Thanksgiving with the Hulletts was like a dream

In the last installment, Bunny Hullett had invited me to join their family for Thanksgiving dinner, and Mom had given the OK. On Thanksgiving, Mom walked me to the Hulletts’ door.

Gene greeted us, “Come on in, Ladies. Would you like a beer, Anne?” 

I ran inside, tossed my coat on the sofa and kicked off my boots.

“Shari, put her coat in the bedroom,” Bunny called from the kitchen. The house was full of adults and kids, including Shari’s two cousins and the three Brekkus kids. It smelled so good in the house! I wandered into the kitchen. “Don’t you look cute!” Bunny said, a ruffled apron tied around her waist, and a potato masher in her hand. 

Harriet, who was married to Gene’s brother, pulled a pan of candied sweet potatoes from the oven. Fern Brekkus was scooping dressing from the inside of the turkey. “Can I help?” I asked, hopefully. I was so fascinated by all the different foods. 

“Well, dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you go tell everyone to come to the table?”

I wandered into the living room. Mom had left. Shari was sitting on the sofa talking to Mel Brekkus; she had a crush on him. I whispered into her ear, “Your Mom said dinner’s almost ready and we should come to the table.”

“Dinner, dinner!” Shari hollered. All the kids scrambled into the kitchen, arguing over who got to sit where. The men followed behind. “Settle down!”  Gene bellowed, “There’s a seat for everyone; no one will go hungry.” The women were all bustling back and forth from stove to table. The table was so full, you couldn’t see the table cloth.

“Cathy, you and Shari can sit together on the bench, behind the table,” Bunny said. She was buckling Stevie into his high chair. Everyone found a seat. Gene started to carve the turkey.

“I want a drumstick!” one of the kids shouted. “Me too!” from another.

“There will be plenty for all of you, don’t worry,” Gene said.

“Oh! I forgot the rolls!” Bunny jumped up from the table and pulled a pan of rolls from the oven.  “Thank goodness, they’re not burned.”

I ate so much, I was ready to fall asleep right there at the table. “I think it’s time to take you back to the bar, Cathy. Let’s get your things.” Bunny helped me get bundled up, and then walked me next door to the bar. A few flakes of snow were drifting down in the light of the Texaco banjo sign across the street.  I squeezed her hand; “Thank you, Bunny.” 

When she opened the door of the bar, music and laughter tumbled out. I didn’t want to go in. I wanted to be back in Bunny’s house, with the warm turkey and pumpkin pie.

“Will ya have a drink, Bunny?” a man called from the bar.  

“Oh, no thank you,” she said, “I have to get back home to my guests.” Then, spotting my Dad sitting at the end of the bar with a bottle of Great Falls in his hand, she said to me, “There’s your Dad. Run along, now.”

Then she waved and walked out the door. I felt so alone. Pulling up a chair in front of the big windows, I just watched the snow fall. Why couldn’t I have a family like Shari’s?  Why couldn’t we have Thanksgiving dinner at our house, and then go to bed with full tummies?

“Did you have a good dinner, Sugar?” I jumped in my seat, startled, then squirmed away from her hot, vodka breath.

“I wanna go home, Mommy,” I cried. She pulled me to her chest and held me, then whispered “Soon,” into my ear.

“Let’s have another round, Anne,” one of the Sullivans shouted from the bar. I knew it would be a long night. 

I found an empty booth and curled up with my coat as my blanket, and thought about my evening. The dinner was so good, and everyone got along. No flying beer bottles. No belligerent back-talk. No dirty jokes. Now, it seemed like a dream. The bar was so noisy and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. I rolled over, putting my face against the backrest of the booth, and my back to the rowdy crowd. What do I have to be thankful for, I wondered. Just as a tear started to well up, I remembered. “Thank you, God, for Bunny. And my cat Foofnik. Please get us home safe tonight.” And I fell asleep.