Cheesecake and Teardrops by Faye Thompson Page A

Thanksgiving was easily her favorite holiday. The thought of turkey and dressing, macroni and cheese, greens, mashed potatoes and gravy—not to mention a slew of delectable desserts—always put a smile on her face.
    They were expecting ten for dinner. She looked forward to seeing her family. Even though Heather was adopted, she never thought of them as anything less than that. Heather never told another living soul except Charisma and Tangie about her birth. They were the closest she had to sisters. It was nobody else’s business.
    By the time she got to bed that night, it was after midnight.
    She tossed and turned and barely made it to work on time. It was a quiet day at work since most people were home cooking and baking. The four hours that she worked crept by like a centipede crawling against a windstorm. Her zebra-print slingpumps hurt so badly that she felt like her feet were dying a slow death. Now she remembered why she hadn’t worn them in years. It was a relief when noon came and she could wish her coworkers a happy Thanksgiving—especially since she wasn’t due back until Monday.
    Feeling like steak knives were eating away at her feet, Heather crept to Hillside Avenue where her car was parked.
    She slipped off her shoes and exhaled. Thankfully, the car started right up, but traffic was a nightmare. Everybody and their mother must have left work early that day.
    The minute she arrived home, she threw her shoes in the hamper. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to wear them again. At least not anytime soon. She handled her business in the bathroom, making certain to brush and rinse thoroughly with mouthwash. She examined her teeth carefully in the mirror. Thank goodness, they still looked the same.
    Then she walked upstairs. Her mother was already in the kitchen making the dressing.
    â€œHey, Mom.” Heather grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down at the kitchen table. Her mother was busy chopping green peppers, onions, and celery. The sweet potatoes and cornbread were already baking. Even though the food processor sat right in the cabinet above her head, Leola chose to cook the old-fashioned way.
    â€œHi, boobie.” Leola stopped just long enough to lean over and exchange a kiss with her daughter before returning to the tasks at hand.
    â€œHow was your day?” Heather asked.
    â€œThose double shifts are a killer.” Leola shook her head.
    â€œThank God I’m off the next couple days. I just may sleep all day Friday. I’m exhausted.”
    â€œHere, I’ll take over. You go get some rest.” Heather shooed her mother away.
    â€œBoobie, you’re tired too,” Leola said.
    â€œI can handle it. You taught me well, remember?”
    â€œOkay,” Leola said. “I’m just going to take a quick nap. Call me if you need me.”
    â€œOkay, Ma. Go get some rest. Everything’s under control.”
    â€œCall me if you need me.” she said again, yawning as she retired to her bedroom.
    Heather finished chopping up the veggies and took a skillet out of the bottom cabinet. She put a small amount of oil in the pan and proceeded to cook them until they were tender. She checked the cornbread to make certain it was browning nicely. When the sweet potatoes were done, she pulled out the mixer and added all the ingredients for the four pies. After washing the greens several times, she added them to the pot of smoked turkey to cook.
    Heather took a quick break before starting on the cakes.
    She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled up a chair upon which to elevate her slightly swollen ankles. It would be a long night, but at least she could save the macroni and cheese and mashed potatoes until the morning. That way they wouldn’t dry out. Heather got up, went to the fridge and then the cupboard. She placed all the ingredients for the cakes on the table and the counter. Next, she oiled and floured the pans. She mixed the