[title subtitle=”WORDS Sarah Phillips-Burger
IMAGE Element5Digital”][/title]
Hannah pushed one foot, and then the other into the sand and paused, soaking her tired feet in its warmth. She wiggled her toes and the golden crystals sparkled as they fell away, revealing her cherry red toenails. Her sheer, white sarong parted as her leg pushed through and she made her way farther onto the beach.
The sun perched atop a low cloud just above the horizon, taking in the scene it created; fierce pinks, purples and oranges all spread seamlessly in the sky above her. She stopped and raised her arms, reaching up as if to touch the splendor itself, stretching her muscles as far as she could, before bringing them back down with a long exhale to allow the tension to melt away. She continued on to her destination, the loose sand beneath her becoming tight and wet.
Hannah finally reached the lounge chair and when she sat, she felt instant relief in her legs. The sun now touched the water’s edge, its light melting into the ocean, the glittery orange beams rivaling the brightness of the sun itself. Her skin, thick with sunscreen, salt and sweat, mirrored the ocean’s twinkle, making her a part of the show.
She reached over and grabbed her drink, a pineapple and coconut concoction, sipping the frozen delight through a pink straw. She did not swallow it right away, preferring instead to enjoy the sweetness, allowing it to melt and quench her thirst. She ran her finger through the cool moisture on the outside of the glass, watching the drops fall like tears of joy, before placing it back on the table.
The last peek of sun winked at her through ocean waves before disappearing. She took a long breath, allowing the salty air into the deepest recesses of her lungs before closing her eyes and exhaling. Her breaths followed in sync with the waves that flowed around her, rolling in, kissing the sand by her feet, and then pulling away again.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hannah opened her eyes to see the beautiful sunset replaced by her white kitchen floor, the sound of the waves crashing around her, only slightly recognizable in the swoosh of the dishwasher already on its second load of the day. The oven timer announced the readiness of the main attraction, the Thanksgiving turkey, and also the end of her fantasy. “Finally,” she thought as she opened the oven and stuck the instant-read thermometer into the thigh of the bird.
She had been up since four a.m., preparing for the feast, accomplishing as much as she could before taking a shower and picking up stray tennis shoes and newspapers, cups and toys that seemed to manifest out of nowhere. Everyone arrived early, as is the usual custom for their family, and it wasn’t until the last guest arrived that she remembered to put her shoes on. How her mother did all of this every year, she couldn’t fathom, and she felt a sudden, intense wave of grief that was interrupted when the thermometer beeped its final reading.
She pulled the turkey out to rest and placed the stuffing and the broccoli cheese casserole in the oven on the bottom shelf to be reheated and the rolls on the top shelf. Dexter, their Boston terrier, burst into the kitchen, running in place momentarily on the vinyl floor before eventually gaining traction again and setting off towards the living room. He was directly followed by her twin boys, barefoot and cowlicked, out of breath from laughing. “Boys!” Hannah called after them, but it was too late, they were already headed upstairs. She peeked in the living room where her husband, one of her uncles and her cousin gathered around her father, watching football. “Ready in about ten minutes.”
“Okay, Hannah Banana,” her father winked in reply before throwing his arms up with the others to celebrate a touchdown.
She found the three teenagers spread throughout the house in empty corners and sitting alone on the staircase, gazing down at their phones, listening to their headphones or taking selfies. Her aunt, sister and her new sister-in-law sat on the back deck enjoying the unusually warm day, gossiping, comparing pictures and updating each other on family news while passing around the newest cooing family member, and she felt a pang of jealousy. At the dining room table, she found her eldest son, a freshly graduated, yet-to-be-employed philosophy major, having a heated debate with her uncle, a retired steelworker, over, of all things, politics. Hannah thought that was one of the topics that should be off limits on holidays like this.
“I better get the wine,” she thought, returning with both red and white, and a pitcher of sweet tea to cover all tastes. The rolls were placed in a basket, the side dishes on potholders. Whipped butter and cranberry sauce were pulled from the fridge and placed on the table. The candles in the centerpiece were lit. She did a quick recount of the seats, thankful that her husband put the leaf in the table to hold everyone, minus the kids who had their own table. She opened the sliding glass door. “Ladies, I think we are ready, if you could help me take everything to the table.”
Two by two the women carried the savory aromas through to the dining room, the scents tickling noses throughout her home, the guests answering the call. It was only the twins upstairs playing who needed to be told that the feast was ready and waiting. Everyone took their seats except Hannah and her husband who asked her if she needed help bringing in the star of the show. She said she could manage, but he walked with her anyway, his hand placed on the small of her back. Relishing in the comfort it gave her, she slowed her pace just slightly, holding onto the feeling for a split second longer.
In the dining room, the giant golden bird was met with wide ravenous eyes and applause. She placed the turkey before her father who sat at the head of the table. “Everything looks beautiful,” he said, his eyes wet, and she knew then that he was missing her mother, too.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said with a kiss on the cheek.
The kids were served first, so they could take their places at their designated table. Hannah watched as plates were passed around, requests for extra portions and different parts of the turkey were fulfilled. The baby smiled gleefully in the highchair, squeezing marshmallows in between her fingers between mouthfuls of her mom’s sweet potato casserole. The whole routine repeated as the adults spooned out big helpings and piled their plates high with food that was then covered in gravy. “This taste just like Mom’s,” her sister said after trying the stuffing. Hannah smiled in relief.
While she ate, she watched as her family fed their hungry bodies, sipped their glasses of wine, shared their funny stories, and relived their fondest memories. Even the teenagers put down their phones and listened to the adults talk, and the twins shared the last buttered roll, both of which she considered to be miracles. Dexter sat vigilant beside the highchair, eagerly awaiting scraps dropped, or thrown, by the baby.
Slices of her aunt’s famous carrot cake and pumpkin and pecan pies were handed out to eager hands, topped with homemade whipped cream. Eyes looked to the heavens in absolute delight with each bite. Hannah’s husband placed his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Everything is perfect, well done.” She smiled and squeezed back a thank-you.
In that moment, Hannah realized that she didn’t need to gaze at a perfect sunset to see beauty. Joy shown from her family’s eyes in a way that almost blinded her. She didn’t need the sun’s reflection on the water to feel at peace. The smile reflected back to her by her husband always soothed her down to her very core. She didn’t need to hear the waves of the ocean to center her soul in this world, either. The love that surrounded her now was a force stronger than anything else she knew, and it had always supported her. It was then that she understood why her mother always hosted Thanksgiving dinners.
“Everyone,” Hannah began after tapping her spoon on her wine glass, “it’s time for our annual tradition, where we go around the table, one by one, and we say what it is we are thankful for. I will go first.” She paused, looking at the faces of those around her. “I am so thankful that this is my happy place.”
