Thanksgiving

Too far from family, they had planned a small meal: / a turkey breast, mashed potatoes, salad, maybe a tofurkey for her, / red wine and bourbon to let them slip into sleep / they’ve never had at their families’ holiday to-dos. / It was to be them. /

Instead he sits at a classmate’s house wondering at / how quickly her Midwestern family has added Southern staples / to the menu: black-eyed peas, cornbread, okra, / extra-creamy mac & cheese washed down with sweet tea. / He is polite and tries some, passes on others, but always comes back to what he knows: / turkey, potatoes, glazed carrots. Nothing exciting, nothing new, but nothing like what he’s had for weeks. / He’s made boxed soup, rice and broccoli, whatever’s odor / will not carry from kitchen to bedroom, turn her / stomach more than the bathwater she’s now begun to complain about. /

He does what he can to not check his phone, to sit like nothing / is wrong. When she’s named, he apologizes for her absence: She woke up / not feeling well, which isn’t a whole lie, maybe just / a half of one, he reasons, / knowing her pain could still be taken away / from them both without reason this early. / When he’s asked what he’s thankful for, he says, My wife, your hospitality, / this food we will eat together. He fails to mention he’s also grateful for / a few hours without her. The chance to enjoy the company of people / who can speak for a few minutes without need / to retch in the bathroom. But he pushes this thought, these dreams / of small escapes down. She is down and suffering and everything / he can’t imagine. /

W hen he leaves, he’s offered leftovers. / He scans the table, tries to do math on microwaves and reheated food’s scents, / settles for more potatoes, please. And for your wife? the hostess inquires. She’s still tender, / he says, careful to not drop any hints, to not let anyone / else in this soon. But thanks for a great meal. /

Driving home, he thinks maybe he’s dreamed this and the time away / will have erased it all. Maybe it will be, / at least, a shorter illness than other women / he’s read about online. Maybe this is the day she feels / better. When he pulls up to their house, though, he stays in the car. / He stares at the front door which will open, / he fears, into the answer.