“Doesn’t it look nice?” Granma says when the table is laid, with the turkey steaming on a big platter.

“Isn’t it too much food for three people?”

But Mom gives me a look.

“I’ve got everybody here that matters,” she says.

Afterward, Mom and Granma clean up—I’m allowed to sit on the sofa and watch football games. But when the table is cleared, and the pots and pans are dripping on the kitchen counter (I can see them through the arch), Mom comes in and tells me to scooch over. “Where’s the remote?” she says.

“I’m watching the game.”

“It’s family movie time,” she says.

“I’m watching the game,” I tell her again.

“Granma doesn’t want to watch football.”

“I don’t mind,” Granma says. “The only thing I care about is sitting down.”

“Well, you can sit down here,” Mom says, making room on the couch. She’s found the remote control and starts flipping through channels. “Where are you going?” she asks me, because I’ve stood up.

“My room.”

“What are you going to do there?”

“I’m going to read my book.”

“Let him go,” Granma says, but Mom calls me back.

“Don’t spoil it now, Ben. I thought we were having a good day.”

I look at her for a moment. “We were having a good day, and I was watching a football game.”

“You weren’t even really watching. Who was playing, what was the score?”

“The Cowboys, it was . . .”

But the truth is, I can’t remember, I was kind of zoning out, and she says, “See, I told you so. Come on, Ben. Sit down—I can see that smile.”

“I am not smiling.”

“Okay, nobody’s smiling. Nobody’s happy. We’re all miserable. Just sit in your room, why don’t you.”

“Mom,” I say, and Granma says, “That’s enough, Jenny.”

“I just want to sit and watch something on TV with my son on Thanksgiving. Is that too much to ask?” There are tears in her voice.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not too much,” I tell her.

“I get tired, too. This isn’t easy for me either.”

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” I walk back to the couch. “See, I’m sitting down. The son is sitting down. The son is watching TV.”

“There’s nothing good on anyway,” Mom says, and throws the remote control on one of the chairs. But I reach over and get it and start flipping through channels—there’s a Paul Newman movie on, and Granma says, “Let’s leave it right there,” and I squeeze up next to my mom and say, “See? Everybody’s happy.”

So we watch the movie. Paul Newman is this old guy—I saw him in this movie called The Sting, and he looks much older now. Everybody’s kind of pissed off with him, and he pisses everybody off. He lives in a small town, where it seems to snow a lot; everything looks kind of run-down. There’s a lot of swearing. It looks more like New York than Texas, and after half an hour Granma falls asleep. Her mouth is open, and she snores. I poke my mom, and Mom looks at her for a minute.