Friendsgiving

Mart sat in the back room of Ingram’s Antiques waiting for his meeting with Imogene to begin. For what seemed like the millionth time, he sent a silent prayer of thanks that Imogene Ingram had the desire to go into the nursery business and had wanted him to lead the way.  Despite his initial lack of confidence, Mart persevered and within a few months found himself running one of the more successful businesses in Sleepyside.

“At least my office area is neat,” he muttered to himself, as he shifted in the faded Queen Anne’s chair that sat next to Imogene’s messy desk.

Noticing a pile of magazines, picked up the top one and aimlessly flipped  through it.  Suddenly, he sat up when he opened to a full page photo layout of a Thanksgiving feast.  

“Look at all that food.” Mart felt his mouth water as he examined the various dishes that were artfully placed on a rustic table, a  seasonal tablescape accenting the colorful food.  Turning the page, he began studying the recipes.

“I could make these,” he decided.  “I could totally make these and the results would be awesome.”

Mart was so intent on his reading that he didn't hear Imogene enter the room.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” said the woman.  “But I did just sell a $2000 sideboard plus an entire set of dishes to go with it.”

Imogene bustled to her desk, anticipating a reply from Mart.  When none came, she looked at the young man.  “Mart?  Mart?”

“What? Oh, hi.”  Mart closed the magazine but kept it firmly in his grip.

“What’s got your attention?”  Imogene made some space on her desk then plopped down in her chair.

“Just reading the Thanksgiving recipes in this magazine.”  Mart held up the publication.

“Ah, yes.  Midwest Living.  They have wonderful recipes in there.  I’ve gotten many delicious soup recipes from that publication.”

“You have?” Mart’s eyebrows perked up in interest.

“Yes.”

“Can I borrow this for a bit?”

“Certainly.  And don’t miss the way the seasonal decorations are displayed. It might give you some ideas for your own shop.” Imogene winked at Mart then pulled out an itemized list.  “Let’s get started, shall we. I want to make sure Bing’s Nursery is set for the open house the day after Thanksgiving. “

Mart reluctantly set the magazine aside then he and Imogene got to work discussing the garden center they co-owned.  The two spent an hour going over the holiday plans and finalizing the food choices for the anticipated crowds.  When they were done, Mart grabbed the magazine and headed toward the front door.  Halfway down an aisle, he ran into Trixie.  Her success at being an efficient and imaginative assistant to Imogene never failed to amaze him.

“So, are you and Imogene done with your meeting,” she asked.

“Yes, our business has arrived at its successful conclusion.”

“Good.”

Mart looked around the eclectic shop, his mind quickly formulating a plan.  “Hey, Trixie.”

“Yeah?”

Mart’s mind whirled as the details rapidly fell into place.  

“Yes?” said Trixie again.  Frowning, she tapped her brother on the forehead.  “Anybody home?  Did you use up all your brain cells in your meeting with Imogene?”

“No.”  Moving a collection of antique railroad lanterns aside, Mart casually propped an elbow on a display shelf and smiled at his sister.  “Hey, Trixie.”

“You already said that.”  Trixie’s face showed her impatience with her brother.

“You know,” Mart’s eyes glanced around the shop,” You and I lucked out finding career opportunities with Imogene, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” answered Trixie, her eyes narrowing.

“And we should be thankful for what we have. Right?”

Trixie nodded.

“Ergo,I have a favor to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“I was reading this magazine in Imogene’s office.”  Mart held it out to show Trixie.

“And….”

“It has these fabulous recipes for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“And…”

“What if I made them and we had a Thanksgiving dinner for the Bobwhites, you know, when they’re all here for the holiday.”

Trixie shook her head.  “You would make dinner for our friends who are already planning to dine at our parents’ home?  Sheesh, Mart, you really must be working too hard.”

“No.” Mart  shook his head.  “I’m thinking we could do it the Saturday after Thanksgiving, before everybody has to return to school or work.”

Trixie tapped her toe.  “What’s with the ‘we?’”

“Maybe I didn’t explain my idea too well.”

“Obviously.”

“I have this vision of all the Bobwhites sitting and reconnecting at their own private dinner, one I would create.  We wouldn’t have all those neighbors around and we could really cut loose.” Mart paused, giving his sister a chance to process what he was proposing.

“Where were you planning on having this get-together?” asked Trixie.

Mart inhaled.  “I was thinking about using your place.”

“My place?  As in my apartment with my cute but small kitchen?”

“Affirmative.  But what if I cooked everything at the farm, then brought it over, therefore bypassing your tiny galley. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.  I’d supply dishes, silverware, everything we’d need.”  Mart  excitedly waved his hands through the air.  “In fact, you could leave an hour before the party starts, then arrive with the other guests.”

Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “And who does all the clean-up?”

“I do, cross my heart.” Mart made a mark on his chest.  “So, what do you think?”

“Hmmm…”  Trixie looked around the shop. “On one condition,” she cautioned.

“What?  Anything.”

“I get to bring Tad.”

Mart looked puzzled..  “Why wouldn’t you bring Tad?”

Trixie crossed her arms. “He’s not a Bobwhite.”

“Look, Trixie.  Tad is a part of the group now.  I wouldn’t think of excluding him. Besides, I’m relatively certain that the rest of our gang will want to bring a significant other at some point too.”

“And you’re sure you’re going to handle everything?”

“Are you doubting my good word?”  Mart tried to look wounded.

“Your good word has definitely given me cause to doubt it before.”

“Trust me, dear sister.”  Grinning, Mart offered Trixie a slight bow.

“Never.  But you’re on.  You do all the work and Tad and I will have my place ready.  And that’s all I’m doing.”

Smiling at his victory, Mart tucked the magazine under his arm and strode out of the store, already visualizing the festive table and tantalizing dishes.

Two days after the Belden Thanksgiving Open House, Mart was up early.  Despite having worked 12 hours the day before, he was eager to get busy on his own preparations. He had purchased all the ingredients and had the recipes lined up on the kitchen counter.  Humming, he went to the den and came back with three large plastic bags that he deposited onto the chairs around the kitchen table.  Looking in each bag, he took a quick inventory then, with a satisfied smile, carried the bags out to his car where he stashed them in his trunk.  Returning to the kitchen, Mart rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands and studied the first recipe.

“Okay, Mr. Turkey, you’re on.”  Mart quickly rubbed down the turkey, then placed it in a roasting pan.  After consulting the recipe, he created a baste which he used to generously coat the bird.  He popped the bird into the oven, then got to work on the other dishes. The staccato sound of his knife on the cutting board echoed across the homey room as he diced and minced other ingredients, filling several of his mother’s casserole dishes.

A few hours later, Mart, hot and sweaty, opened the oven door and basted the turkey.  “Wow, does that smell amazing.” He kissed his lips with his fingers then closed the oven door.  “I knew this meal would be awesome.”

By lunchtime, Mart had all the dishes prepared and had placed them in the oven with the turkey.  Then he got to work cleaning up the kitchen, smiling as he imagined all the kudos he would be receiving from the other Bobwhites.  “Yessir, this will be one meal they won’t forget.”

With the kitchen tidied, Mart headed upstairs to get himself cleaned up, eager to get to Trixie’s to complete his preparations. “She better have her apartment ready,” he said, glancing in the rear view mirror as he carefully turned his car around in the driveway. Mindful of the precious cargo he carried, Mart drove slowly down Glen Road and into town.

When he arrived at Trixie’s apartment, he was dismayed to find there were no parking places in front of her building.  

“I suppose I’m going to have to park a block away and lug all this stuff down the street and up the stairs to Trixie’s kitchen.  She could have at least blocked out a place for me in front.”

Squeezing his car into a small space near a stop sign, Mart got out and trotted to his sister’s second floor apartment.

“Hey, Trixie,” he yelled as he knocked on the door.  “Are you ready for your best meal ever?”

Trixie opened the door.  “Did you bring everything because, let me say this again,  I’m not cooking anything.”

“Yes, I told you I would.  But I had to park at the end of the block.  Can you maybe help me carry the stuff up here?”

Trixie sighed loudly.  “I knew it.  Your promise was just too good to be true.”

“I said you wouldn’t have to cook or clean up.  I never said you wouldn’t have to schlep.”

“Schlep?”  

“Come on, Trixie.  Please?”

“Okay.”  Trixie grabbed her coat and the two went to Mart’s car.  

“Here, you can carry the plates and silverware.”  Mart handed Trixie the three bags.  

“This is awfully light china,” remarked Trixie as she hoisted the bag up and down.

“Paper!” answered Mart proudly.  “A perfect option for those wanting to enjoy the holiday but forego all the clean-up.  I’ve got silverware and cups too.”

“Plastic silverware isn’t silverware, Mart.”

“I know.  It’s acrylic ware but I didn’t want to throw any big words at you when you’ve been so kind to let me use your place.”

“I guess it will work as long as we don’t have any sporks.  I never know how to use those.”

Mart frowned at Trixie, then carefully got a covered aluminum pan out of the car.  “This is the turkey and believe me, it smells divine.”

Mart followed Trixie back to her apartment where he reverently placed his culinary masterpiece in her small oven.  A few trips later, Trixie’s counter was lined with several foil-covered dishes as well as a pile of serving utensils.

“How are you going to keep everything warm?” asked Trixie.

“Easy.  I’m going to use this buffet server Moms lent me.  I’ll just set it on your dining room table and then everything will be nice and hot.”

“But where will people sit to eat?”

“Part of my vision is that all the Bobwhites are sitting around your living room, nice and relaxed and enjoying that ottoman you and Tad made.”

Trixie studied her brother.  “This sounds like a con job to me, but I’ll go along with it because my ottoman is pretty amazing.”

“See.  It’ll be perfect. Now you just scoot along and come back in one hour for the feast to end all feasts.”

Trixie happily took her leave and headed to Tad’s house, where the two hoped  to catch a few quarters of a football game on the television before heading back for the dinner.

With his sister gone, Mart got to work setting up the server, then filling it with the hot food.  He laid out the holiday themed paper plates and cups, rolling the acrylic ware in the napkins and, like the magazine picture, wrapping them with a bit of rustic twine. He strategically placed several mums that he had snagged from his nursery around the room, adding scented candles to complete the cozy ambiance that he had imagined.

“I could write that magazine,” he boasted as he went into the kitchen to check on the turkey.

Returning to the living room, Mart cleared Trixie’s desk then used it to create a beverage station,  referring to the magazine to get the display right.“This is so easy.  I could do this with my eyes closed.”

An hour later, Mart had everything ready.  Trixie’s apartment was full of the aromas of Thanksgiving dinner. Candles were softly glowing and the lights were dimmed.

“Ah, yes, one more thing.”  Mart hooked up his phone to a small set of speakers.  Quiet music filled the cozy room.  “And,” he briskly rubbed his hands together, “I’m ready.”

Mart anxiously watched out the big living room window for his friends to arrive, smiling when he saw Diana on the sidewalk below him.  

“How quintessential that the most perfect woman in the world arrives first.”  Stepping to the door, he opened it in anticipation of his girlfriend’s appearance.

“Mart,” Diana called out when she saw him.  “I can smell your meal from the hallway downstairs. Yum.”

“Come in, Diana.  Welcome to the Bobwhite day after the day after Thanksgiving dinner.”

Diana smiled.  “This is going to be so much fun.”  

Before long, the rest of the Bobwhites arrived, with Trixie and Tad straggling in at the last minute.

“Trixie,” exclaimed Jim as he looked around the vintage 1930’s room.  “Your place is great.  Honey told me all about it, but she didn’t do it justice.”

“It is a great place,” agreed Trixie, eager to show off her apartment to her friends.  “I was so lucky to get it.”

“Is this the original woodwork?’” Jim rubbed the gleaming wood that surrounded the doors and windows.

“I think so.”

“You should see the view of the ravine out back,” said Tad.

“I’d love to,” answered JIm.  

“Just step through the kitchen.” Tad pointed toward the arched doorway.  

Jim entered the kitchen, then stopped.  Trixie, seeing Jim halt, went to investigate.  When she got to the doorway, she gasped.

“Mart, what happened to my kitchen?”

“Trixie, Trixie, don’t worry.” Mart patted her on the shoulder.   “I said I’d clean everything up.”

“But…..but…”  Trixie seemed to be at a loss for words.

Tad stepped up behind Trixie to see what the friction between the two was about.  “Uh, Mart…”

“Tad, you don't have to worry about the mess.  I’ve got it covered.” Mart’s voice took on a slight edge.

By now, all the Bobwhites had crammed into the doorway and were staring, shocked by the state of Trixie’s kitchen. Plastic bags, a half empty case of bottled water and other packaging were piled haphazardly against the back door.  Trixie's counter was covered with empty casserole dishes, their crumpled foil covers lying beside them.  Several dishtowels were hanging off drawers that were partially ajar.  Greasy handprints dotted Trixie’s refrigerator, stove and even the small window that looked out on her balcony.

“Wow, Mart,” exclaimed Brian.  “I thought you made all the food at Crabapple Farm.”

“I did.  And I did a superb job cleaning up after the preparation of such palatable fare. But I still needed to do some work here and as a master of delicious edibles, I must work the way I work.Therefore, one  must expect a little unpleasantness, right, Diana?” Mart looked at his girlfriend hopefully.

Diana cleared her throat.  “Uh, yes.  That’s right.  And it smells like you created a real masterpiece.”

“I don't know, Mart,” commented Dan, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “I’m pretty sure that blocking a door with trash is a fire hazard. You could be putting us all at risk.”

“Shut up, Dan,” said Mart wearily.  “We're fine.  There’s not going to be a fire.”

“There better not be,” muttered Trixie.

“We don't have to clean this up in exchange for dinner, do we?” queried Dan.

“Of course not.  Why don’t you all go back into the living room?” suggested Mart tensely.

“Trixie.” Honey’s voice rang out above the other Bobwhites, “Did you show everybody your cute little fireplace?”

Trixie’s head bobbed up.  “I think they can see it, Honey.  But, I’ll show it to them again.”

“I just love the character it gives to this room.  Jim, could you get me some wine?” Honey handed her cup to her brother.

Jim went to the beverage station and the rest of the Bobwhites trailed after him, looking at the small fireplace that was tucked into the corner of the living room.

“Thanks, Honey,” whispered Mart.  He looked at Trixie's kitchen. “I really will clean this up when we’re done.”

“I know you will,” smiled Honey sweetly,  “or the next Bobwhite get-together will be for your funeral.”  She strolled into the living room, leaving Mart to finish his dinner preparations.

Seated in a comfortable circle, the Bobwhites chatted and teased each other.  It seemed like it had been a long time since they had all been together and they were eager to catch up with each other’s lives.  Their conversations came to a halt when Mart, standing under the dining room archway, clapped his hands together.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said proudly,  “dinner is served.”

Immediately, the Bobwhites went into the dining room where they oohed and aahed over the perfect display, with Diana and Honey complementing Mart on his table arrangement.  Noses sniffed at the fragrant aromas that were wafting out of the dishes. The group quickly filled their plates, selected their drinks,  then headed back into the living room to find a seat.

Mart was the last to get his food, piling as much as he could on the decorative paper plate.  “Maybe I should have used two,” he worried as he wound his way through the room to an open  spot on the floor next to Diana.  

When Mart arrived at his choice seat, he crossed his ankles and started to drop down.  At that moment, his paper plate, loaded beyond capacity, folded and his turkey began to slide toward the crimped edge.

“Whoa,”cried Mart as he tried to juggle the collapsing plate.

“Oh no you don’t,” cried Trixie when she saw his machinations.  Reaching out, she attempted to steady Mart’s plate, but in doing so jostled Tad’s arm.  

Tad was taking a sip of the cranberry wine Brian had brought, but instead sloshed it down the front of his shirt.  “Trixie!” he groaned.

“What?”  Trixie looked at Tad, and, for a second, lost sight of Mart.  

When she reached for Mart’s plate again, she stumbled and bumped Diana’s lap.

“Ewwww!” cried Diana as her plate of food flipped up, causing blobs of mashed potatoes and gravy to stick to her lilac blouse.  

“Diana.”  Mart struggled to control his plate so he could offer assistance to his girlfriend.

“Here, let me.” Brian stood and attempted to pull Mart’s plate from his hands so Mart could help Diana.  But Trixie continued on her forward trajectory, missing Diana’s lap and instead plowing into Brian, who stumbled backward when her weight hit him in the chest.  Stepping back,  Brian felt unwelcome squishiness when his shoes made contact with his own potatoes and stuffing.  

“Ohhh!”  Honey quickly placed her plate on the floor and stood up, ready to help whoever might need it.  

“Watch out, Honey,” cried Brian as his slippery shoes slid across the hardwood floor and into her.

“Oh, no!” Honey’s foot caught the edge of her plate and tipped it, sending the food on it into the air.  

“Steady.” Jim reached out to Honey, but instead got sloshed with more wine from Tad, who was trying to secure his plate and drink from any more unexpected contacts.

Suddenly, all movement stopped and seven friends stared at each other in disbelief.  “I don’t believe this,” said Honey.  “Look at this chaos!”

“Mart.” Trixie turned to her brother.  “Look what you did.”

“Me? I believe you started it all when you tried to grab my plate.”

“I wasn’t trying to get you plate.  I was trying to help you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” said Mart hotly.  “You just created a mess on Tad, Honey, and Brian.”

“I didn’t make a mess on anybody. If you hadn't put so much on your plate, your plate wouldn’t have collapsed and none of this would have happened.”

“And if you had a bigger dining room table, we could all be seated around it.”

“What about your so-called vision of us gathered around my ottoman, laughing and having fun?”

Trixie and Mart stood toe to to, their faces red with anger.

“About this ottoman,” piped up Honey.  “It’s adorable.  I can’t believe you made it.”

Trixie and Mart looked at Honey.

“It worked before, Honey,” snapped Mart, “But I don’t think it will work this time.”

Shrugging, Honey took a sip of her wine.  “I tried,” she murmured to Jim.

“You will be cleaning this up,” ordered Trixie.

“I said I would.”

“And you better do it now!”  

Trixie and Mart, still standing,  took a breath.  As the room became quiet, they looked around, then at each other.  

“What’s that noise?” asked Trixie.

Mart shook his head.  “Trust me when I say this, I’ve definitely heard that sound before,”  His  eyes zeroed in on the Bobwhite comfortably ensconced in the corner.

The two looked where Dan sat, his plate empty and a look of sheer joy across his face as he struggled to keep his laughter in.  

“Dan?” questioned Mart, agitation registering in his voice.   “What do you find so funny?”

Dan swallowed, then burst out laughing.  “This!” he said as he waved his fork through the air.  “This is absolutely the most memorable Thanksgiving dinner ever.  It’s epic! It’s unbelievable!  It’s historical!”

The rest of the Bobwhites looked at each other, then started to laugh, quietly at first, then turning into full guffaws.

“Dan’s right,” gasped Honey as the tears ran down her face.  “I have never, ever seen anything like this.  You two,” she said, tipping her paper cup to Mart and Trixie, “really need to take your show on the road.”

Mart, doubled over with laughter, went into the kitchen to get some towels to start the cleanup.  

“Hey, Trixie,” he said as he stood in the doorway holding his side, “I already used all your towels making dinner.”

The group  roared with laughter.  

“Get some from the bathroom,” suggested Tad as he dabbed at his shirt with his gaily printed napkins.  “Better yet, use the twine you're brought to tie up the silverware.”

The group roared again.  

Setting their dishes aside, the group gathered towels from Trixie’s bathroom and got to work on their clothing, the floor, and the furniture.  A short time later, Mart tossed the last towel into a pile on the kitchen floor.

“And now,” he said as he stood in front of the table, a fresh plate in hand, “let the feast begin.  And this time,  give me a decent  landing spot.”

‘You know, Mart,” said Tixie, holding a forkful of garlic mashed potatoes midair, “this really is delicious.  I think you should cook again next year.  Not at my place, of course.”

“Maybe we just started a new tradition,” said Mart.  “Our day after the day after Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Yeah,” responded Brian.  “But if I were you, I’d leave the theatrics at home.”

“Amen to that!” agreed all the friends in unison.  

“Let’s make a toast,” suggested Diana.  

The group held up their paper cups.  

“To friends,” said Diana.

“To laughter,” added Dan

“To always trying to help each other,” offered Honey.

“To being there when we’re needed,” said Brian.

“To a clean floor,” grinned Trixie.

“To always giving each other another chance,” wished Jim.

“To good food,” toasted Tad.

Seven faces turned toward Mart, awaiting his toast.  

Mart thought for a minute then raised his cup a bit higher.  “To Friendsgiving, a thanksgiving with friends!”

Tapping their cornucopia printed paper cups together, the friends shared the toast, happy to be spending time together and comforted by the knowledge  they had created a new tradition that would bring them back together every year.