The Stacks

Chapter 17: Family Traditions

Song: "Country Roads" by John Denver

* * * * *

Harry arrived at my place bright and early on Thanksgiving morning. "How do I look?" He asked as he stood in my kitchen, anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

I walked around my small kitchen island and grabbed his hands. He was wearing a gray and black speckled sweater and a black leather jacket. His hair was down, soft and framing his face perfectly. "You look fantastic," I assured him. "And my family is going to love you."

"Thanks," he said, now acting kind of sheepish. "I just haven't done this meet-the-parents thing in a long time."

"It's okay," I smiled. "I get why you're nervous, but it'll be fun. I promise."

We arrived just before 9:00 AM, in time for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, a long-standing tradition in my family. We drove up and Harry exhaled a long, "Wow." I glanced at him and he said, "Your house is amazing."

"Thanks," I replied. "My parents put a lot of work into it. They don't sit still much," I said, to which Harry laughed.

We walked into the warm smells of Thanksgiving. Although we were hours away from the main meal, the scent of pies and warm bread and cranberries hung in the air.

My mom rushed over to greet us. "Hi, sweetie," she said, crushing me in a hug. And then gushing with her classic Midwest hospitality, she turned to Harry. "Hello, I'm Margot. You must be Harry." She was one of those people who hugged you whether or not you wanted to be hugged, so before he could even answer, he was crushed in her embrace as well.

"Thank you for having me," he said with a warm smile after she released him. "It's very nice to meet you."

Mom responded with, "Oh, I love your accent!" And suddenly my dad was at her side, repeating the same pleasantries. He took our coats and we wandered into the kitchen, lured by the delicious smells.

"Coffee, Harry?" My mom asked, already pouring a cup for him.

"Yes, please."

She set another mug down in front of me, too, knowing I wouldn't refuse. Next, there appeared in front of us a plate of sticky buns chock full of pecans and dripping with caramel.

"Oh, I should have warned you," I said to Harry, pulling a sticky bun from the collective mass of buns. "If you don't pace yourself, you might fall into a sugar coma today."

He breathed out a laugh and said, "I'll take my chances." He pulled a bun onto his plate and licked his fingers. "Bon appetit," he grinned, lifting the sticky bun and taking a bit at the same time I did. "Heavenly," he declared, earning a proud smile from my mom.

"Where's Grandpa Gus?" I asked. Grandpa Gus was my father's father who lived in Kennebunkport, Maine. When I was little, I took every opportunity to tell people where my grandma and grandpa lived since the name of the town was so much fun to say.

"He's still sleeping," Dad answered. "His flight was delayed and he didn't get in til after midnight."

"Ahh," I answered in understanding. "And everyone else?"

"Sleeping," Mom shrugged.

"So much for family tradition," I whined, shaking my head. "We could have slept in, too, if you hadn't told us to get here so early." My mom stopped short and cast a curious glance at me. "I didn't mean we could have slept in...together. I just meant each of us. At our own places." I could feel the bright sting of a blush on my cheeks.