Chapter 50: Many Thanks

Friday, November 29, 1985

The four of us had the lightest of breakfasts. There was no point filling up before two Thanksgivings!

We piled into my car a bit before nine. Even with the somewhat heavier-than-usual traffic on Highway 6, we pulled up to Mom and Dad’s house a bit before eleven. The four of us fetched our holiday dishes, then headed off to meet Mom and Dad, who had emerged from the back door and were waving to us.

“Hello, kids!” Dad said, smiling and hugging Paige, who was the first to get to him. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Paige said, hugging right back.

Mom said the same thing to Jas, who’d gotten to her first. We all shuffled around, hugging and greeting each other. Along the way, our dishes got set aside. Hugging someone while holding a heavy casserole pan is not a great idea!

We all headed in. Mom put the casserole in the oven, joining some of her dishes, and set the pie and chutney aside. Our dishes for the other Thanksgivings went into the fridge to wait until we left.

This would be the most ‘Mom-cooked’ Thanksgiving we’d had in years (ever, possibly, at least together), and Angie and I in particular couldn’t wait. We’d gotten involved so early in things, out of an honest desire not just for better food but to give back to Mom and help her with what could be a very busy day, that I wasn’t sure we knew what things had been like. She, in turn, had learned a lot, both from us and from her various cookbooks and recipes.

We gathered in the living room and went over our classes, how our friends were doing, and so forth. The game got a lot of discussion. Dad had become an avid Aggie fan and wanted to know how everything looked, sounded, and felt. I could understand that. He’d been a Michigan fan back in the day, and some of the experiences were likely similar. Colder, there, but similar.

Nothing was like some parts of being an Aggie, but that’s something you live more than something you explain. It’s one thing to say you stand for the entire game. The meaning of it is still somewhat lost if you’re not ‘one of us.’

Still, he loved hearing about it, was very happy we’d won, and asked us about the Cotton Bowl. He knew we weren’t going, but Jas and Paige didn’t know that yet, though I think they had figured it out. If they hadn’t, Angie confirmed it, saying, “We wish we could go, but we already made plans to be somewhere else on New Year’s, so ... maybe next year.”

That got Jas and Paige notably curious, which was totally understandable.

I said, “The cat is now out of the bag, a little, so ... we’ll talk about it more later?”

Paige growled and said, “Now!”

“Mom will want to hear,” Angie said.

Paige glanced at the kitchen, and her face softened into a look that said she felt sorry for even joking about it.

“Waiting is just fine,” she said.

We shifted to other subjects. Soon enough, Mom enlisted the four of us to help with a few last chores. Dad was, as always, excluded. With Mom’s help, he was no longer a threat to burn water, and was apparently actually quite a bit of help preparing meals (and did so regularly), but Thanksgiving was a special case, especially with four kids who could definitely cook available to help.

Once we were all gathered around the big table, Dad took the lead, as he always did. The six of us joined hands, and he said, “Honestly, it still is amazing, really. Six years ago, we had one child here. And ... we thought we were blessed. We were blessed, in fact! Things were good, and the three of us were happy.

“Then, five years ago, we had two children here. Oh, my goodness, were we blessed! How wonderful to not only have Angie here, but settled in as a member of the family! It felt almost like a dream, in some ways. We have all said it was as if there was a empty space, one none of us even knew existed, and Angie fit right into that space.

“Three years ago, our first daughter-in-law-to-be joined us. I think all of us, not just Steve and Jasmine, could feel how strong their bond was, even then. It ... I hope, one day, you younger people will know the joy of seeing your children connect with wonderful people, ones you can love as much as they do.

“Then, two years ago, our second daughter-in-law-to-be joined us. That was a surprise, but it was also the same. We saw how well Angie and Paige connected and what a wonderful person she was. It was ... different, but also the same, and the sameness is so much more important than any differences.

“And here we are today. Two young couples, one older couple, sharing life and being grateful for the incredible privilege of being one family. If...”

Even Dad couldn’t keep going. By this point, all of us had long since started sniffling, but he had held it in until now. I imagined he must have practiced some to make it this far.

He rallied, and said, “If ... if we had been asked to imagine any of this six years ago, I cannot believe we could have guessed how sweet it would be and how much we would be looking forward to the years to come. So ... thank you, all of you, for being the wonderful people you are.”

We each raised a glass at Dad’s nod to them, clinked them together, and took a sip. The wine was a Jasmine-approved Riesling, one we all enjoyed.

“Now ... let’s follow tradition and go around the table and share our gratitude,” he said.

We did. As usual, the four of us held so many things back, but we had an ever-growing list of things to share. People who might not have appeared as prominently not that long ago took center stage. Grandmother, for instance, was a highlight for everyone. So was Professor Berman. So, surprisingly, was Uncle Tim. Paige, in particular, had been touched by his willingness to risk Aunt Helen’s wrath for warning us and for not balking at our setting up across the road. She didn’t say all of that, but we knew why she was singling him out.

That got both Dad and Mom crying. Having their relatives singled out for gratitude was a big deal. First-life Steve never would have done so, nor would have first-life Angie. My ex-wife certainly wouldn’t have, had the question ever been asked of her. She never even met any of them, after all.

As we made our way around, sniffling as we did, it felt ... perfect. That didn’t mean some other Thanksgiving might not be more perfect, one day, but this one was amazing. That might have been the most grateful thing of all: that this group of people was able to share this perfect moment together.

The meal itself was wonderful, too. Mom had upped her game on turkey incredibly, and we all praised her juicy, delicious, perfectly seasoned offering. Everything was carefully made. At some nudging from Mom, Dad confessed that he (under supervision) had made the beans and baked sweet potatoes. Those are harder to get wrong, but he had done perfectly and was justifiably proud of them.

From what we could tell, his work was going well. Better than in my first life? I couldn’t tell. Most of his career ups and downs had settled out by this time, and I imagined he would finish his career in the job and with the employer he had now. My hope was that he wouldn’t work there as long as he had, but that was up in the air.

They had definitely respected him, at least in the end, that was for certain. I remembered finding photos of his going-away party and some of the things they’d given him as retirement gifts.

What I remembered more were two other things. One was the notes he’d used to run the extensive internal workshops he had presented before he left. Those came with flyers exhorting the other employees to come listen to the wisdom of Sam Marshall, and that it was their last chance to do so. The other was the years of service of those in his going-away party. He had the most, by a solid margin, and was the oldest. At least two of the others were also retiring, but they were doing so years earlier than he was.

I didn’t want to take the first of those away from him. He had loved what he did and his employer (usually, at least) and fellow employees had loved how he did it. He, in turn, had cherished their respect.

But I didn’t want him to have to work as long. Unless this universe was somehow worse, he and Mom would have nearly two decades together in retirement, but why not a full two? Or two and a half? Three was a bridge too far; he would have to retire now. Five more years of work might be too little. He was still vital at his job, still loving it. Somewhere in the early 1990s, though, seemed much better than the later 1990s.

Things would be different. How different? That was for him and Mom to decide. We could enable some things, but we couldn’t decide for them.

About an hour into ‘just hanging out’ time, Paige gave me and Angie a look. I knew what she was thinking, and took it myself, knowing Angie would join in.

“So,” I said. “We already spilled the beans about not going to the Cotton Bowl.”

“A big surprise!” Paige said, though I suspected she was acting. She was a very good actress, though, and I couldn’t be sure.

“Mom and Dad know this, and so do Camille and Francis, because we didn’t want to slight them over the Christmas holidays.”

“But it’s fine to keep us in the dark,” Paige said. She was grinning, though, and obviously not serious.

“Yes,” Angie said. “It is. If we could have kept you in the dark until December 26th, we might have done it. Surprises are fun!”

“That’s not necessarily what you said on the family trip in 1981,” Mom said, grinning.

“Fine!” Angie said, pretending to huff at it. “They’re fun if I get to make them!”

Paige giggled at that, which finished spoiling any pretense of being annoyed. Jas had been grinning the whole time, so I had no worries there.

“Anyway ... so,” Angie said. “Our last class day is December 20th.”

“Boo!” Paige said.

“Yay!” Jas said, simultaneously.

The two looked at each other, then said, “Yay-Boo!” and giggled.

“We’re here until the 26th,” Angie said. “On the 26th we go to the airport and fly ... somewhere.”

“Tell us and you get to live,” Paige said, clicking her teeth together.

“I guess we have to tell them,” Angie said, sighing dramatically.

“You do,” Jas said, bouncing a little. “You really do!”