“Jenn, you don’t know how it feels...”
“It sounds very spoiled,” she said. “But it’s your life. If you want to punish your dad by being angry and refusing to acknowledge your half sister, knock yourself out. I think the only loser in that equation will be you. I better go help with the pies.”
“Listen, don’t go yet. It’s the holiday season. Maybe we should get together—”
“No more booty calls, Michael. Sorry.”
“Not a booty call!” he insisted. “But maybe we could have coffee? Or ice cream? Or just talk?”
“We’re talking...”
“How about face-to-face talking.”
“I think we were arguing,” she said. “I’m sorry about that. I’m too opinionated sometimes. What you do with your new family scenario is your deal, not mine. I just can’t help but think your dad... Well, what do I know. Seemed like your mom was a bigger person. Always trying to do the right thing. You know?”
“And you think getting to know Amy is the right thing?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that—I think introducing yourself, telling her who you are, I think meeting her, is the right thing. Maybe you do that and find you have nothing more to talk about. But withdrawing and being angry about it, about her? That’s for sure the wrong thing. That makes it all about you. There are other people in this drama, after all.”
“There are,” he said. “Tell me about your sisters. Tell me what the kids are up to. Tell me what your Thanksgiving dinner is.”
She laughed. “You’re so good at changing the subject.”
But that wasn’t his intention, to just change the subject. He didn’t want her to say goodbye.
The next morning he called Jessie. He asked her about the details of their family dinner, the time, was he expected to bring anything. To which she laughed and said, “Hardly, Michael. But you might be called upon to help with cleanup.”
“I can do that,” he said.
Then he got busy on his computer, and with only a name and phone number to work with, he located this mysterious sister on Alameda Island. He knew what little his mother had shared, that she was a nurse practitioner married to a physician and they both worked in the city. Hospitals were not closed on holidays and they could be working, but he couldn’t bring himself to call ahead. Instead, he stopped at a roadside stand, bought a floral arrangement and drove to the island and got out of the car. He rapped lightly on the front door.
A beautiful woman about his age opened the door. Seeing the flowers she said, “Oh!”
“I’m sorry to bother you on a holiday,” he said. “My name is Michael McNichol.”
She put her hand over her mouth and her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, God,” she said. “You look like him!”
“I should have called,” he fumbled.
“Come in,” she said emotionally. “Come in!”
“Amy!” a man’s voice shouted from within. “I’m going to be late! Can you come and get this—”
A handsome man stood in the foyer, balancing a baby on his hip. He was wearing scrubs and tennis shoes.
“Nikit, this is Michael McNichol. Michael, this is my husband, Nikit Singh, and our baby, Gina.”
The baby shyly buried her head in her father’s shoulder while Nikit stretched out a hand. “How do you do! I’m so sorry, but I have to get to work. Amy, you’re okay?” he asked, passing her the baby.
“Of course, Nikit. I’ll see you later.”
“I should have called,” Michael said again. “It’s a holiday and everything...”
“Not at all, we’re glad to meet you. I’m sorry I can’t stay. Amy will have to fill me in later.” He gave his wife a kiss on the lips and gave a quick wave before going out the back door.
“He’s on call in the emergency room today,” she said. “Come to the kitchen.” She struggled with the baby and flowers and he followed. She put the flowers in the sink and put the baby in a high chair. She sprinkled some Cheerios on the tray. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“It looks like you’re in the middle of cooking and I don’t want to—”
“It’s nothing, really. Just my contribution to the dinner. We’re getting together with some of the neighbors later. I have all day to make my dish.”
“This was very spur-of-the-moment,” he said. “I didn’t give it much thought. My mother gave me your name and number. She gave it to all of us. I’m going over to her house a little later. I just thought—”
“I’m glad you came by.” Without asking him again, she fixed him a cup of coffee. “How is Anna? I’ve talked to her on the phone a few times and she’s sounding good—strong and coherent. But I haven’t seen her.”
“She had a bad bloody nose,” he said.
“Those damn blood thinners,” she said. “Cream and sugar?”
“No, thank you. She seems to be doing fine now.”
She served him his coffee, made herself a cup, and while it brewed she fixed the baby some milk in a sippy cup. “It’s lucky for you all that you have a doctor in the family. I’m sure your sister is taking very good care of your mom. Michael, I’m so curious about your teaching job. Tell me about it. Please!”
He described his typical day, teaching health in the classroom, filling in for other teachers from time to time, taking on the occasional gym class, coaching football in the fall and baseball in the spring and summer. “Next year I’m helping out with wrestling in the winter. That’s just to be sure I never get an afternoon off.”
“But you have summers, right?”
He nodded. “I almost always get a summer job. I’ve been working at Costco the last few years, when they have an opening for me.”
He asked her about her work and she explained that she was a nurse practitioner in women’s health, working at the same hospital as her husband, and that Nikit was a vascular surgeon. They met when he was in his residency at the same hospital. “We’ve been married almost four years now.”
“You married young,” Michael observed.
“I was head over heels,” she said. “Nikit is the most wonderful man and doctor. Who could say no?”
They talked for a while about the Bay Area, their families, their plans for the future. Gina was nodding off in her high chair, content on Cheerios and milk. “You should know, in the little bit of time I was able to spend with your father, he talked about his children with great pride.”
And Michael surprised himself by saying, “Our father.”
Jessie had been in the kitchen all day but for her it was like a day of rest. She texted her brother four times; he was asked to make a grocery stop on his way to dinner for butter, half-and-half cream, dinner rolls and large pimento-stuffed green olives. The butter was for the rolls and vegetables, the cream for the coffee, the rolls for rolls and the olives because after cooking all day Jessie favored a martini.
“Thank you!” she gushed when he came in the door. “You are the best brother.”
She had prepared the traditional Thanksgiving dinner just as her parents usually did. She often helped in the kitchen but never took charge in her mother’s kitchen, even if her mother or father weren’t half the cook Jessie was. Truth be told, she hadn’t had such a fun day in ages. In fact, the last week or so had been crazy fun.
The turkey would come out in thirty minutes. While it sat, before carving, she’d whip the potatoes, warm the rolls, butter the vegetables and dish up the stuffing. The gravy was the only thing she cheated on, and not because she had trouble with gravy. Her gravy was perfection. It was a time thing. She wanted everything hot when she served it. So she got premade turkey gravy from the deli and warmed it.
She put out a fancy platter of cheese, crackers and fruit and poured a little wine for everyone. Just a little. The McNichol family was a walking pharmacy these days. Well, Anna and Bess, anyway.
The table was beautiful, thanks to Bess. It helps to have the person with a touch of OCD prepare the table. Jessie thought if she measured she’d find the exact same distance between flatware and plates at every setting.
For the first time, Blanche would not be with them for Thanksgiving dinner. She was no longer leaving the memory care unit; her legs were weak and bloated, she was often incontinent and could become terribly confused. Anna and the girls planned to visit her on Saturday afternoon.
Jessie put the cheese platter and wine on the coffee table for her family while she put the finishing touches on dinner. She got it all on the table and then made herself that martini and it was as crisp and icy and dirty as if a professional had done it.
“Come to the table, please,” she called. And she put her drink and herself across from her brother and sister.
“Martini?” Michael asked as he took his seat.
“I’ve earned it. Want one?”
“I think I’ll stick with the wine, but thanks.”
There were many exclamations of praise as the dishes were passed around and Jessie glowed in the wake of their appreciation.
“Excellent, Jessie!”