Chapter 54: Two Thanksgivings

Tuesday, November 23, 1982

Three of my exams were done, one to go. No exams in P.E., Debate, or Drama, of course.

All I had left was Trig. Since that was Jasmine’s toughest class, we worked really hard making sure she was ready. I felt like she was doing better at understanding her strengths — and her limitations. We still hadn’t discussed Impostor Syndrome, but I knew it was coming. The question was when. It might be a better topic between fall and spring semesters.

Everyone agreed that we’d cancel Study Group for the Sunday after Thanksgiving. We deserved a day off, especially with this round of exams done.

Thursday, November 25, 1982

Thanksgiving! And, yes, we were giving thanks. Exams done, and Jasmine felt like she’d done well on the Trig exam. We’d gone into detail on a few questions and I was pretty sure she was right. If so, it’d be a nice confidence boost going into finals.

I wasn’t sure if she’d be stronger or weaker at calculus — next year’s topic. I’d eaten Calculus up for a while, hitting my limit at Calculus III, where I struggled. Calculus III might not be in my future now if my career path changed. Of course, if I did take it, I’d be a very different person and it’d be a very different class. Who knows how I might do?

Angie and I spent most of the morning cooking along with Mom. By now, that was just how we did Thanksgiving. I made my spinach casserole and the potatoes, Angie helped with (meaning, cooked) the turkey, and actually helped with pies.

Around eleven I took off for Jasmine’s. She met me at the curb and hopped right in.

“Happy Thanksgiving, boyfriend!” She scooted over to the middle and gave me quite the kiss.

“Happy Thanksgiving, girlfriend!”

She grinned. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Unless we explode.”

That got a giggle. “Moderation in all things.”

“Including moderation.”

More giggles. “Well ... yes. Of course.”

Another kiss and we were on our way. “So ... any last-minute advice?”

“Advice? No. Just be yourself. Mom and Dad love you. We don’t have any weird traditions or the like. Just family and food. Oh, Dad will say grace, but that’s not a big deal. You know they’re going to be just as nervous, right?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“This is the first Thanksgiving that I can remember where it wasn’t just our family. Which means a bunch with just me, and two with Angie and me. So ... it’s all new to them, and you’re ... the girlfriend.” I smiled, then continued, “Of course, they’ll want to be good hosts.”

“That ... makes sense. Huh! I hadn’t thought of it that way, I guess.”

“It’s probably a totally new experience, thinking about it. I’m sure neither of them brought home a date for Thanksgiving. Most likely their brothers didn’t either.”

“Well, I’ve never brought home a date for Thanksgiving, either. But I doubt Mama and Papa will be nervous.”

“Different dynamic. We’ve been through a bit with them.”

She giggled. “Yeah, and they know what we get up to in my room. But, really, what would they worry about?”

“Same with my parents. But they’ll worry anyway. It’s just who they are.”

“I think ... I’ll take that as flattering. That they care that much about what I think.”

“You’re the potential daughter-in-law. I know: sixteen, all that. But they know we’re unusual.”

“I think I’m more unusual since I met you,” she said, giggling. “Our relationship is so different from any of my previous relationships.”

Which, of course, I had to think about. Just my maturity? Or Ultimate Solipsist Time-Traveler Impostor Syndrome, with the universe positioning me for success? I figured the first, combined with Jasmine having picked up some more maturity. Not total — not after the Jessica miscommunication — but much more. But everything in my life could be second-guessed.

“And that’s a good thing. It’s different from mine, too, of course, and you know that.”

She nodded. “Yeah.” Then she grinned. “So ... lunch, then...?”

“We’ll hang out, maybe play a game or two, then go over to your house.”

“Works for me. So, I guess it’s a good time to ask — weekend plans?”

“Tomorrow we’ll see. Maybe you can help with Christmas decorating? I can help at your house, too. That’d open up the weekend a bit, beyond just Zoo Lights.”

“And ... December plans?”

I chuckled. “How about ... tell me what you want to do?”

“It’ll be cold. No beaches. I’m assuming you don’t have any shows in mind.”

“Nah. There’s not a lot that’s really worth the trip.”

“So ... hrm. What would I like to do? Obviously, there’s just staying in the room...” she said, grinning.

“There’s that, but ... Well, tell me if you have any favorites.”

“I do! But they won’t let us go all the way to France.”

“Um ... no. That won’t work. We could go to Paris, though.”

She giggled. “I hear the Texas version is nothing to write home about.”

“Yeah. I think they’re missing a bet, there. Build a miniature Eiffel Tower, a little Texas Louvre, a scaled-down Notre Dame, then they’d have something.”

She made a face. “I’m not sure whether to be appalled or amused.”

“Both?”

“I can do that. I’d actually go to see it. Maybe just to laugh at it, but I would.”

I stretched. “We can both think, and then try to make plans in a week or two. I’ll need reservations, especially ... you know ... sixteen. Hotels are annoying about that.”

“Yeah. Okay ... destinations ... New Orleans is too far, this year at least. Wait! I’ve heard some good things about Christmas in San Antonio.”

“That’s an option. Get a place by the riverwalk...” I said. It sounded great to me.

“Mexican food, museums, just strolling...”

“This could work! Would we want to get back for New Year’s?”

“I think so. And here for Christmas. Maybe at both homes. So...”

“The week after. Yeah. Two or three nights, maybe.”

“I love it!” she said.

“Me, too!”

Our street, usually fine, was full of cars on Thanksgiving as all of the neighbors hosted their own families. Since I couldn’t park in my usual spot, I pulled into the driveway. As we walked in, Jasmine was promptly hugged by Mom, then hugged Dad — who looked both surprised and pleased — and, finally, a slightly flour-covered Angie.

Jasmine eyed Angie’s shirt, after.

“Don’t ask. Just ... don’t,” Angie said, looking a bit grumpy. Or embarrassed. Or both.

Mom just gave me a little grin. Angie must have figured out something had happened, because she harrumphed and headed off to her room.

“Come on in! Sit!” Dad said, leading Jasmine to the living room. I sat with her, holding hands, which got Mom looking a bit misty-eyed. She quickly took off for the kitchen.

Dad asked Jasmine about classes, her thoughts on college, and lots of other things. Nothing new — they’d talked about it before — but a good chance to catch up. And for her to get at least a bit of the typical ‘guy’ date experience.

Before long, Angie — now wearing a pink blouse — and Mom yelled, “Food’s ready!” We don’t go in for a lot of fancy presentation. Jasmine and I scurried off to help serve, while Dad just moved to the table. Ordinarily, he’d help, but not with four of us in the kitchen. That’s about the limit.

We brought out the turkey (already carved), stuffing, cranberry chutney, wild rice, potatoes, spinach casserole, green beans, yams, and rolls. More food than the five of us could eat. Our table ordinarily sits four, but we’d put the extra leaf in it. I think the last time we’d used it was when Grandmother visited, and that would’ve been ... before 1975, I’m pretty sure. Exactly when, I’m not so sure. Quite a while, anyway.

Once we’d all taken our seats, we followed traditions old and new. We held hands around the table, with Jasmine in between Angie and me. Dad said grace — his typical brief version. Then he spoke.

“I am thankful for my wife, for my children, for my brothers, my mother, and all of my family, and for my job, my faith, and all of the bountiful blessings in our life.”

Mom went next. “I am thankful for my husband, for our children, for my brothers, my mother, and my whole family, and for ... everything.”

Angie had the next turn, moving around the table. “I am thankful for my parents, my brother, my extended family, and for my friends and teachers and everyone else in my life.”

Jasmine went next, without missing a beat. “I am thankful for my parents, my brother, our whole family, and for your family, and my friends and teachers and ... so many good things.”

That left me. “I’m thankful for my parents, my sister, our extended family, for Jasmine and her family, for all of my friends and teammates and teachers and everyone else, and for the blessings we all have.”

We dropped hands and Dad declared, “And, for this good food! Amen! Let’s eat!” We all laughed, then started digging in.

Jasmine praised everything, incorrectly giving Mom credit for a few dishes that Angie or I had made. For a bit, Mom went with it — with a bit of a grin, though — but, finally, she couldn’t manage.

“I’d love to claim credit for it all, but the casserole is Steve’s. So are the mashed potatoes, and Angie pretty much cooked the bird.”

Jasmine blinked, then laughed. “Oh! I knew Angie was involved — the flour was a dead giveaway — but how did I not know you cooked that well, honey?”

“I am a man of surprising talents,” I said. Truer words...

That got Angie to choking a bit, but she recovered. “He is! I can credit Home Ec for myself, but Steve is just a natural chef.”

“Eh. I’m no chef,” I said. “I don’t have technique or anything like that. But anyone can cook.” Fine, I stole that from a movie that no one would see for thirty years.

Mom chuckled. “No, they can’t! I know several people who can’t cook worth a lick. Starting with that man over there,” she said, nodding to Dad.

Dad blushed just a tiny bit. “It’s true. Except for steaks and hamburgers, I’m mostly lost.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t mean it quite that way. Of course, you have to learn, and some people will just be better at it. I’ll never be the equal to Julia Child, for instance. My point is more ... the chefs at the time thought women couldn’t cook at their level and tried their best to block Julia from becoming a true chef. They were wrong. What I mean is that you can’t tell who can cook except by letting them try and learn.”

More theft from the movie, but it’s a great movie with a great message. I thought it was particularly good for us time travelers. Who knew I could be who I was this time? That Angie could be a grounded person and a great student?

Dad got enough of the message. “I think that means I can learn. Maybe I should, at least some.”

“You could, Dad,” Angie said. “Promise. However good you are, or aren’t, anyone can learn to make plenty of things.”

“I’m still amazed, Steve, even if you did a great job of changing the subject,” Jasmine said. “This is really good. Where’d you get the recipe for this?” she said, nodding to the casserole.

“A book somewhere. I’m not actually sure. It’s memorized, now, but I could easily write it out. Basically, you start with several pounds of nice, healthy spinach and then do everything you can to make it fatty and greasy and unhealthy.”

That got more laughter.

“What?! I’m not kidding! A pound of bacon, a pound of cheese, a half-pound of butter, mushroom soup ... okay, the onions are healthy enough.”

“No wonder it’s so tasty!” Jasmine said. “I wish my parents could taste some.”

“You could bring leftovers,” Mom said.

“I wouldn’t want to take them away from you,” Jasmine said.

Angie looked about ready to burst, so I jumped in.

“What? You thought I only made one? I have a second one ready to bake,” I said.

Angie smiled, starting to chuckle.

Jasmine grinned. “Oh! They’ll be floored!”

We went back to eating. I was careful to restrain myself. Normally, Thanksgiving is a free pass for overindulging, but with a second dinner ... nah. Moderation in all things.

When we’d finished dinner, we brought out the classics: ‘Sorry!’ and ‘Life’. ‘Monopoly’ might count — heck, it does count — but we’d never get through a game in time. I put the second casserole in to bake when we had about forty-five minutes left before we’d go.

Jasmine had fun playing with us. She won one game of ‘Sorry!’, which got Mom pretending to be irate. Mom isn’t good at that, and was laughing in under a minute. Mom really didn’t do irate. Coolly disappointed, absolutely. She’d gotten me with that after the bike wreck (both times). If there was ever a time she would’ve been irate, that would’ve been it.