Jason shuffled in, hair messy. “Are you talking to the bird?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re in a committed relationship now.”
He laughed, kissed my cheek, and said, “It already smells incredible.”
I made mashed potatoes with way too much butter, green beans with garlic, stuffing from real bread, gravy from the drippings. I even made real cranberry sauce. It burbled on the stove, thick and jewel-red.
By noon, I was exhausted but proud. The turkey was golden and beautiful. The kitchen smelled like every good memory I’d ever tried to build.
Jason came back from a quick work shift just as I was basting the turkey again.
“Damn,” he said, staring. “There she is. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I smirked. “The turkey?”
“Obviously,” he said.
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