Was I ready?
I closed my eyes for a moment and took one step forward.
Moving…toward him.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
~
“Did you bring the cranberries, hun?” Bea asked, hugging both Cal and I as we walked through the door. The smell of roasting turkey wafted around us, and I inhaled deep the amazing richness of it.
“I did.” I held up the plastic grocery bag and Bea frowned. She pulled out the two cans I’d purchased and looked confused. “Oh, no, did I get the wrong kind? Did you want them in juice? I should have gotten both.”
“No, no, this is fine,” Bea said, patting my shoulder. She led me to the kitchen where she had sugar, flour, and all kinds of spices on the counter. “I was hoping you’d like to cook with me?”
Tingles hit my heart. “Yes, I would love to.” Cal was already moving effortlessly without direction, grabbing the potatoes and going to work on skinning them.
“I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can prep like nobody’s business,” he said. “And my mashed potatoes are amazing. Aren’t they, Aunt Bea?”
“Yes, honey, amazing,” she said loudly. Then leaned in closer to me to say, “That, and all that mashed potatoes require are a little muscle, milk, and butter. I give him the win, since he can handle those three things pretty well,” Bea whispered to me. It was funny how much the likeness between her and Cal came out when I least expected it.
Bea looked at the ingredients she’d laid out, then at the two cans I’d brought. “You know, I bet the store is open for a few hours today. I’m just going to run real quick.”
“I can go,” I offered. “What do you need?”
Her eyes softened and glanced between me and the cranberry cans. “The sauce…” she said slowly, as if terrified to say the next words. “The sauce I make calls for two pounds of fresh cranberries.”
“Fresh?” Oh, my God. I’d never felt like a bigger idiot in my life. “I didn’t know.” I wasn’t sure if that last part came out loud, but that’s what I was thinking. How did I not know that there was such a thing as fresh cranberries?
“I’m so sorry,” I started. “I had a one track mind and thought that…” Thought that meager once upon a time dinner with my mother and father had been something special. It wasn’t. It was out of a can. Processed and had a short shelf life once it was opened.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered again, not sure what else to say.
Cal came to stand by me, potato in one hand, peeler in the other, and was he wearing a yellow checkered apron. I didn’t know when that had happened, but it was adorable. It also matched the one Bea wore. I realized right then that I may have been invited, but I was out of place. I didn’t fit. Didn’t know the routine or where to even start.
“Don’t be sorry, Kitten,” he said and wrapped one of his big arms around me. “I love this stuff.” He tapped the can of cranberry sauce with the peeler and looked at his aunt. “Sorry, Aunt Bea, but I’ve got something to tell you…”
Her brow raised and I stood there, not knowing what to expect, but feeling like I should flee and spend Thanksgiving alone in a closet somewhere.
“I love this sauce,” Cal said, and tapped the can again. “Yours is good, but this stuff is awesome.”
Bea tossed a hand towel on the counter, and a look of anger flashed over her face. “Damn it, all this time I’ve been trying to convince you that my sauce is something special,” she said. “But truth is, this stuff is better and way easier,” she hiked her thumb at the cans and winked at me. “Callum, get the can opener. We’re having Lana’s cranberry sauce tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and fished the hand held opener out of the drawer and handed it to me.
“You two don’t need to do this. I feel so silly that I didn’t know. I can go to the store right now and we can make your homemade sauce.”
“Lana,” Bea said sternly, effectively making my mouth snap shut. “We are having yours tonight. And it’s going to be great.” That grave feeling I’d been carrying since I’d seen my father at the store a couple days ago started to scatter. They made me feel welcome, like I was part of their new tradition, and she gave up her world class cooking for my can. It was one of the kindest gestures I’d ever experienced.
“Thank you,”
I whispered.
Bea just hugged me quickly, then cupped my arms. “Look at it this way, we’ll just make my stuff for Christmas.”
Christmas? That meant that she was expecting me. That Cal and I would last that long. I didn’t know what to say, what to feel, other than blessed.
Truly blessed.