Dana Peyton leaned back against the sofa cushions, propped her bunny-slipper clad feet on the coffee table, and took a long, leisurely sip of her skinny Chai Latte.
It was nearly Thanksgiving, and Christmas was just around the corner. She studied the flames in the fireplace. The holidays – in theory – were wonderful. And the days between Thanksgiving and New Year’s were also – in theory – a magical time, filled with family and friends, good times, and plenty of delicious food.
Unfortunately, the holidays also meant consulting dozens of recipe cards and stacks of cookbooks and magazines to create the perfect menu… a menu that accommodated everyone’s likes and dislikes and dietary requirements at the holiday dinner table.
Dana sighed. There was Aunt Gladys, for instance, with her peanut allergies, and Uncle Dan with his fear and loathing of sodium (‘one drop of Kitchen Bouquet and I’m dead!’). Not to mention her daughter Becky’s militant veganism (who knew that marshmallows weren’t vegan?). And of course Becky’s boyfriend refused to consume anything with trans fats, and her soon-to-be-ex-husband Alex couldn’t abide red food. Which eliminated tomatoes, strawberries, beets, red meat… and red velvet cake.
It made creating a menu somewhat of a challenge.
There was one way to simplify the menu, of course. She’d tell Alex he couldn’t join them for Thanksgiving Dinner.
“I haven’t got anywhere else to go, Dana,” he’d complained when she told him he wasn’t invited. “I’ll have to spend Thanksgiving alone.”
“Whose fault is that?” she shot back. “You cheated on me, Alex, and I kicked you out. Now your girlfriend’s booted you too – the first smart thing she’s done – and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because you haven’t got anyone to cook you a nice turkey dinner? Well, color me indifferent.”
“It’s only for the afternoon,” he grumbled, “just for a few hours. I’ll bring a bottle of bubbly, and some of those Belgian chocolates you like so much.”
Dana crossed her arms against her chest. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want Becky to think that we’re getting back together.”
“I’ll make it clear that I’m only back for the turkey, nothing more.” He looked at her cagily. “You, er… you haven’t invited your battleax of a mother, have you?”
“Yes! And if you don’t like it,” Dana snapped, “you can sit alone in your Extended-Stay hotel room and nuke a frozen dinner. I’ve heard Swanson’s is pretty good.”
Nevertheless – against her better judgment, which had obviously completely abandoned her – Dana agreed to let Alex spend Thanksgiving at home with ‘his two favorite girls’.
♥ ♥ ♥
Thanksgiving Day arrived, and so did Alex. He breezed into the kitchen – looking annoyingly handsome in his Burberry scarf and wool overcoat – where Dana was whisking Gruyere and white cheddar into the béchamel sauce. He deposited an armful of champagne and chocolates on the counter and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
“Happy Thanksgiving, darling,” he murmured. “You look very fetching. Fancy a glass of champagne?” he asked as he grabbed the bottle and held it up.
“No. Put it in the fridge. Now, hand me that pepper mill and go. Brandon and Uncle Dan are in the den, watching the game. Mom’s in there, too. You can grab a beer and join them.”
“Brandon?” Alex stared at her in disbelief. “Do you mean to say,” he hissed, “that you’ve invited your bed buddy into my home to share our Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Don’t start, Alex,” she warned him as she drained the elbow macaroni. “It’s not your home anymore. You’re the one who walked out that door, remember? And we won’t even talk about all of your bed buddies. Now, since you’ll pass the dining room on your way to the den, you can take this-” she thrust a green bean casserole in his hands “-and put it on the table. And behave,” she warned him.
He grabbed the casserole and stalked out.
♥ ♥ ♥
Dinner was a strained affair. Aunt Gladys complained that the vegan marshmallows on the sweet potatoes tasted like insulation, to which Uncle Dan replied, “Well, your bread pudding always tastes like Styrofoam. And when did you last eat insulation, I wonder?”
“It must have been at the same time,” she replied menacingly, “that you ate the Styrofoam.”
“So, Alex,” Brandon ventured as he passed Dana the platter of ham, “I heard your firm just lost the Bigsby account.” He put on an expression of mock sympathy. “Tough break.”
Alex shrugged. “Win some, lose some. Isn’t that what they say, Brandy, old boy? Speaking of which-” he slapped more mashed potatoes onto his plate “-I noticed you were pretty plastered at the last Law Review dinner. The senior partner didn’t look too amused when you tried to put your tongue down his trophy wife’s throat.”
Brandon laid his fork aside. “Oh, you mean Alyssa?” He frowned. “Tell me – when did you two have that fling – was it two years ago? Or just last year? Jeez, you’ve had so many office affairs, I can’t keep ‘em all straight,” he added, and guffawed.
Alex stood and thrust back his chair. “How’d you like some more of this sausage and chestnut stuffing, Brandon – up your ass?”
“Dad!” Becky exclaimed, shocked.
“Alex!” Dana snapped.
“You son of a bitch,” Brandon growled.
Alex and Brandon wrestled atop the platters of turkey and ham as they rolled and shouted and tried to strangle each other.
“It’s like a scene out of that movie, “The War of the Roses,” Aunt Gladys observed from the sidelines in disapproval. “Thank God Dana doesn’t have a cat.”
“And thank God Alex doesn’t have a Morgan,” Uncle Dan added.
“What’s a Morgan?” Becky asked.
Dana’s antique china soup tureen shattered when Alex flung it at Brandon’s head; Brandon spent Thanksgiving evening in the ER and filed suit against Alex for malicious wounding; and Becky’s boyfriend said he’d rather eat trans fats than eat with the Peytons again.
Needless to say, the dining room table had to be replaced.
All in all, Dana reflected with a weary sigh as she sipped her coffee the next morning, it had been a very memorable Thanksgiving, to say the least. And thankfully, it was over.
Now there was only Christmas and New Year’s left to get through…