Two weeks before, Doreen had made Ruby an offer that seemed perfect. In exchange for Ruby preparing their Thanksgiving feast, Doreen would buy all the food, and they’d split the leftovers. Since Doreen’s kitchen was larger than Ruby’s, she arrived early Thursday morning and began the preparation…the preparation for feeding an army.

Ruby had forgotten to what extremes Doreen would go to in order not to cook until she was standing at the sink with her hand inside a twenty-six-pound turkey, trying to dislodge the rest of the ice in the cavity. On one counter was a ten-pound bag of potatoes waiting to be peeled, four cans of yams waiting to be mashed, and three pounds of string beans needing to be cleaned. And on the other counter were four bags of bread cubes, two pounds of sausage, two packages of celery, and an assortment of spices, along with pickles, olives, and other nibbles.

Shortly before one, Ruby could finally unwind, but no sooner had she dropped into a chair when the timers began to ring. It was time to baste. It was time to stir. It was time to grease casseroles, and it was time to baste again, so when Ruby pulled the turkey out of the oven for the last time, she almost didn’t want to eat.

Of course, Ruby did eat. She sampled everything she’d prepared, and by the time dinner was over, the kitchen was clean, and they divvied up the leftovers, driving home wasn’t an option. Between her exhaustion and the wine she’d consumed during the meal, after Doreen shuffled into her bedroom to get comfy on her fourteen-inch thick mattress, Ruby changed into some borrowed pajamas and stretched out across Doreen’s lumpy sofa. Sleep did not come easily, and it didn’t last long, so now, as Ruby stared at the ceiling in her apartment, her eyes were quickly growing heavy.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed spending the day with Doreen. It was nice not to be alone on a holiday, but as Ruby’s eyes fluttered closed, she made herself a promise. Next year, she was either going to teach Doreen to cook…or hire a caterer.

***

Napoleon tramped down the steps, and when he reached the lab, he shoved the door open, and it banged against a counter inside.

Two men wearing white lab coats whipped around in unison.

“What’s this all about?” Napoleon said, glowering at the scientists. “I don’t even like this stupid American holiday, but if I’m going to spend my hard-earned money having it catered, I sure as hell expect everyone to attend.”