Everett stood in front of the mirror shirtless and analyzed himself. After living a number of months in LA, he hadn’t done much in terms of “eating badly,” and had certainly chiseled his abs down to an impressive six-pack. He dropped to the carpet and did one hundred crunches, then turned over to do one hundred pushups. All the while, he told himself to call his mom, just to check-in. Not now—not at six in the morning west coast time. He would call later just to let her know he cared and to wish his family a Happy Thanksgiving.
When he got up from the floor, he snapped on the TV to watch the start of the Macy’s Day Parade. He had fond memories of watching this, nibbling on a Thanksgiving treat, his brother beside him. He wondered if his brother’s children liked the Macy’s Day Parade as much as they had. But what was it, exactly, that they had liked? The floats? The dancing? The idea of other people eating parade candy?
He had no idea.
But he did waste a lot of that morning before heading over to the Sheridan house, dressed in a dark blue button-up shirt, one he knew brought out his eyes, a pair of dark blue jeans, and his boots. On his walk, the sun warmed his back, a welcome thing after the previous night’s chill.
When he reached the Sheridan house, he was overwhelmed with the number of cars in the driveway. Christine and Lola had said there would be a number of guests, that he would be the one million and first. He had thought they’d been exaggerating. When he reached what seemed to be the back door, he rapped on the screen door as loud as he could before just barging in. He dropped his boots awkwardly in the mudroom then continued on toward the kitchen, where he found some fifteen people, either crammed around a table or seated in front of the television or stationed around the kitchen counter. Outside, even more, people stood around a picnic table on the porch that overlooked the Sound, warmed with stand-up heaters that were normally used at restaurants.
An older man toward the far end of the room gave him a curious, not-overly-welcoming smile. At that moment, Lola burst down the stairs and stretched her arms wide in greeting. She barreled into him with a hug.
“Everyone! This is Everett. Christine and I met him at the bar last night. Apparently, he’s taking some photos at the big wedding. Not the trashy tabloid photos, either,” she explained.
Everett had to laugh. It was clear that she had already had a few glasses of wine.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Everett!” A pregnant girl sat near the television with a fist full of MMs. She waved with her other hand. “I’m Audrey, Lola’s daughter she had out of wedlock. As you can see, I’m following suit.”
Everett chuckled nervously. Another woman with very short hair approached. Her features were similar to Lola and Christine, although she looked a bit stricken, a bit exhausted.
“I’m Susan, Lola and Christine’s other sister,” she said. “And you’re so welcome. Can I get you a glass of something? We’ve got the wine flowing.”
More and more people went around the room, calling their names and greeting Everett. There was Steven and his wife, Laura, and their children. Then, there was Claire and her daughters, Abby and Gail, along with her husband, Russell. Amanda and Jake were introduced as Susan’s children. “Amanda’s studying to be a lawyer like her mom,” was something the older gentleman toward the side of the room interjected, which led Everett to learn that Wes was Lola, Susan, and Christine’s father. Beside him was “Uncle Trevor,” the father of Steven, Kelli, Claire, and Charlotte.
“Charlotte’s the wedding planner,” Lola interjected. “Although we haven’t been able to track her down for quite a while...”
“I’m sure she’s off somewhere finalizing something else in that silly wedding,” Susan said as she poured Everett a glass of wine.
“Mom! Come on. It’s not silly,” Amanda argued playfully. “It’s going to change Aunt Charlotte’s career forever.”
At that moment, another guy around Amanda’s age snuck in from the porch, kissed Amanda on the cheek, and then introduced himself as Amanda’s fiancé, Chris.
Everett’s heart pounded with each new person. I didn’t know families could really be like this—the way they are in the movies. Everyone is so welcoming. So eager. So loving.
“Oh, and you absolutely have to taste one of Christine’s croissants,” Susan said. She dropped into a cupboard to drag out a big basket of buttery, flaky morsels. “I wanted to save them for dinner, but you look like you haven’t nibbled on anything yet today, Everett.”
“He looks like he eats healthy,” Uncle Trevor said. “We don’t want any of that around here, Everett. Not on Thanksgiving.”
“Hear, hear! The day we celebrate all things sugar and fat!” Audrey called from the corner as she cracked through another few MMs.
“Where’s your family these days, Everett?” Uncle Trevor asked.
“They’re up in Seattle,” Everett replied. He sipped his wine idly, then added, “My father passed away a few years ago, so it’s just my mom and my brother and his family up there.”
“You must be sad to miss out on dinner with them,” Uncle Trevor said as he leaned up against the counter.
“I really am,” Everett said. Again, he was surprised to really feel that sadness. He hadn’t expected it, had kind of rushed across the continent, hoping that any of that would remain out west.
“Well, it’s a good thing you met our Lola and Christine out at the bar,” Trevor said.
At that moment, three men stomped in from the porch, where, it seemed, a grill had been lit. They introduced themselves as Zach, the cook, Tommy, and Scott, who wouldn’t let anyone else light the grill.
“You’re in for
