Where We Begin

Chapter 39 - Set The Oven & Pour The Wine

Nov 28th, 2002 - Busta

I stood there holding a tote bag open while my mom struggled to get her green bean casserole in it without it tipping sideways. "I don't know, someone's just going to have to hold it on their lap during the car ride," she muttered.

"Or we could stay home and have a normal Thanksgiving," I suggested, for the millionth time.

My mom pursed her lips. "All we have is a green bean casserole."

"I bet it's the best one ever."

She gave me a pained smile. "Get in the car."

I knew she was as apprehensive about this as I was. When Ivy got back from Fiji, she was so thrilled to tell us how she and Mrs Johansen had a great time. Together, they had the brilliant plan to combine our Thanksgivings. Both our families at one table, barely three weeks after Taylor and I had started sneaking around and teaching ourselves the art of the backseat rendezvous. No, this won't be awkward at all.

My mom told Ivy that of course we would accept the Johansen's invitation, but over the next few days, she slowly lost enthusiasm. She had only ever met Taylor's parent's a couple times in passing and hadn't seen them at all since the whole out-all-night incident. 

In Chicago, she was always working or preoccupied, she never had time to socialize or make friends with other parents. It was all foreign to her, but I could tell she was desperate for us to fit in here. 

"I should have told them, what was I thinking? Taylor's not my kid," my mom said when it was just the two of us the other night.

"You can't tell them now!"

"Well, obviously," she replied. "They would think I'm a horrible person. I knew you spent a whole night there, doing God knows what... that's not something you just forget to mention."

That's why I devoted every opportune minute from then until now to trying to talk her out of this, but she insisted it was too rude to cancel. 

When we got to the Johansen's, I heard my mom drop a f-bomb from the front seat when she saw the gigantic house. She grabbed my arm when we got out of the car and pulled me close. "You hold on to this girl as long as possible," she whispered.

Dawn greeted us at the door. Looking back, I call this moment "setting the tone." 

Taylor's mom was nice enough to not say anything, but as she led us through the foyer into the front living room, it was clear we were not on same page about the dress code. My mom had on a nice but casual sweater, Ivy was looked like she was on her way to Woodstock, and Buddy and I were in jeans and t-shirts. Meanwhile, the Johansen ladies were in dresses, pearls and high heels. Alan was in khaki suit.

Taylor came over and gave me a hug. "You look really pretty," I told her. "We didn't get the memo." Talk about stating the obvious, on both accounts.

"Yeah, it's not a big deal," she said, biting her lip. "I didn't think about it. I figured my mom would've given Ivy the head's up."

"I don't think Ivy is very concerned about clothes. I've only ever seen her in yoga pants or dresses from stores that also sell bongs and incense." 

We glanced over to see my aunt lightly tapping random keys on the Johansen's baby grand piano, with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"I'm assuming she also buys the bongs and incense?" asked Taylor.

"It would explain a lot of lingering smells around the house," I nodded. 

I noticed my mom nearby, trying to present her green bean casserole to Dawn, who was looking at the tin foil wrapped pan like it was an alien. "You don't have one already do you?" my mom asked.