“Oh, you could’ve turned up the central air,” I said.
“No sense wasting money now. You and Jamison have enough to worry about.” Aunt Luchie poured herself a cup of coffee and went back to the table. I set the dishes in the sink so Isabella could load the dishwasher later.
“So how did your talk go last night?” she went on. “I saw that Jamison wasn’t in the guestroom this morning.”
“Well, we talked a bit more before we went to sleep,” I said. “We just agreed to start talking more and we both need to make some major changes.” I got my cup of coffee and as I sat down across the table from Aunt Luchie, I peeked at Tyrian to see that he was sitting in his swing asleep.
“That’s good,” she said. “You two do need to take it slow. But don’t stop communicating. When the ear doesn’t hear the news, it tends to make up the news.”
“What?” I laughed at her saying.
“Well, if your husband isn’t telling you what’s going on, you’ll make it up,” she said firmly.
“You’re right,” I said remembering how Jamison’s silence was what had put me off in the first place. “Oh, and I agreed to have Thanksgiving dinner here next week.”
“Really?” Aunt Luchie looked stunned but happy. Jamison hadn’t attempted to bring our families together completely since the wedding. That was over ten years ago now.
“He’s always wanted to have a big Thanksgiving here in this house.”
“Well, it’s a house made for gathering family.”
“I’m not excited about having to entertain his mother, but if it’ll help us get through this, I’ll do it.”
“So, when are you going shopping?” she asked.
“For a dress?”
“For food, child.”
“Oh, I don’t cook. They’ll bring food and Jamison is doing some of it,” I said. “And I’m ordering some pies.”
“What?” Aunt Luchie withdrew. “I know you’re not going to let a bunch of women come into your house with food to feed your family. You aren’t sick!”
“But I can’t cook.”
“Well, today you start.”
“No, you have no idea how bad I am,” I said, laughing. “And we don’t have enough time.”
“Nonsense.” Aunt Luchie picked up a sheet of paper and a pen that was sitting by the phone. “I’m going to show you how to make your own pies. Sweet potato pies. And you’ll make dressing on your own too.”
“What? I can’t!”
“You can try,” she said, writing. “Can’t you?”
It was a charge. A charge from my oldest aunt who never failed at being there to defend and take care of me—even when my mother was acting crazy.
“Fine,” I said under my breath.
“Good. Now here’s the list of things I’ll need you to get from the store.” She slid the paper over to me.
“Oh no, I’ll have Isabella get the stuff for me. We can leave the list on the counter,” I said, realizing Isabella had been a ghost all morning.
“Oh, she went home,” Aunt Luchie said quickly.
“Home?”
“Yeah, I sent her home. There wasn’t nothing for her to do. I got tired of watching her sit around here looking simple, so I told her to go home.”