“Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday,” I declare as I sit curled on my couch under the afghan my grandmother knitted. It’s pouring outside as I search for holiday recipes on my laptop. “I always like to try something new for dessert. Brody, are you a pumpkin pie or pecan pie kind of guy?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles without looking up from his work. He’s camped out with his papers spread out on my dining room table that’s really a desk. Thankfully Brody seems to prefer my place to his. Whenever he’s in town, we always end up here. Most likely it’s because my place is warm and cozy with rugs, pillows, food in the refrigerator, and artwork on the walls.

“My parents are immigrants,” I say. “It’s the holiday that celebrates coming to this country. It’s also the holiday that everyone comes home for. It’s the only time when my whole family and all my friends from high school are in Walnut Creek. We always celebrate at my dad’s. I make the turkey with stuffing, cranberries all the traditional stuff. Of course, I manage to throw in some Persian seasonings.”

“I take it you won’t mind that I’ll be in Detroit. My sisters are busy planning a family feast.”

A wave of disappointment runs through me. I was hoping we would be spending our first holiday together.

“Oh. I was kind of hoping you would come home with me.”

“We’ll do another dinner at your dad’s.”

“How many people do you have at your Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask.

“It’s never just immediate family. There are always aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws, and friends.”

“Sometimes Jazz or Darrius will bring a friend, and this year my dad has his girlfriend. I’m thinking we’ll have somewhere between five to ten.”

With a nod, he keeps his eyes on his computer.

***

“I bought a twelve-pound turkey,” I declare as I set it on the counter along with all the other ingredients I bought. Reorganizing my small refrigerator, I try to figure out how I can get everything to fit. Brody has that grim expression he gets when he feels backed up at work. “I’m making my pie filling from scratch. I got a Fairy Tale Pumpkin and I also found this recipe my mom had for Bourbon Pecan Pie. Why bother with only one type of pie? I might as well make both.”

Brody looks up from his work and he watches me for a few seconds. “I thought you were having dinner at your dad’s?”

“Yes, but it’s much easier if I do everything here. I’ll show up five hours early to put the turkey in the oven. I’ll spend the night, then on Friday I’ll visit high school friends.”

“You could have saved yourself a lot of work if you had come back with me.”

Surrounded by groceries in my small kitchen, I feel perplexed and annoyed. He never invited me to his family’s for Thanksgiving, and how could I abandon my family? I’m the one who does all the cooking.

***

“Ana-Jan,” my dad says. “I hate to do this to you, sweetheart, but Farah invited me to spend the weekend in LA with her. That’s where her children are.”

“Bâbâ, Thanksgiving’s tomorrow. I’m up to my elbows making pies.”

“Ana-Jan, you can still use the house. Don’t worry about the food, your brother, and his friends can eat it all up.”

“Is Darrius planning on bringing friends?”

“You should give him a call. He said he was going to bring a number of friends.”

“Have a good time in LA.” I hang up, feeling concerned I won’t have enough food if Darrius brings a bunch of friends. My mood moves to disappointment. It won’t feel like Thanksgiving without my father. Why all of a sudden is it more important to go to LA and be with her family? The thought isn’t even through my head when I realize that it’s because he is accommodating her wishes. More than accommodating, he’s choosing to be with her over being with us. So, this is why adult children have problems when their parents date.

The afternoon is spent making the chocolate pumpkin mousse tart and the Bourbon Pecan Pie. I decide to start a text thread with Darrius and Jazz.

Ana:Heading over to Dad’s at noon tomorrow. Dinner should be ready by 5 p.m. Please confirm how many people you’re bringing.

In the evening, I feel disappointed that Brody isn’t here. He is off at some meeting in Singapore. After staying up way too late binge-watching TV, I crawl in bed, and plan out tomorrow. No matter how prepared you are, you’re always in the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. I’m definitely setting the table with Mom’s good china. Maybe I’m cutting things too close. I should leave here earlier in the morning. That way I’ll have more time to get everything done.

In the morning, I wake up excited. It’s Thanksgiving. The first thing I do is check my messages. Nothing from Brody.

Darrius:Change of plans, we’re heading up to Yosemite.

Jazz:I’m invited to friends for Thanksgiving. It should be a blowout party.

I read the two texts over and over. I have a house full of food and no one to eat it. More than that, after all my planning, I’m all alone.

In my little kitchen I find myself standing in front of the open refrigerator with my twelve-pound turkey is staring at me. “It’s just you and me bud, but I don’t think you’ll fit in my oven.”

Tears of disappointment well up in my eyes and one rolls down my cheek. I start jostling around the food. The expectation of my failed holiday hits hard. Instead of family and friends, I’m here alone with two pies. They both stare up at me and I wonder which one I should dig into first. As I pick up my fork, my pity party comes to a head. I start sobbing. Big, ugly, gulping sobs.

My phone rings. Not thinking, I pick it up and swipe right. “Happy Thanksgiving,” Brody says.

I hold my breath. Shit, I don’t want him to know how pathetic I can get. Should I hang up?

“Ana?”

I gasp in a mouthful of air. Then sniffle, ugly and loud.

“Ana, what’s wrong?”

“My Dad is headed to LA, Darrius is going to Yosemite, and Jazz is going to a fun Thanksgiving party.”

“Are you home?”

“I have an uncooked twelve-pound turkey. I don’t think it will fit in my oven.”

“Wait a second.” He hangs up.

Left staring at my phone, I feel pathetic. I wipe my sleeve across my face and put my pie down. I no longer feel like eating it. Maybe I should open the bottle of red wine. The guy at the store said it would go great with turkey, that is, if I ever figure out how to get this one cooked. Hell, I still have Brody’s bottle of bourbon that I used for my pie. He said it was good quality, “...a crime to use for cooking.” Since I only used two tablespoons, there’s plenty left. I look at the bottle of Bourbon and contemplate making my own party.

My phone rings. It’s Brody.

“Pack your stuff. I’ve got you on a flight from San Jose to LAX. When you get to LAX, go to the Terminal Three. You’re coming home with me on a private jet.”

“But what about my pies?”

“Put them in a box and bring them.”

“Really?”

“Ana, get dressed and packed. You need to be at the airport in an hour.”

***

With pies in hand, I navigate my wheelie through LAX. Afraid of being late, I take a cab to the private terminal. The receptionist has no idea who Brody is, and what plane he’s taking. She looks at me like I’m a Thanksgiving reject. Luckily she lets me use the ladies room. At least, my eyes and nose are no longer red. I make a valiant attempt to pull myself together, march out, and sit down in one of the big, leather chairs. If Brody doesn’t show up soon, my pies might be my Thanksgiving dinner.

An hour later, I’m still watching the same four stories from CNN. Since I’m in LA, I figure if it gets really bad I can always call my dad and see if I could be invited to Farah’s kid's house for dinner. Could I even get a hotel room on Thanksgiving evening? A shadow hovers over me and I jump. My first thought was that they’re going to kick me out of this lounge.

“Ana, come on we’re running late.”

“Brody,” I cheer. I’m so excited to see him that I jump up and fling myself at him.

“Come on. I flew commercial from Singapore. They had our plane in a holding pattern for the last hour. Now we’re late.”

He starts moving, while I run after him. I can’t help but notice there’re a bunch of soldiers following us. I look back, concerned. Brody takes the plastic carrying case that’s holding my pies from me.

“I’m getting them home in time for Thanksgiving,” he explains.

“Where did you find soldiers with their thumbs out?”

“I passed the USO on the way to Terminal Three.”

“Wow, that’s nice.”

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

Once in the plane, I settle down in one of those big, comfy seats. Brody looks at his phone. “If we leave in the next ten minutes we should get to my sisters on time.”

“How come you didn’t text me? I was wondering where you were.”

“Ana, I sent you five texts.”

“I didn’t get any messages. I was sitting in that waiting room wondering where you were.”

“Can I see your phone?”

I hand it to him. He looks at it then hands it back to me. “You need to take if off airplane mode.”

Annoyed, I shake my head while he leans over and gives me a kiss. “If I didn’t have a bunch of soldiers with us....”

I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Yeah, I remember our return trip from London.”