Then Diane Lifted the Lid

Diane walked to the stove.

She looked at the stuffing.

Then the potatoes.

Then the casserole.

Finally, she opened the oven.

Rachel said:

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Diane stared at the turkey.

“What’s on this?”

“Herb butter.”

“What herbs?”

“Rosemary, thyme, sage—”

Diane frowned.

“Eric doesn’t like rosemary.”

Eric looked up from the living room.

“I eat rosemary.”

Diane ignored him.

Then she tasted the stuffing.

Her expression changed.

“What is this?”

Rachel blinked.

“Stuffing.”

“I know what it is.”

Diane took another bite.

“You put sausage in it?”

“Yes.”

Diane looked toward Eric.

“My son doesn’t eat stuffing with sausage.”

Eric laughed awkwardly.

“Mom, I’m fine.”

Diane turned back to Rachel.

“He likes my recipe.”

Rachel smiled tightly.

“That’s okay. Today we’re having mine.”

The room went quiet.

Diane Had Brought an Entire Second Dinner

Rachel finally looked inside the grocery bags.

There were mashed potatoes.

Stuffing.

Cranberry sauce.

Gravy.

Sweet potatoes.

And a cooked turkey breast.

Rachel stared at everything.

“You brought dinner?”

Diane answered:

“Backup.”

“Backup for what?”

“In case something didn’t turn out.”

Rachel took a breath.

“Diane, I already cooked everything.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you bring all this?”

Diane shrugged.

“It’s Thanksgiving. People expect certain things.”

Rachel knew exactly what she meant.

People expected Diane’s things.

Her recipes.

Her traditions.

Her table.

Her son.

Rachel’s house just happened to be the location.