Turkey for Dinner - A short story

Part I ~

“How much did you say this turkey weighs, Gram?” Cate braced herself, then heaved the bird onto the kitchen table.
“Twenty-two pounds is what Herb says,” Gram. Gram flipped the wax-paper-covered pastry disc over and paused, rolling pin in her floury hands.
“Two-twenty is more like it. Herb didn’t have to lug the thing home from the butcher shop. Doesn’t he deliver?” Cate peered under the paper wrappings. “I hope you have a roasting pan big enough to fit this monster. Why such a big turkey, anyway? Planning to have leftovers for the next six months?” Cate said, over the rhythmic bang-roll of the rolling pin. “It’s just the two of us for dinner this year. Mark is going to his future in-laws for dinner, right? I think Anna said they’re only stopping by for dessert.”
Cate’s brother, Mark, had recently become engaged to Cate’s best friend, Anna, which left Cate as the only unattached Miller. Cate wasn’t bothered by it, much. After all, she was the youngest of all the Miller grandchildren. It wasn’t like she was thirty and didn’t have any prospects. And she still had six months, three weeks and two days ’til her birthday. And no, she wasn’t counting. Not really.
“Well, honey,” Gram glanced up from her pastry again, looking as guilty as an eighty-four-year-old grandmother could look. “I invited a few extra people. Just a few folks who really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Cate closed her eyes. She loved Gram with all her heart. She was the most generous and caring woman Cate had ever known. But Gram also tended to get carried away with things. Like the time she volunteered to crochet baby blankets for the shelter and volunteers kept dropping off donated skeins of yarn until the dining room looked like a yarn factory.
“How many, Gram?”
“Oh, honey, not that many.”
“How many, Gram? And I sure hope you can corral one of them to peel the onions.”
Six was all Cate heard, as Gram mumbled the rest of the words.
“Sixty! Gram! You invited sixty people to dinner?”
“Caitlin MacTavish Miller! Don’t be ridiculous! How could I invite sixty people with only a scrawny bird like this one?” Gram poked at the turkey with the rolling pin’s faded red handle. “I said six--” Gram broke off in as she coughed. “Flour,” she explained. “Would you get me some water, please?”
“Six? Okay."
Cate handed Gran a glass of water. After the elderly woman took a sip, she looked Cate straight in the eye.
“No, honey, what I meant to say is there’ll be sixteen of us all together if Mrs. Judson and her great-nephew come.”
“Mrs. Judson’s great-nephew?” Cate didn’t want to yell at Gram, so she ground her teeth, held her breath and counted to sixteen. Her breath came out in a whoosh. “Gram, which great-nephew would that be?”
“Honey, you know Mrs. Judson only has one great-nephew. Ricky Hall.”
“Ricky Hall? You invited Ricky Hall to Thanksgiving dinner? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what he did to me the last time he came to Thanksgiving dinner?”
Gram laughed. “Oh, honey, I haven’t thought of that for years and years. And the look on your face when you sat on that pumpkin pie—how old were you?”
“Ten. It was my favorite dress, Gram, and Ricky Hall knew it and he ruined it on purpose. I will never eat another meal with that...” Cate ran though a list of descriptions searching for one she could say in front of her grandmother. There weren’t any. “...that person as long as I live, so you can just un-invite them.”
“Cate Miller, you never say never. I won’t un-invite them. Mrs. Judson is not doing very well these days. That’s why Ricky is staying with her. I’m sure that boy has no idea how to cook a turkey dinner.”
“Why can’t he buy one at the supermarket?” Cate grumbled. “Fine, Gram. But he’s peeling the onions.”

(c) 2007 by Susan Atwood