Polly placed four small dishes on the big plastic boot tray we’d repurposed as a feeding station. The kittens jammed their tiny paws and noses into the cat food, managed to get a little bit into their mouths. Once Pebbles had finished her food, she’d come down from the bookshelf and clean up their leftovers. Then she’d stretch out on the floor, and the kittens would all line up for a group nursing session.

Already we knew the routine by heart.

John’s dog Horatio was a cross between a Yorkie and a runaway greyhound, but he’d somehow come out looking like a tall, disheveled dachshund. If John had to choose between the two of us, he wouldn’t. He’d find a way to keep us both.

Horatio hesitated in the doorway. Pebbles eyed him. Horatio plopped down on the threshold. The two of them seemed to have worked out the exact distance they needed between them to coexist peacefully. Maybe if I watched carefully, I might learn something that would help me out with my family.

John stood still for a moment, as if he might stretch out on the floor beside Horatio. Then he joined Polly and me on the old plaid sofa. We were an odd threesome, all in our bathrobes on Thanksgiving morning. The man I hoped I’d spend the rest of my life with. The teaching assistant I’d hired because even though she had absolutely no experience with children, she was such a train wreck I couldn’t stop thinking that if the situation were reversed, I hoped she’d hire me.

And me, the woman who could never quite figure out how the rest of the people in the world managed to look like they were living their lives with such effortless grace. It felt like everyone but me had gotten the memo, the how-to-thrive instruction manual.

Then there was the fact that Polly had managed to get pregnant but hadn’t found the guy to complete the happily-ever-after package. I’d found the guy but couldn’t seem to get pregnant. John had found me, and against all odds, he didn’t seem to think that was a bad thing. If you smushed all three of us together, you could probably reconfigure us as the perfect couple.

We all yawned, one after another, like a wave at a baseball game.

“Are you sure I won’t be in the way for Thanksgiving dinner?” Polly said. “I could go hang out at Burger King or something, and you could save me some leftovers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Half my family likes you better than they like me already. Plus, if anybody gets to hang out at Burger King during Thanksgiving dinner, it should be me.”

I, I heard my dead mother say. It should be I.

Growing up, my mother always corrected our grammar, especially when we answered the phone.