Alternate Realities

Thanksgiving

"Where are they?" Mom looks out the window to the street. She dries her hand on the towel hooked over the string of her apron.

"They're never on time," Dad comments, setting the table one place at a time.

Before his leg, that was my job. What a difference a year makes. Another difference: one more place setting but still one less than their should be. Tramy and Bree have missed this meal for years, but it's the second time Shade won't be here, he'll never be here. Dad also lingers on Shade's spot. Mom hoped Diana and Clara would fill it, but the weather has stopped the transports.

"Oh, I made something," I break his haunted stare and dart up to my room. My eyes are still sore from stitching it last night. I am so tired, I almost forgot.

Dad helped me lift the candles and napkins in the middle of the table and spread the piece in the center. I like how the red and orange leaves mingle together on the looping vine.

"That's beautiful," Mom says, pausing to admire it. She's back at the window when timers start to go off. "Where are they?"

As if on cue, Tramy bursts through the door, Bree shoving him to his knees on the floor.

"Cheat... You're a cheat," Bree pants.

"Late!" Mom yells from the kitchen.

"Bread!" Tramy shouts back, holding up a package.

"Forgiven," Dad snags it and smells the paper. Mom is fast to snatch it into the kitchen.

"Tramy, potatoes. Bree salads. Gisa pickles." She orders, then pauses, quieted and added, "Can someone get the platters." Someone had been Shade since he bean-poled at thirteen.

"I gotcha, mom." Tramy takes a moment to squeeze her shoulder and kiss her temple.

She gathers strength and focuses, "Where is Mare and Kilorn? We need butter and milk to finish this off."

"Um, they ran into some people at the market."

"What people?" She huffs because this is her favorite holiday. This is the day when the world has always stopped and allowed her to gather everyone close, everyone not at war. And this year is as whole as our family has been since my oldest brother hit eighteen.

"Mom!" Mare calls from the door.

"Finally! Gisa, get the butter."

"Oh..." Dad's two letter word drops in the silence, I turn the corner.

"It's okay, right?" Mare purses her lips and waits for Dad's forgiveness.

Kilorn shoves Cal forward, unlocking his mouth. "Sir, I... Um, I hope it's okay?"

"Tramy, we need more plates. And three more chairs," Dad yells, reaching for Shade's plate in the cabinet. "Well, come in. Make yourselves at home."

Mom follows Tramy out of the kitchen and stops short. I peak over her shoulder. Cal offers and then follows Tramy to get more chairs. Kilorn presents the smoked fish to mom. Cameron looks at the paintings on the wall and Diana cradles Clara under her coat.

"I thought the weather..." Mom starts and then dives forward to admire her grandchild.

"They opened up a few transports this morning," Diana smiles, transferring Clara to her arms.

I assume mom's position in the kitchen, ordering my siblings around. Cameron snacks on pickles almost as fast as Mare stakes them. And more timers go off.