Love the one youre with

The Shawshank Redemption. Incidentally, there were about three other rooms that could be called dens, but instead were called the game room, library, and family room. The entire house was grand and sprawling and filled with fine antiques, Oriental rugs, oil paintings, and other valuable heirlooms collected by way of exotic travels and deceased relatives. Yet despite how formal the house was, every room managed to feel cozy, which I attributed to the warm, soft lighting and the plethora of comfortable chairs to curl up in. Stella did not believe in a lot of things-store-bought salad dressings, regifting, hyphenated last names, for example-and a big one was uncomfortable seating. 'Nothing ruins a dinner party faster than hard chairs,' she offhandedly told me once. When she offered gems like this, I always had the feeling I should jot them down in a notebook somewhere to consult for future reference.

But in a house full of beautiful, comfortable rooms, the kitchen was probably my favorite. I loved the caramel-colored walls, the slate countertops, and the heavy copper pots and pans hanging from hooks over the island. I was enchanted by the picture window overlooking the back terrace and the stone fireplace beside which everyone congregated. It was just the sort of spacious, bright kitchen that you see in the movies. A kitchen featuring a large happy family with a strong yet traditional mother at the helm; a handsome, doting father; a gracious, well-groomed daughter; and a couple of good-natured sons who pop in to dip wooden ladles into simmering pots on the oversized Viking stove and praise their dear mom's-or dear housekeeper's-cooking. Everything about that kitchen was perfect-just like the family in it.

That is what I remember thinking as I plunged my hands into hot, soapy water and fished out two silver teaspoons. I was thinking how lucky I was to be here-that this was exactly how Thanksgiving was supposed to feel-except, perhaps, for the near sixty-degree weather.

My own family had disappointed me that year-which was not uncommon since my mother's death. My father tried for a few years to continue our traditions, but Sharon changed all of that-not in an ill-intentioned sort of way, but simply because she had her own children and her own way of doing things. That year, she and my father had gone to Cleveland to visit Sharon's son, Josh, and his new wife, Leslie, who was a former cheerleader from Ohio State, a fact that Sharon seemed exceedingly and disproportionately proud of. This left Suzanne and me to fend for ourselves, and although I was dubious about two single sisters creating a satisfying Thanksgiving, a holiday revolving around food, when neither of us was adept in the kitchen, I was willing to give it a go. Suzanne, however, was not. She made it clear to me that she wasn't going 'to do the holidays this year.' I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but I had grown accustomed to her moods and knew that forcing a traditional Thanksgiving upon her was unwise. So I was beyond grateful when Margot invited me home with her.

I told Andy some of this now, as he asked about my family, careful not to sound bitter and betray my father and sister. Or worse, sound like Margot's pitiful, matchstick friend.

Andy, who had just strapped on a frilly blue apron, more for the comedic effect than any utilitarian purpose, listened intently and then said, 'Well, I'm very glad you're here. The more the merrier, I always say.'

I smiled, thinking that a lot of people use that expression, but the Grahams truly believed it, and so far today, at least a half-dozen friends had dropped by to say hello, including Margot's high school boyfriend, Ty, who had brought over two-dozen famed, pastel thumbprint cookies from Henri's, a long-standing Atlanta bakery. Margot denied it, but Ty was clearly still in love with her-or at least he was still smitten with her family. I could see how it could happen.

'You know,' I said to Andy, 'most families aren't like this.'

'Like what?'

'Functioning,' I said. 'Happy.'

'We fooled you,' Andy said. 'It's all a facade.'

For a second, I was worried, nearly disillusioned. Was there a dark family secret I didn't know about? Abuse of some kind? White-collar crime? Or worse, a final-word, no-hope diagnosis, like the one that changed everything for my family? I glanced at Andy and saw his jovial expression, feeling awash with relief. My vision of the Grahams as, against all odds, well off and well adjusted was safely intact.

'Nah. We are pretty functioning… Except for James,' he said, referring to his younger brother, the lovable screw-up of the family who at the time was living in the guest house in the backyard, hence earning the nickname Kato Kaelin. James had just lost another job-he had more 'God-awful bosses' than anyone I had ever known-and had recently totaled at least his third fancy, free car. Yet even James's antics seemed to add only good flavor, the rest of the family simply shaking their head in fond disbelief.

Andy and I were quiet for a few minutes, our elbows occasionally knocking together as we worked, until he said, out of the blue, 'So you ever hear from that guy you used to go out with? Leo, is it?'

My heart jumped. I had just thought of Leo earlier that morning, wondering if he was with his own family in Queens, or whether he was taking a break from the holidays, Suzanne style. I could see him pulling a similar stunt, particularly if he was on a tight deadline. Still, thinking about him was one thing, speaking of him was another. I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. I had the sense that I was going on record, and although I wanted to be accurate, I also wanted to come across as strong. 'No,' I finally said. 'It was a clean break.'

This was a bit of an exaggeration, given my grieving period, but I reasoned that it was clean on Leo's end. Besides, if you never contact someone even once after your final breakup, isn't it, by definition, clean? No matter what you feel like on the inside? I thought about the one occasion that I almost called Leo. It was right after September Eleventh. At most a week had passed, but the country-and certainly the city-was still in that awful haze of grief and fear. I knew that Leo's offices and home were nowhere near the World Trade Center, and that he seldom had an occasion to visit New York's financial district. But still. There were so many crazy stories that day-stories about people being in places where they normally weren't-that I started to imagine the worst. Besides, I reasoned to Margot, I was getting lots of calls from old friends, even minor acquaintances, who were checking on me. Wasn't it the compassionate, decent thing to do? After all, I might have had bitter feelings toward Leo, but I wanted him to be alive. My rationalizing got nowhere with Margot who convinced me that I couldn't, under any circumstances, contact Leo, and she did so with one simple, irrefutable argument: 'He's not calling to check on you, is he?'

I added a bit more detergent to the running water, the scent of lemon filling the air, as Andy nodded and said, 'Clean breaks are always good.'

I murmured my agreement. 'Yeah. I never really understood those people who are all buddy-buddy with their exes.'

'I know,' Andy said. 'Someone's still holding a flame.'

'Like Ty,' I said, laughing.

'Ex-actly,' Andy said. 'I mean, c'mon, man, let the dream die already.'

I laughed, thinking that I had certainly let the dream die with Leo, not that I had much of a choice in the matter.

'So,' Andy came right out and asked next, 'are you seeing anyone now?'

I shook my head. 'No. Not really. Occasional dates here and there-mostly compliments of Margot. I think she's set me up with every straight, single man in the fashion industry… But nothing serious… What about you?'

I asked the question even though I basically knew his status-he was single again after a short stint with an off-Broadway actress named Felicia. Margot didn't know many details, only that they had broken up, and that she was pretty sure it was mostly Andy's doing. Apparently Felicia was too high maintenance-a drama queen even off- stage.

Andy confirmed with a chipper, 'Single,' as I handed him a crystal goblet.

He shot me a sideways smile that made me suddenly wonder if he was doing more than making small talk and helping with the dishes. Could Margot's brother actually be interested in me? Not possible, was my first instinct. It didn't matter that Andy was approachable, friendly, and somewhat goofy; he was still Margot's very cute, very successful, older brother, which made him feel, somehow, out of my league, or at the very least, off-limits. So I pushed any romantic thoughts of Andy out of my mind as we continued our rhythm of washing and rinsing and drying. Then suddenly, we were finished. And surprisingly, I was sorry we were.

'That about does it,' Andy said, drying his hands, untying the apron, and folding it neatly on the counter. I