Thanksgiving Dinner

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Everyone’s gathered in the massive, grand dining room- though to me it was more of a hall. We’re all stuffing ourselves with turkey, left over stuffing, and fried chicken wings, and baked potatoes, beans and eggs, salad. It was truly a feast. I was also doing the same thing only I had to force the food down my throat. I really didn’t have an appetite especially after the talk with my grandmother while she was giving me a tour of the massive house. Seriously, the house was so huge, I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the plan of it.  

My grandmother had interlocked my arm through her elbow and was showing me around the house to which I was gushing and giving general comments like “oh”, “Cool”, “That’s nice”. 

We were climbing to the second story when she decided to address my lack of communication skills:

“So tell me about yourself” She urged.

I stare at her a little nervous, I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was so nice. “Erm, there isn’t anything much to say, never really could pursue any hobbies or join any groups,” I tell her shrugging.

“Alright, what’s your favorite colour?” She asks

“Er, black……” I hesitate cause I have always loved the color of Tristan’s eyes. It was a shade of blue I have yet to see anywhere else. The thought of his eyes brought back a gazillion amount of pain and hurt. It was as if the hole inside my chest had festered and corroded its way through my lungs and heart.  I sigh, “Actually, I like this certain shade of blue. I’ve never seen it anywhere but in someone’s eye color.” I tell her as I try to reign in my shaky voice.

My grandmother’s watching me so I guess the strain that was taking place internally was obvious on my face. “Who might this someone be?” She asks slyly winking at me.

I give her small smile “He was my best friend and till recently my boyfriend.” I tell her.

I hadn’t realized we had walked into a room on the second floor by now and I looked around to take in my surroundings. It looked neat yet there was a slight rebel feeling to the room. There was a bed, a bookshelf with books scattered everywhere, a desk-which was empty, a baseball bat, hockey stick, basketball were all neatly showcased at one end of the room. There weren’t any photos here either.

“This was Elliot’s room” My grandmother tells me “But I want to hear about this boy of yours.” She says and pulls me to my father’s neatly made bed and sits down on it patting the spot next to hers.

I bite my lip and join her. This was getting close to me pouring my eyes out in waterfalls of tears.

“So what do you want to know?” I ask her.

Before she could answer, there’s a knock on the door and I turn to it, and see Heather sticking her head into the room “Hey, mind if I join you guys?” she asks looking at me.

“Sure sweetheart, Star here was just telling me about this boy she has in her life” my grandmother tells Heather grinning at her, “I’m a hopeless romantic, so is my daughter. We’ve religiously watched all the Nicholas Sparks movies.” My grandmother gushes.

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