“We have to hold hands,” instructed Maddie, “and bow our heads.”
As the four of them held hands around the small table, John gave a short yet heartfelt blessing about friendship, love, and family that brought the sting of tears back.
Max’s grip on her hand tightened, and she returned the pressure.
With the final ‘amen,’ she looked around the table, and her heart swelled with happiness. The moment was so poignant, so special, it would remain embedded in her memory for a long time.
The sense of foreboding that had followed Max inside the house earlier was gone, replaced by something he never thought he would experience. A holiday meal that felt like home.
Until Sky and Maddie came along, John was the closest thing to family he had. They spent many an hour talking about things in general and nothing in particular. Perhaps because of their similar military service, or the fact they shared some bad experiences, explained why Max felt a closeness with him he hadn’t felt for anyone else.
Until Sky and her daughter wormed their way into his heart.
He didn’t understand how it happened. Didn’t try to. He would simply cherish it, every moment of it, for as long as it lasted.
Because he knew that somehow, someway, it would stop. Happy endings weren’t meant for guys like him.
But until that time came, he would cherish every normal, sappy, and joy-filled minute of it. Even if it meant being instructed on the proper way to set a table by a precocious seven-year-old. He bit his lip more than once when John would do something contrary to her instructions, only to act appropriately contrite when corrected. Max loved every minute of it.
When Sky placed the perfectly roasted turkey in front of him with a flourish and handed him what he later learned were carving tools, he suffered a moment of panic. He had no idea what to do.
“There is no right or wrong way to carve a turkey,” she said. “Just pick a spot and start.”
“I like the white meat,” said Maddie. “You just slice it off right there.”
Following her finger, he carefully sliced off a piece of meat and placed it on her plate.
“Thank you, Max.”
“You’re welcome, Tink.”
The next few minutes were lost as plates were passed and food distributed.
Max appreciated all the extras Sky had added. Flowers for the table and a decorative cloth with matching napkins. There weren’t any fancy glasses for the wine, but no one cared. Carefree conversation flowed through the room, along with the heady fragrance of spices, cooked meat, and other smells he didn’t try to categorize. For the first time in his life, Max enjoyed an honest-to-goodness Thanksgiving dinner with, if not family, good friends who were just as important.
“I have to tell you, Miss Sky,” said John as he patted his rotund belly with one hand, “I have not had a meal this good in I can’t remember when.”
“Thank you, John. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed it? Darlin’, if I died this day, I’d already know what Heaven would be like.”
Max liked the way she ducked her head at the extravagant compliment and the bright shade of pink that crept up her neck.
“He’s right,” added Max. “You really outdid yourself on the meal.”
Her smile made him feel like a superhero.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Both of you.”
“I told you Mama was a good cook.”
“Good is an understatement,” said Max. “I’m not sure I know of a word to adequately describe it.”
Sky fanned her face with both hands. “Stop! You’re making me blush.”
“I think I’m going to have to save dessert for later,” said John. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
“Same here,” said Max. “Much as I want that cobbler, I’m too full to enjoy it right now.”
“I have coffee ready to go,” said Sky. “We’ll have dessert at halftime.”
John got up and began gathering up dishes.
“No, I got this,” said Sky, “It’s almost kick-off time.”
“You cooked. We’ll clean up.” He looked at the ravaged table, the mass of leftovers. “Just tell me what to do with stuff.”
“How about this?” offered Sky. “We all clean up. That way you can tell me what you want to take home with you for later.”
John’s booming laugh made his stomach shake. “I like that idea.”
“You look like Santa Claus,” said Maddie. “You just need a solid white beard instead of a black and white one.”
Everyone snickered as John did a pretty good imitation of the fat man’s signature ho-ho-ho.
In record time, leftovers were stored, John had his to-go box, and the kitchen was once again set to rights.
