this was one of those wonderful times. The table was set with her best linen and china. Her mother’s silverware gleamed in the candlelight. The house was filled will the wonderful aromas of roasted turkey and tangy cranberries and the sounds of friendship and laughter.
“More creamed onions?” Alex Curry asked. She even managed to sound sophisticated as she passed vegetables around the table.
Dee sighed. “My stomach says yes, my hips say no.”
“Listen to your stomach. You can’t be more than a size eight.”
“God bless your failing eyesight,” Dee said. “I’m into double digits.”
Alex lowered her voice, “Your secret will die with me.”
I like you, Dee thought as she sipped her wine. Who would have figured it? She was glad she’d forced the issue and ordered Alex to stay for dinner. When Ale had walked into the diner the other day, Dee had been ready to write her off as a rich bitch, the kind she wouldn’t give two cents for. Her mother used to say that Dee had been born with a sixth sense about people, and when she took a dislike to someone, there was a good reason.
She supposed jealousy was a pretty good reason. Alex was younger and prettier, and half the men at the dinner table were already more than a little bit in love with her, the other half were head over heels. She smiled her thanks as John refilled her wineglass. Even you, old friend. Oh, he thought he was being discreet, but anyone with eyes could see he was smitten with the new kid in school.
New kid in school. When was the last time she’d heard that expression? If only things could be as simple as they had been in the old days. Back then all you needed was the right outfit and a working knowledge of teen slang, and romantic happiness was guaranteed. Nobody told you that happy endings happened only in books or that Prince Charming didn’t always live up to his press.
Of course, she probably wouldn’t have believed them if they had.
And she wouldn’t have Mark.
Her son was seated between Sally and Theresa Ippolito, Rich and Jen’s daughter. He was slumped in his chair, shoulders rounded, head bowed, the poster boy for teen angst. She actually felt sorry for the poor kid, but not sorry enough to grant him a reprieve. It was Thanksgiving, and part of the Thanksgiving ritual was making those near and dear to you totally miserable.
Besides, how many more Thanksgivings would they have together? In two years Mark would go off to college, and once he got a taste of freedom, who knew how often he’d come back home.
“Are you okay?” Alex leaned close so only Dee could hear the question.
“Just feeling old,” Dee said with a sigh. “He’s growing up, and I can’t seem to figure out a way to stop him.”
Alex looked down the table at Mark, and an odd expression drifted across her face.
“Do you have any kids?” Dee asked.
Alex shook her head. “No kids.”
Dee wanted to ask if she’d ever been married, but woman’s intuition told her not to go there. Besides, all she had to do was glance at the ring finger of Alex’s left hand to know the story. That white band of skin was a dead giveaway. She’d had one of those herself thirteen years ago. “Nobody ever tells you how hard it’s going to be,” she said as much to herself as to Alex.
“Would you have believed them if they had?”
She chuckled softly. “Probably not. Back then thought I knew all the answers.” She took a sip of wine and forced a wide smile. “Maybe I didn’t know all the answers, but at least I knew what was important.”
Which was more than she could say for Mark’s father.
* * *
“Another beer?”
Brian Gallagher looked up at the bartender. “No,” he said, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “I’m fine.” Two Coors were enough. Beer was one of those things he’d left behind when he moved to Manhattan years ago. Beer and flashy clothes and bad haircuts that marked you as Jersey Shore before you opened your mouth.
“If the
“More creamed onions?” Alex Curry asked. She even managed to sound sophisticated as she passed vegetables around the table.
Dee sighed. “My stomach says yes, my hips say no.”
“Listen to your stomach. You can’t be more than a size eight.”
“God bless your failing eyesight,” Dee said. “I’m into double digits.”
Alex lowered her voice, “Your secret will die with me.”
I like you, Dee thought as she sipped her wine. Who would have figured it? She was glad she’d forced the issue and ordered Alex to stay for dinner. When Ale had walked into the diner the other day, Dee had been ready to write her off as a rich bitch, the kind she wouldn’t give two cents for. Her mother used to say that Dee had been born with a sixth sense about people, and when she took a dislike to someone, there was a good reason.
She supposed jealousy was a pretty good reason. Alex was younger and prettier, and half the men at the dinner table were already more than a little bit in love with her, the other half were head over heels. She smiled her thanks as John refilled her wineglass. Even you, old friend. Oh, he thought he was being discreet, but anyone with eyes could see he was smitten with the new kid in school.
New kid in school. When was the last time she’d heard that expression? If only things could be as simple as they had been in the old days. Back then all you needed was the right outfit and a working knowledge of teen slang, and romantic happiness was guaranteed. Nobody told you that happy endings happened only in books or that Prince Charming didn’t always live up to his press.
Of course, she probably wouldn’t have believed them if they had.
And she wouldn’t have Mark.
Her son was seated between Sally and Theresa Ippolito, Rich and Jen’s daughter. He was slumped in his chair, shoulders rounded, head bowed, the poster boy for teen angst. She actually felt sorry for the poor kid, but not sorry enough to grant him a reprieve. It was Thanksgiving, and part of the Thanksgiving ritual was making those near and dear to you totally miserable.
Besides, how many more Thanksgivings would they have together? In two years Mark would go off to college, and once he got a taste of freedom, who knew how often he’d come back home.
“Are you okay?” Alex leaned close so only Dee could hear the question.
“Just feeling old,” Dee said with a sigh. “He’s growing up, and I can’t seem to figure out a way to stop him.”
Alex looked down the table at Mark, and an odd expression drifted across her face.
“Do you have any kids?” Dee asked.
Alex shook her head. “No kids.”
Dee wanted to ask if she’d ever been married, but woman’s intuition told her not to go there. Besides, all she had to do was glance at the ring finger of Alex’s left hand to know the story. That white band of skin was a dead giveaway. She’d had one of those herself thirteen years ago. “Nobody ever tells you how hard it’s going to be,” she said as much to herself as to Alex.
“Would you have believed them if they had?”
She chuckled softly. “Probably not. Back then thought I knew all the answers.” She took a sip of wine and forced a wide smile. “Maybe I didn’t know all the answers, but at least I knew what was important.”
Which was more than she could say for Mark’s father.
* * *
“Another beer?”
Brian Gallagher looked up at the bartender. “No,” he said, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “I’m fine.” Two Coors were enough. Beer was one of those things he’d left behind when he moved to Manhattan years ago. Beer and flashy clothes and bad haircuts that marked you as Jersey Shore before you opened your mouth.
“If the
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