Page 53 of Maybe Some Other Time

“I’ve never cared much for pearls, honestly,” Thelma said.

She didn’t care much for necklaces in general, especially those that wrapped more closely to her throat than Catholic beads.

“If it’s styling tips you’re after, Megan knows more about how to find those online than I do.

I’ve just always done myself up like this. ”

“Riiiiight.” Ben snickered again. This time, Pauline wasn’t backing down.

“We’ve got a lot of frozen groceries to unload for Thanksgiving,” she said with her curt politeness that Thelma often tried to emulate. “Sorry.”

“And you are?” Heather asked, incredulous.

“Pauline. Thelma’s friend.”

“Her friend! Well, how about that? We’ll leave you to it, then.” Heather motioned for Ben to come with her back across the street. “Happy Thanksgiving, ladies, and thank you for humoring us.”

Pauline watched after them as Thelma opened the truck again and grabbed everything she could carry. “What a couple of weirdos,” Pauline said as she followed Thelma to the front door. “It’s none of their business who you look like.”

Thelma didn’t bother turning on the lights as she headed straight back to the kitchen, where she planted the bags on the island counter and shook out her limbs.

“Perhaps not.” She began meticulously unpacking the bags to assess what needed to go into the freezer first. “But I think they’re on to me. Or something.”

“Hmm. That would be something, all right, considering your missing persons case is considered closed by the government.”

“But it’s cold, according to the public.”

“Indeed. True crime enthusiasts are a thorn in our sides, though. Luckily, my parents couldn’t file any such report on me back in the ‘30s. Didn’t have a birth certificate, either.

Do you know how much convincing I had to do to ensure those FBI numb nuts knew who I was? They had no record of my existence!”

“Jo is from the 18 th century.”

“True, but that’s actually easier for them to work with. When she got here, she was babbling in old Spanish and dressed like she lived in the original LA pueblo. Shit, I never knew about that when I was a kid! I had to learn everything about that history from her.”

“I only really knew about the missions.”

“Same.”

Thelma sighed. “Obnoxious, isn’t it? People like that could cause me some real trouble. But why would they come out of the woodwork now? It’s like they knew something new.”

Pauline picked up the car keys from the counter. “Let me go grab the last of the groceries. You put these away. Let them lose interest.”

Nodding, Thelma opened the freezer and shoved the turkey in the spot she had already cleared away for it.

Let them lose interest. That was how she would have to navigate this nonsense from now on.

There would always be people curious about her appearance.

Her case had become a local legend, probably because of how young she was and her husband and Sandy pushing it for years.

Maybe Robbie had been happy to finally leave his mother to rest in the past. Yet, here I am.

Indeed, here she was. The spitting image of a dead woman.

The succulent scents of Thanksgiving dinner were the backdrop to Thelma’s triumphant return to the domestic sphere.

She had taken such precious care of the tablescape the night before that nobody, least of all her own family, was allowed to eat their dinner of chili at the table.

For once, Thelma didn’t faint at the insinuation that they should eat on TV trays in the living room.

She had gone all out for the few guests who came.

The straw and wax cornucopia centerpiece was pulled out of the attic, supposedly from the ‘70s. Thelma had picked up some matching brown and wine-red cloth napkins from the local thrift store. To go with my Fiesta collection, of course. Robbie had mildly lost his mind to ask where she had found the money to purchase more sets from the department store. When she told him she used her monthly government stipend, he lost more of his mind, since those were his taxes going toward “fancy ceramics.” I had to remind him that these are finely American-made! That’s American jobs!

Thelma would not apologize for her meticulously set table, which mixed pieces from not just her fall favorites of Mulberry and Paprika, but incorporated Sunflower, Cinnabar, and Claret as well.

Don’t get me started on my Christmas plans.

Megan continued to tease her for such a “grandmotherly” obsession with dishes, and Thelma had to remind her that every homemaker should take quality into account as well as beauty.

Besides, they needed more nice dishes for all the company coming over!

“This looks great, Thel!” That was how Pauline greeted her in the morning before they went right to work with peeling, basting, and chopping.

Robbie stayed out of the way by eating cereal for breakfast in front of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, and he did not want to hear how it was a throwback to the last Thanksgiving they celebrated together in 1957.

Eating cereal in front of the parade. Adorable.

Ethan had come over with his wife and spent most of the morning reading a book in the downstairs nook.

Rain had lightly fallen, casting a somber but cozy mood on the living room.

And when Gretchen arrived at noon, as instructed, Thelma hurried to wipe her hands off on a kitchen towel before running to the door like an excited girl.

She did everything but throw her arms around her girlfriend and kiss her in front of Robbie, who pretended not to notice anything as he sat in his lounge chair, the cat pressed into his lap, ignoring all the strangers.

“Holy crap.” Gretchen was compelled to sit at the table, citing how sore she was from being outside all day, every day the rest of that week. “This is gorgeous. Did you put this together yourself?”

“I found the centerpiece in the attic.” She brought over some warmed apple cider for her guest to enjoy. “But the rest is my tastes, yes.”

“Gorgeous.”

Thelma blushed. “Thank you. Please tell Megan how important it is to appreciate the homemaking side of life, even if you have other things to do during the day.”

The girl in question also came to sit at the table. “It’s not that I don’t get it,” she protested. “I just have other things going on in life right now!”

“She still has a hangover from Vegas,” Thelma hissed in Gretchen’s direction.

“Do not!”

Nobody was surprised that Megan held her own head after saying that. Thelma brought her granddaughter some apple cider as well before rubbing her back and pretending to fuss.

Dinner was promptly served at three to grand fanfare. While holiday tunes played on the TV, six of them sat around the table to pass rolls and carve turkey. But, first, Thelma insisted on a prayer to give thanks to the Lord, or “whatever being you may or may not believe in.”

“What?” Robbie barked from the other end of the table. “A prayer? Since when?”

“Since I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, Rob.” Thelma took Gretchen and Pauline’s hands on either side of her. “Come on. Let us say grace for this bountiful feast. As the man of the house…” she cleared her throat, “and the eldest, you should lead.”

Pauline pursed her lips in amusement while Megan stared. Gretchen let out a heavy breath. Ethan remained oblivious.

“I ain’t said no grace at dinner in sixty years,” Robbie said. “Why start now?”

“Really?” Thelma dropped the hands on either side of her to sip the red wine she had passed around the table. “Not even when you were a little boy?”

He was ready for that question. “Not since my mom disappeared. We had no use for grace after that.”

Pauline was on the verge of making a comical sign of the cross while Megan covered her face in embarrassment. Thelma, however, leveled her motherly gaze on her son and said, “Well, maybe you have a reason this year, huh?”

She grabbed the others’ hands. Gretchen was uncomfortable with the scene playing out before her, but gave her girlfriend an encouraging smile when Thelma looked to her for support.

“Fine.” Robbie snatched Megan’s hand. “Let us say grace and give thanks to the Lord.”

He said it so blandly, yet somehow so sarcastically.

“Thank you,” Thelma said. “If you’d like, I’ll lead instead.”

“No, no! I got this! DEAR LORD… ” Ethan nearly leaped out of his skin. “Thank you for this bountiful harvest that we have spread before us today. And thank you for all the fine people we have here with us today…”

“He sounds like he’s about to stab God right in the back,” Pauline muttered. Thelma shushed her.

“ Thank you for all the color-coded Fiesta stuff that was clearly so dang important our lovely Thelma had to spend taxpayer money on three more sets of Clara and Susan or whatever. Thank you for the wonderful weather we had this year, from sunny days to foggy nights.”

Thelma knew that was about her, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Anyway! Thanks for the grub, God! Amen!”

A chorus of “amens” was muttered around the table. Thelma opened her eyes and thanked her son for participating. At least now they were allowed to eat, she supposed.

She had a few rules for their meal that evening.

Besides no swearing and no politics, she warned Megan that there would be no devices at the table.

Drives me crazy! Oh, Thelma was a hypocrite, of course.

Since getting her cell phone, she had become a bit of a texter herself, but with Gretchen there, it was easy to leave her phone on the kitchen counter and concentrate on the conversation at the dinner table.

“This is scrumptious, ladies,” Ethan complimented the cooks. “I haven’t had a meal like this in years.”

“Thank you, Ethan,” Thelma said. “The stuffing is a mid-century recipe I got from the back of a magazine. Back in, ah, the day.” She hoped she was saying that phrase correctly. Nobody looked oddly at her, so she was probably fine.

“The stuffing’s great!”