“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, honey,” Gloria said.

Just in case my technique was still faulty, I let Polly open the oven door. I shoved the turkey in, slammed the door shut, turned on the oven with lightning speed.

Polly and I took seats across from Lorna and Gloria.

“Don’t ask,” I said once I’d caught my breath.

“No explanation needed,” Lorna said. “It’s actually a great way to get out of having to mess up your own oven. I call Christmas.”

Polly laughed.

I shook my head. “Cute. What the hell are you two doing here anyway? Or did that bitch of a boss of ours erase Thanksgiving from your list of paid holidays?”

Lorna vibrated her lips, managing to sound exactly like the horse on that old TV show Mr. Ed. “Mattress Man’s parents are here. I had to take a break before my head exploded.” Mattress Man was Lorna’s husband. His nickname was based not on more amorous activities, but on the fact that he spent most of his life in bed with the remote. I didn’t get the attraction, but I wasn’t married to him, so I didn’t have to.

Gloria ran a hand through her frizzy hair and smiled her toothy smile. “I was out dropping off for the food bank turkey drive, and I saw Lorna’s car heading up to the school when I went by.”

“Do they need any help?” Polly said. “I should have thought to volunteer for something like that.”

“They’re fine,” Gloria said. “Just take care of yourself and that sweet little baby in your belly, honey.”

I flashed back to last Thanksgiving. At that point, I’d already met and managed to screw things up with John. After a lifetime of Thanksgivings spent with my family, I decided to break away from the pack and volunteer to serve dinner at a church on Cape Cod. Especially since Dolly, my father’s worst girlfriend of them all, had weaseled her way in to cook our family turkey.

I joined a huge group of volunteers feeding the handful of people who showed up to eat. I had a conversation with an old woman named Mrs. Wallace who wore heavy gold jewelry, lipstick that had mostly missed her lips, and reminded me that as sad and lonely as I was, it could be worse one day.

You could look at it that I’d come a long way, baby, since last Thanksgiving. Or you could look at it that I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I blinked my eyes to make the flashback go away.