HOLIDAYS COULD BE torture for the single man, or they could be prime time to fill the needs of lonely women. Thanksgiving meant a day of football and eating at the farmhouse. A day when men could be men and sit around watching other men play sports, with a never-ending supply of snacks¸ beer, and sanctioned post-meal naps. Dad and Pops claimed the two recliners in the family room while I stretched out in the corner of the couch and rested my feet on the coffee table next to the bowl of chips.
My phone chirped with a message. A local number flashed on the screen, but I didn’t recognize it. I punched in my code to unlock the phone—couldn’t be too careful—and opened the message.
*Happy T Day. ~H.*
Ducking my head, I smiled to myself. Nick sat next to me, but he leaned forward, intent on the game, shouting at the coaches and arguing with the announcer’s take on the last play. I quickly typed a message.
*Hank, is this you?*
I smirked and waited.
*Who’s Hank?*
*Sorry, Howard.*
I drummed my fingers on my leg.
*You know a lot of men with names beginning with H. Guess again.*
I tapped the phone against my cheek, trying to think of another guy’s name with an H.
*Hector, sorry man. Or is this Horatio?*
*Hector’s going to be pissed you don’t have his number saved. Js*
*Damn. I’m out of guys. Heidi?*
A full play went down on TV and a commercial break aired before my phone lit up with another text.
*Har, har.*
I’d gone too far. Time to confess.
*Hailey, I knew it was you. You at your folks?*
She replied right away. *Yep. You?*
*Not at your parents. Sitting on the couch with the men while women make us a feast.* I knew it would rile her up, but I couldn’t stop the teasing if I tried. I was having too much fun. Around me, cheers and high fives erupted for a touchdown. Or a field goal. I’d completely missed it.
“Woot,” I shouted, lamely after the fact.
Pops shot me a dirty look. “You going to watch the game with the rest of us or play on your gadget?”
“Ooh, busted,” Nick said next to me. “You making plans for a hook-up later?” He leaned over, trying to see my screen.
I turned my phone against my chest in case he recognized Hailey’s number. “No, just a friend.”
Another text arrived.
*Sounds like a classic sexist set up you’ve got going there. Dinner’s ready. Thanks for the chat.*
I frowned. I didn’t want our conversation to end even if I got teased.
*Maybe if you’re bored, we can hang out this weekend. Happy Thanksgiving.* I hit send before I talked myself out of it.
No immediate response, so I tucked my phone under my thigh and got into the game, shoveling chips and crab dip into my mouth.
“Slow down, Tom, your mother’s going to be mad if you can’t have seconds and thirds at dinner,” Dad chided.
Something about being in this room with Dad and Pops brought me right back to being a kid. Feeling chastised and annoyed, I got up and walked down the hall to take a piss. Female voices carried from the kitchen and I paused. Normally, I couldn’t care less what they gossiped about, but I thought I heard a familiar name.
“Hailey said it was completely over. Kurt became more and more controlling after he proposed. She returned the ring right after Halloween.” Lori continued their conversation.
Like a creeper, I crept down the hall to hear more.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Gramma said. “And at her age, it’s not as easy to find a nice man. The good ones are all taken.”
I frowned and crossed my arms.
“Tom’s still single,” Mom said, defending me.
I could always count on Mom to take my side. A burst of laughter followed her words.
“Right. And for good reason, Mom.” Amy’s voice joined the conversation.
Cara was still laughing.
“What’s wrong with Tom?” Mom asked.
“Um, how to say this in front of Gramma.” Lori’s voice hesitated. “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just a—”
“He’s one of those bachelors, honey. You know, the kind you call for a good time and a little hanky-panky, but don’t introduce to your parents.”
My grandmother had called me out.
Amy, Cara, and Lori cackled in unison.
“Oh, that’s not true.” Mom chuckled. “He hasn’t met the right woman yet.”
“Yet? How many women does he have to try out? He’s running out of females on the island. Plus, he’s not twenty-two anymore,” Amy said.
“You know, Pops was a real ladies’ man when I met him. I think your mother is right. It takes a special kind of woman to tame a Donnely man.”
“I have to agree with that,” Mom said. “Your father—”
“Mom, do not say anything about Dad. Please!” Lori screeched. “La la la la.”
I could picture her standing with her fingers in her ears like she did as a kid.
Cara’s voice spoke over Lori’s singing. “I guess time will tell with Tom. I’d never set him up with any of my friends. That’s for sure.”
Gee, thanks, Cara.
I’d had enough and went into the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, I cocked my head and rubbed my beard. Who were they to label and judge me? Their words stung. Screw them. I never told them how to live their lives.
Getting married, having kids, and settling down wasn’t for everyone.
And definitely not for me.
I thought about texting Ashley to meet up later, but after her “special” party, I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. We hadn’t spoken or been in contact since.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom called from the dining room. I popped my head through the doorway from the hall and she gave me a guilty smile. “Tom, mind calling the kids in from outside?
The family poured into the room and as people took their seats, it became apparent we were a chair short at the grown-up table.
“Mom? We’re missing a chair for Tom,” Cara pointed out as I entered the room, kids shoving past me to their table in the kitchen.
Mom’s face dropped. “No, that can’t be right. We’re always ten. Oh! I forgot to adjust for Nick.”
“It’s fine. I can sit at the kids’ table.” With a hollow laugh, I walked toward the breakfast nook. Sitting around the kitchen table were my five nieces and nephews, each with a pre-made plate of food and a glass of milk. One chair sat empty at the head.
Squeals of “Uncle Tom” greeted me when I sat down among the Lilliputian Donnelys, the future of the family.
“Did you know the turkey’s name was Tom, too?” Sam the smartass asked me.
“I’m pretty sure this one was named Butterball.” I stole Sam’s roll and he kicked me.
“Mom!” the little bugger yelled. “Uncle stole my roll!”
“Don’t be a tattle-tale,” Amy shouted. “Tom, give back the roll.”
I took a bite and put the roll on his plate with a smile. A small shoe made contact with my shin again. “Ouch,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.
Pops’ deep baritone rang out with the words of prayer and a blessing for the food while I rubbed my leg, and gave my nephew the stink-eye.
After grace, I took a plate and filled it in the dining room. Lori and Cara gave me looks of sympathy, going so far as to offer their chairs at the table.
“Nah, you two need the break. I can handle the kids.”
It would never be clear how or who started the great mashed potato fight at the kids’ table. My money and version would always be that it began with little Lily with her blonde curls and cherub cheeks. Yes, she was under two, but had a mean arm and a spoon she knew how to use. In the aftermath, it became clear I’d borne the worst of the attack. My hair and beard were covered in gravy laden spuds and melted butter.
Perhaps there was a small part of my brain which felt smug over the potato incident. The disapproval and tsking from the sister/mom brigade made me chuckle, earning me dirty looks and threats of having to bathe all five kids. Dad laughed and threw me a kitchen towel while Pops reminisced about a food fight in the Navy, which earned him a short stay in the brig. While my sisters cleaned up their various children, I wiped down the table, chairs, ceiling light, wall, along with a framed watercolor of a pig, and a spot on the ceiling ten feet away that I blamed on Lily, aka future champion softball pitcher.
We adjourned to the family room to stretch out and rub our swollen bellies before dessert. My phone laid abandoned on the couch cushion where I’d left it. It flashed with a notification. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I stuck it in my shirt pocket and waited.
Uncertainty weighed heavy in my chest where my phone tugged at my pocket for the next five minutes. Unable to wait any longer, I pulled it out and saw two new text messages. One was from Ashley, which I ignored. The other was from Hailey.
*Sure.*
One word.
Four letters.
A whole world of possibilities.