“Thank you, Viv.” I smiled back. “You look lovely, as always.”
Vivian was so excited about everything we were cooking and made sure to tell me how much her son loved each recipe. “With our head start on the feast,
we will be able to just enjoy the day tomorrow.”
I was intrigued to meet this man she spoke so highly of. I couldn’t image a
son of Vivian’s not being as great as she described. I was surprised there were no photos around of him besides the baby pictures.
“I can’t wait. Thank you for asking my mother to join us. She hasn’t been on a trip since my father died,” I said.
“That’s so sad. She’s so young and full of life. Hillary has more to experience before her time is up,” Vivian said.
I hadn’t thought about how young my mother actually was. At thirty-three, turning fifty didn’t seem as old. Being around Vivian, who was in her mid-sixties, had given me a new perspective on aging.
“I can’t imagine having any more life than you, Viv.” I kissed her on the cheek and stole one of the raspberries she just washed.
“Save those for my cheesecake.”
Laughing, I chopped the pecans she insisted we needed for her crumble cake.
When I finished, I wasn’t sure what else to do. “The nuts are chopped. What is
my next task?”
“Bring me some more flour, brown sugar, and butter. I need more, and then
the recipe will be great,” she chuckled. “If we have time, I want to make a coconut cake. No holiday is complete without coconut.”
Vivian was a whirlwind of excitement. The rich aromas of cinnamon, vanilla,
and spices filled the air. It smelled like the holidays. I truly had so much to be thankful for this year. While we were working on the treats, Sofia started prepping the various salads Vivian insisted were necessary.
“Sofia’s potato salad is the best!” Vivian declared.
“We’re going to have so much food you’ll have to roll us out of here.” I giggled. “There’s too much food for just us.”
“I was thinking we need to bake a few more things,” Vivian said seriously as
she examined the overflowing countertops.
“Really? There are only nine of us.” Counting off on my fingers, I said,
“Thomas, Jacob, Mom, me, you, your son, Ben, Sofia, and her husband. Am I counting wrong?” I counted again.
“Sweetie, Thanksgiving is more than our small group. Last count we were at
thirty-six,” Vivian said.
“Thirty-nine,” Sofia corrected.
“Right, thirty-nine. We might need to invite one more to make it an even
number,” she mumbled as she continued taking inventory. “Sweet sassy, I almost
forgot the chocolate chip cookies. Those are Grant’s favorites.”
“I can’t wait to meet your son. You always say such nice things about him. I
can’t imagine how a son of yours would be anything, but amazing.”
“He is pretty special. He’s a lot like his father. Even down to the salt and pepper hair at such an early age. I’ve been trying for years to convince him to let my girl dye it.”
“It can be sexy on the right man,” I winked as I thought about one man that
did look great with silver in his hair.
Vivian shrugged. “I guess I should be proud he is comfortable in the hand he
has been dealt.” Her smiled grew as she thought about her son. “I think he has
the best of both Jackson and me.” Shaking off her memories, she returned to her
bowl with fervor and began to mix chocolate chips into her cookie dough.
While the cookies baked, we sipped coffee and talked. Vivian told me stories about her last husband, Jackson, but I didn’t take notes. This felt too special to write about. It didn’t feel like it was for the world to hear. Maybe, later, she would share it again, and it would be recorded. For now, it was just a confidence between friends.
