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“So how did we spend our first Thanksgiving together?” Isabella asked when conversation among them faltered.
“You didn’t eat much—you were still a little peanut inside Mom’s tummy.” Tom tweaked Isabella’s nose.
“We were still in that tiny little studio apartment,” Norah added and saw Tom frown.
“It wasn’t that tiny.” Tom had always been especially sensitive about the material environment he had provided for Norah and Isabella. Even though when they split they were living in a McMansion in a gated community with hired help to tend the grounds, the pool and clean the house, Tom had wanted more.
“Cozy,” Norah amended, not wanting to open the door to old wounds and arguments. “It was our first home together.”
Appeased, Tom laughed as he continued the story. “Your Mom had bought this turkey—what was it, forty pounds or something?”
Norah blushed. “Twenty,” she murmured.
“Frozen,” Tom added as they both started to laugh.
“And it wouldn’t fit in the oven,” Norah said, snorting with giggles and the memory.
“Your mom had invited the immediate world to come for dinner.”
“Just a few neighbors and people from work who had nowhere else to go that day,” Norah protested.
“Twenty people in all,” Tom reminded her.
“Where were you going to put them all if the apartment was so small?” Izzy asked.
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