Knitting Under the Influence

She rolled her eyes. “You spill something once and it's like some natural disaster.”

“You spill every time you're here,” Sam said. “That's not an accident, it's a pattern.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She went and stretched out on the sofa and watched the parade until Sam called that the eggs were ready. She ran back into the kitchen and was sitting down, reaching for her fork, before he'd even put her plate on the table.

“So why are you alone on Thanksgiving?” she asked him through a mouthful of eggs. She was crazy hungry.

“Put the napkin in your lap,” he said, glaring at her from under his thick dark eyebrows. “And remember to use it.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“And stop talking with your mouth full. I’m not alone on Thanksgiving, Kathleen. I’m having breakfast with you, and, in just a few hours, I’ll be having Thanksgiving dinner with my ex-wife and daughter and former in-laws. Any other questions?”

“Your former in-laws?”

“Yes.” When she just stared at him blankly, he said, “Patricias parents.”

“I’m confused.”

“Do you need me to draw you a chart?”

“No,” she said and stuck another forkful of egg in her mouth. She swallowed. “I get who you're seeing. I just don't get why. Do you like seeing them?”

He laughed out loud. He, of course, had carefully spread his napkin over his lap. He was still in his bathrobe, but his manners were as impeccable as always. “No, actually, I don't. You ask the right questions, Kathleen, I’ll give you that.”

She wiggled in her seat like a child given a compliment. “So why go?”

“Because I want to be with Joanna, and that's where she'll be.”

“Why not ask her to come and have Thanksgiving alone with you?”

“Because she likes being with the whole family. And I don't want to take something she likes away from her.”

“Huh,” Kathleen said. “Can I have some more eggs?”

“Did you finish those already? Jesus, you're a pig. That was three whole eggs. Extra-large.”

“I’ve been up since eight and I went running. And I think I forgot to eat dinner last night.”

He sat back and regarded her. “Does it ever occur to you to stock the refrigerator with food and actually cook for yourself? You have a fully functional gourmet kitchen down there, you know.”

She shrugged. “I don't know how to cook.”

“It's not hard. You just follow directions. People teach themselves to cook all the time. All it requires is a tiny bit of effort and forethought-although it is possible you're not capable of either.”

“I’m capable of enough forethought to ask you for more eggs before I’ve eaten all my toast.” She tilted her head with a smile that showed all her teeth, top and bottom.

“Someone must have told you you were cute when you were little,” Sam said, “and we're all paying the price now.”

“No one ever told me I was cute when I was little,” Kathleen said. “That's what people said to the twins. I was the responsible one.”

“You've got to be kidding.”

“No, really, I was. Somewhere along the way, I got less responsible, I guess. But the twins are still cute. I don't know what that leaves me.”

“You have the biggest appetite of any girl I’ve ever seen,” Sam said. “That's something.”

“Does that mean I get more eggs?”

He stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you how to make them, so next time you'll do it yourself and let me eat in peace.”

“I don't want to learn how,” she said. “I want you to make them for me.”

“You're going to learn.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.

By the time she left his apartment, she could cook eggs three different ways. Sam said he'd teach her to do an omelet next, but added that he wasn't convinced it was within her capabilities.

II

Wow,” Lucy said as Sari's mother kissed her on the cheek. “You look great, Mrs. Hill.”

Lucy sounded sincere, so Sari squinted at her mother, trying to see her through someone else's eyes.

Eloise Hill was a small, pretty, well-groomed woman of fifty-nine. Her thick hair was dyed a streaky blond and cut in a neat bob, and had been for as long as Sari could remember. For Thanksgiving, she was dressed in precisely tailored khaki pants, a striped blue sweater, and a pair of dark brown loafers, all very neat and nautical. She looked, as she often did, as if she had wandered out of a Ralph Lauren family photo.

For a moment, Sari let herself believe her mother was as lovely and normal as she appeared and hugged her with real warmth. “I was so delighted when Sari called to tell us she'd be bringing you!” her mother said to Lucy over her shoulder. “It feels just like old times.” She released her daughter and stepped back. “I hope you two don't mind that I didn't cook the meal myself-I picked the whole meal up from Gelson's, right down to the stuffing and cranberries. It's a terrible cheat, I know.”

“Are you kidding?” Sari said. “We're both delighted you didn't cook.”

“Oh, you,” her mother said and pushed her arm affectionately.

Look at us, Sari thought. We're adorable. Maybe this time everything will be fine.

“Your father's watching football in the bedroom,” her mother said. “Actually, I think he fell asleep, or I know he would have come out to greet you. I’ll go tell him you're here.”

“Where's Charlie?”

“In the family room, watching one of his movies.” She turned to Lucy. “He'll be so happy to see you.” She smiled and the edges of her lips made neat little corners in her cheeks.

Sari and Kathleen went on into the family room, which hadn't changed in twenty years. Charlie sat on the faded brown leather sofa, watching TV. He was fatter than he'd been the last time Sari had seen him, fatter than he'd ever been, and he'd been pretty fat before. He didn't seem to notice when they entered the room.

“Shit,” Sari said, grabbing Lucy's arm. “Look at that.” She pointed to a pile of Balance Bars on the coffee table in front of him. There were a bunch of torn empty wrappers lying next to them. “We're about to eat Thanksgiving dinner and she goes and gives him a stack of Balance Bars. Just so he won't bother her.”

Lucy didn't say anything.

Sari sat down on the sofa next to her brother and took his hand. “Charlie?”

He glanced up. “Hi, Sari,” he said casually, as if it hadn't been over six months since they'd last seen each other.

She took his hand and squeezed it hard. He squeezed back. He didn't like to be hugged, so Sari always greeted him that way, and he always responded in kind. She was never sure whether it was an affectionate gesture on his part or just a learned response, but it felt affectionate to her.

“How've you been, mister?” she said.

“Good,” he said, still watching the TV. Star Wars was playing-the original one, with Mark Hamill.

Sari said, “Charlie. This is my friend Lucy. Do you remember her from high school?”

He shook his head.

“Please say hi to her, Charlie.”

“Hi,” he said, watching the TV.

“Hi,” Lucy said. “Nice to see you again.”

“Look at her, please,” Sari said. “Charlie, look at Lucy and shake her hand.”

Lucy extended her hand, and Charlie obligingly stuck out his own hand toward the TV set.