Oblivion (Completed)

Ryan

Present Day

    "Mom, seriously. You've got to show me how to make your green bean casserole," my sister says between bites. She's on her second glass of wine, and when Harlow gets a little alcohol in her, it's hard to shut her up.

    "And don't even say you just follow the recipe on the can. Ask Andrew. Mine tastes nothing like this. Does it, baby?"

    My brother-in-law's eyes go wide for just a second as he scrambles to come up with the correct answer. The one that isn't a quite a lie but also won't get him kicked out of the bedroom later. I know the feeling all too well, bro. All husbands do. See, it isn't hesitation. It's fight or flight.

    "I wouldn't say nothing like it. The way I see it, there's no wrong way to make a casserole. You just throw a bunch of shit in a glass dish and wait," he brings his wine glass to his lips and takes a swig. Harlow's eyebrows raise to a what-the-hell-did-you-just-say level and I don't envy him one bit. The only woman as terrifying as Harlow is the beauty tracing fork trails in her jellied cranberries beside me. She can't keep the smirk off her face, but she sure is trying. Does she even know how adorable she is? I shovel in a mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes and sit back and enjoy the show.

"I mean, I'm sure a lot more thought and preparation goes into it than that. Aw, what the hell. I'm a guy, what do I know? I can't even make macaroni and cheese," Andrew manages and Harlow's face brightens in a satisfied smile.

Nice save, bro. At least I know I'll never have to sugar-coat anything when it comes to Henley's skills in the kitchen. Until last week, I had no idea I'd married the reincarnation of Betty Crocker.

Mom chuckles from the other side of the table. Every year she plays it off as if it's not too much work to make this extravagant meal for us. I took it all for granted when I was a kid. I always figured all Moms were the same...making tons of food and shoving pieces of delicious pie in their kid's faces. As I grew up, I learned how special my Mom really is. Just when I think I can't possibly love her more, I realize she's so amazing I'll never be able love her enough.

Her smile is ten times wider when her babies are home. And we are. Every single one of us. I swear Mom's been staring at Henley almost as much as I do, and I couldn't be happier. Mom's been one of my biggest supporters through my Henley-less years. She was the one I'd call on the cab ride to the airport after visiting Henley's hospital room. I swear she's heard it all, my doubts and hopes. I know seeing her here next to me now is kind of like a little miracle for both of us.

This is the first year we've all been here together since Harlow and I left home. While Henley and I made it to the last Thanksgiving before her accident, Kristian was in grad school in Europe and going through a divorce. Harlow missed the year before that, when she was on the East coast visiting Andrew at New York University for the holiday. It's also the first Thanksgiving we've all been at the table since Dad died. Even years later, I still miss his corny jokes. No one's around to eat the giblets anymore.

"Well, who's ready for pie?" Mom asks with a knowing smile. Our crowd responds with a regretful groan, because we're all in the same boat right now. We desperately want it because it's so delicious, but will damn near explode if we eat even one more bite of anything.

"Gonna need a break first, Ma," I say, leaning back in my chair and slinging my arm around the top of Henley's. "But we'll for sure have some before we get back on the road. There might be a nap in order, too," I add, yawning.

"You're not seriously going to get back on the road in that thing," Kristian snorts. "It's been snowing nonstop for eight hours. If you got stuck in two feet of snow, you'll be buried out there right now."