Everything We Always Were

Twenty Seven: Dust

Friendsgiving.

What an interesting idea. I had definitely heard of it before, but I hadn't thought about it until Veronica brought it up.

This will be my first Thanksgiving without my mother, although the last few years weren't very eventful with her anyway. I refuse to let the thought depress me since I get to spend it with Delia this year.

Plus, Maria will probably bring me dinner one of these days. It's been a while since I have seen her. Sitting and listening to them talk about the plans, I don't think any of the words actually stay in my mind. I find myself staring at Delia throughout the entirety of this get-together.

"Leaving James and Delia like last time?" I peel my eyes away from her bouncing foot at the sound of my name. Veronica is looking at me expectantly, and I see Delia nod out of the corner of my eye, so I nod as well.

"Okay," I take a breath. "So, I split the list in half, and kind of categorized it into dry and wet foods, or cold and shelf stuff." I extend the piece of paper towards her. "You get cold easily so you take all of the dry and I'll do the refrigerated stuff, deal?"

"Sounds perfect, meet you outside when we are both done?" I nod, glancing up at the sky. The clouds are grey, but they seem to be clearing up.

After we got through the doors, we split up to opposite ends of the store. I load the cart with meat and dairy products and then move down to fruits and vegetables. My list is complete pretty quickly so I make my way to the registers and pick a self-checkout lane.

It wasn't until I got out to the benches that I realized that I needed to get the drinks. I look around, and the parking lot is pretty much empty.

Pushing the cart against the corner of the building, next to the bushes, I rush back in and to the drink aisle, where I grab the sodas, tea, and lemonade before checking out with those items.

Thankfully, my cart is still there when I get back outside, with presumably everything still in it. It isn't a minute later that Delia is pushing her cart precariously through the doors.

After passing my keys off to Delia, I start lugging the bags into the garage. Dusty, cobweb-filled boxes line the walls, but it's otherwise clean in here. No one uses the garage, it's not big enough for me to park my truck in, and it's set too far behind the house for Maria to use it practically.

The old fridge in here is still kicking, surprisingly.

I pull the heavy door open and scoot one of the boxes in front of it, holding it open. Quickly making my second trip for the drinks and last bags, I begin to move the beer bottles to the bottom of the fridge.

There are probably over 24 bottles in here, and they have been in here for as long as I can remember. After all this time, I don't remember how exactly they got here, just that they're my fathers.

Either my mom bought them for him, as some way to keep him here longer on his short visits, or he brought them himself. He probably drank 3 or 4 of them before his last visit.

I take a breath, take a few of the bottles, and move them into the shelves on the door.

There are rings where they used to sit.

It takes 20 minutes, but I finish putting everything into the fridge and situate the boxes of canned soda off to the side right as I hear Delia pull back in.

"That was fun," She has a huge smile plastered across her face as she meets me halfway between the garage and driveway.

"What? Driving the truck?"