had so much fun with Aunt Claudia last weekend. I smile at her. Zoe then says she will go for Patrick and William. She says that her brothers are grateful for all of their toys and books.

My mother picks up at the adult table where Dwight left off. She looks at the ceiling, as if pondering her bounty of blessings. She is always good for an unexpected, attention-grabbing song of thanksgiving. One year it was: 'I'm grateful that Ross Perot did so well in this year's election. 'Another year: 'I'm grateful that my husband Dwight now knows that gifts from Kohl's and other retail stores of that ilk, though well intentioned, are not acceptable.'

This year she goes the self-aggrandizing route and says, 'I'm thankful for the creative energy our Lord has bestowed upon me as I have embarked on my exciting new career in photography.'

I try not to crack up and am assisted in this effort by the fact that Scott is up. His eyes remain closed, as if still in prayer. Last year I remember he was grateful that the stock market was finally rebounding and the economy getting back on track. This year, he clears his throat and says, 'I'm grateful to be here at this table.'

His simple statement is the most genuine and humble utterance I've ever heard from him, and I can't help feeling moved. I am a long ways from forgiving him, but I realize that empathy might be the first step. And I do feel nearly sorry for him. Maura, on the other hand, looks completely unfazed when she quickly comes back with, 'I'm thankful for my beautiful children, my supportive parents, and my loyal sisters.'

Ouch, I think.

'What about Daddy?' Zoe says. The child misses nothing.

'Oh, yes, Zoe, thank you,' Maura says. 'I'm grateful that you have a daddy who loves you and your brothers.'

This seems to appease her, so we move on to my dad. After he gives his standard thanks for the health of everyone at the table, it is my turn.

I know I have a lot to be grateful for, but all I can think of is Ben. Of how my life feels so depleted without him. I think for another minute, surveying the faces around the table. Ben and I used to be our own little family, but now the people in this room are the only family I have. The only family I likely will ever have. So I say, 'I am thankful for the love in this room. For knowing that despite any trouble we might find ourselves in, we will be here for one another in the end.'

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Even William and Patrick look somber.

'Okay,' I say. 'Daph?'

We all look at my sister. She and Tony clasp hands and smile at each other, and I instantly know that they have big news. That we will all have something real to be happy about.

Sure enough, my sister smiles angelically and says, 'Tony and I want to do one together this year.' Then she looks around the table and says, 'We are grateful that God is finally blessing us with a child.'

My mother gasps. 'Dear God! You're pregnant! It's a miracle!'

'No, Mother,' Daphne says quickly. 'I'm not pregnant… But you're right, it is a miracle.'

Her voice breaks as if she is about to cry so Tony continues for her. 'We're adopting a baby. A baby boy. He's due on December twenty-second.'

For one moment, we are all stunned and then our collective shock converts to the purest form of joy, the kind that translates to simultaneous laughter and tears. Daphne regains composure, telling us to eat before the food gets cold.

'As if we can eat! Tell us the details,' Maura says as she stands and hugs Daphne, then kisses Tony.

We all follow suit, standing in line to congratulate the proud parents-to-be. Even Scott seems to forget that he is in the doghouse as he high-fives Tony.

Then as we all sit back down and share our Thanksgiving meal, Daphne tells us about her fateful meeting with her son's birth mother in an Easy Spirit store at the mall in Huntington. We all laugh at her introduction because it is just like Daphne to befriend strangers.

'Easy Spirit?' Maura says and then mockingly spouts off the company motto, ' 'Looks like a pump, feels like a sneaker!' '

Daphne smiles and says to Maura, 'I know, you're appalled by my fashion sensibilities, but those shoes are so comfortable… And I'm not trying to impress fifth-graders with my footwear.'

My father throws his hands up in mock exasperation and says, 'Enough of the shoes! Tell us what