Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 22

As always, Harriet's parents hadn't quite managed to put away all of their Halloween decorations before prepping the house for Thanksgiving. A black cat with its fur standing on end and a startled look on its face arched its back from inside the cornucopia centerpiece. "He's surprised we've got such a huge feast in store for you," Harriet told Sam.

But he wasn't looking at the unseasonal decoration, the leafy garlands hanging from every window, or even the speck of cranberry sauce spoiling his grandma's attempt to sneak a taste without either of them knowing. He only had eyes for the extra chair in the dining room.

"Why don't you go watch the parade?" Harriet said. "I heard Santa will be there."

Sam trudged off to make himself cozy on the couch while Harriet handed Nia a dish full of green beans. "I figured we'd better get the boring stuff out of the way first. The sweet potato casserole's in the car."

"Can't have Thanksgiving without at least one dish nobody will touch," Nia said with a laugh.

"Hey, we have to at least pretend to eat something healthy today so we have an excuse to pig out again when Christmas rolls around."

"Amen to that!"

Harriet set the dishes that had already been prepared on the table where her mom had already put the cranberry sauce and cornbread. With Sam occupied critiquing the parade floats, she joined Nia in the kitchen. "Alright, let's get down to business. Where do we stand?"

"I was just about to start prepping the stuffing. Any word from Frank?"

"They still haven't boarded yet. Plane's delayed 'cause of snow." Harriet sighed. "At least he let me know."

"You'd think that would be a given," Nia muttered as she started sautéing the onions. "Would you be a dear and handle the giblets for me, honey?"

As Harriet plunged her hand into the turkey, she felt a strange kinship with the bird. This had been one of her father's Thanksgiving duties, along with making dessert and providing moral support. Without him, she felt as if she too had her innards exposed for the world to see thanks to her constantly cracking voice and eyes sunken with insomnia. Unlike the bird, at least she could find at least a moment's relief, even if that meant fumbling around in the poultry's cavity until her fingers closed around the moist giblets.

The organs hit the frying pan with a crackling sizzle. "I wish Dad was here," Harriet muttered.

The stove brought her no release. No easing of the pressure building in her tear ducts, no inkling things would eventually feel alright. It left her with nothing but a lonely hollowness in her chest and a painful awareness that the stove could never soothe her soul the way the oven could.

"Me too," her mom said softly, "but I'm glad we at least get to spend a little time together."

They both wept. "If Sam asks," Harriet said as she wiped her eyes, "I'm blaming the onions."

"What is it kids say these days, that they're surrounded by onion-cutting samurai?"

"Ninjas, but that makes about as much sense. They may be sneaky, but I'm pretty sure the ninjas would be bawling their eyes out too!"

"I don't know about you, but I'm never the least bit quiet when I'm cutting vegetables, crying or not. I swear it sounds like gunfire half the time."

"As far as Sam's concerned, Brussels sprouts are even worse than onions."

"Not on the way in, but on the way out? I love you, honey, but boy am I glad I won't have to smell your stomach's opinion about those tonight."