Just started this today, working through the characters, setting up a Thanksgiving day event that shapes the rest of the story...



The turkey cooled while Anna sliced oranges for fruit tea. Everything else for Thanksgiving dinner was ready except the rolls. The last two days had been a chaotic spectacle of food preparation, with chopping, grating, whisking and blending, resulting in pies, cakes, and casseroles. But the most spectacular item of all was the turkey. Golden brown, honey glazed, juicy and tender, the magnificent bird held court in her spacious kitchen, a work of art; testimony to her culinary skills.

Chuck walked in the kitchen wearing a starched blue shirt with a white collar and French cuffs. His sandy blonde hair was carefully combed, and the scent of his cologne competed valiantly with the cooking aromas. He drained his highball glass and sniffed. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”

Anna looked down at her black wool trousers and grey cashmere sweater, covered by a cook’s apron. “I am dressed.”

“Oh.” He glanced around the kitchen, surveying the cluttered countertops. “Turkey looks dry. When do we eat?”

Anna focused on the oranges and swallowed her retort. “One o’clock sharp. Are the kids up?”

“I heard water running upstairs. I guess so.”

“Could you check? I don’t want everyone waiting for them.”

Chuck placed his glass on the counter and left the kitchen.

Anna checked her clothes again, wondering if she should change before their guests arrived. She recognized the critical tone in his voice, the appraising look on his face. Thanksgiving, but no holiday from Chuck’s disdain.

She took a long carving knife from the drawer, plunged it in the unsuspecting bird, and began carving the turkey into precise serving sized slices and arranging them on a simple white platter which had belonged to her grandmother.

When finished, she walked over to the warming oven to check the rolls which were rising nicely. She caught a glimpse of her face in the tempered glass oven door. Her puffy cheeks and heavy lids betrayed her mood. She marveled at how on a day set aside for giving thanks, she could feel so worthless. Chuck had a way of wilting her with the simplest comments. Never overtly critical, always offhand, but devastatingly brutal, nonetheless. Her hair was too curly, nose too long, hips too wide, clothes too plain, soup too salty, coffee too weak. Nothing was just right, ever. Like a scorching wind that ruined tender rosebuds as it blew past, Chuck ruined her a bit each day.

The refrigerator door slammed. Anna turned around to see Gracie with a towel wrapped around her hair, opening a plastic cup of yogurt.

“Morning, Gracie. Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t look up.

Anna noticed how Gracie averted her gaze, the perpetually dissatisfied expression. She was reminded of how much she looked like Chuck. Long, thin arms and legs, sharp features, and thin lips – the better for sneering.

“Do you feel okay?”

“Sure..”

“Can I get you something?”

“I’m okay.” She walked out with the yogurt.

Anna’s face reddened. She brewed the tea, washed and patted dry the sprigs of mint, and went upstairs to change.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...