Claire LaZebnik - Knitting Under the Influence

“My father weighs three hundred pounds,” Lucy said. She poked at a piece of cucumber. “Hey, Sari?”

“What?”

“I think I really want to rip it all apart. Tear it to shreds.” She made fists out of her hands. “And then stomp on the last little bits of it. Come back with me and watch?”

“Throw in a glass of wine and I’m there.”

“I am never knitting anything for anyone ever again,” Lucy said. She cut a shrimp in half with one quick slash of her knife. “But don't tell Kathleen I said she was right.”

Kathleen woke up at seven a.m. on Thanksgiving morning and decided she'd been working in an office for too long-not since high school had her body been so trained to wake up early that she couldn't sleep in late, even on a holiday. But the end of all that early rising was in sight. One way or another, she figured her days at Porter and Wachtell were numbered. Maybe even in the single digits.

She hadn't decided yet if she would be leaving the company at some point soon because she was going to marry the owner's son or because she wasn't. The only thing she knew for sure about her future was that it wouldn't involve any more coffee pouring or errand running. Those activities had lost their fascination, as had the water cooler gossip.

It was possible, she thought now, stretching and yawning on her airbed, that her loss of interest in the job proved that she hadn't changed and that she was still the same old Kathleen, easily bored and in search of the next new thrill. But she preferred to look at it as yet another sign of her budding maturity, that she could now assess a situation and accept calmly and rationally that what had once suited her no longer did.

Which was definitely true about her job.

The real question was whether it was also true about her love life.

Did being mature mean you continued to work at a relationship that had lost its interest and its excitement, because you knew that ultimately the rewards of constancy far outweighed its disappointments?

Or did a fully realized human being cut her losses and move on when the glow had faded?

Kathleen hadn't been pursuing this goal of maturity long enough to know the answer. She was hoping that Thanksgiving at the Porter household would give her some clues-if not about what she should do, then at least about what she wanted to do.

She lingered as long as she could in bed, but when she finally got up, it was still only eight-fifteen. She wasn't due at Kevin's parents until three that afternoon. Kevin was already there-his parents liked their children and grandchildren to spend the nights before Thanksgiving and Christmas at their more or less ancestral home. Spouses and children were included in the overnight slumber party. Girlfriends-even those invited to the holiday dinner-were not.

With nothing else to do, Kathleen decided to go for a long run. By the time she got back, she was dizzy from exercising without having eaten anything. She searched her kitchen but could only find an ice-frosted pint of ice cream and some cheese that had turned green.

She figured she'd have better luck upstairs.

Sam was still in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. He greeted her with a scowl. “You don't have to beat the crap out of the door. I can hear you even if you knock like a civilized human being.”“I’m hungry,” Kathleen said.

“Good of you to come by to tell me.”

“Come on,” she said. “Get dressed. Let's go get something to eat.” She had showered and was now wearing torn jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She'd change into something nice before dinner.

Sam shook his head. “It's Thanksgiving morning, Kathleen. Nothing's open.”

“I passed a McDonald's on my run and it was open.”

“I’m not going to McDonald's on Thanksgiving morning.”

“Why not?” she said. “Against your religion or something?”

“Just come in.” He stepped back with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll make eggs.”

“Good. I’ll go see if the Macy's Day Parade has started.” She headed toward the hallway.

“It's the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade,” he said. “There's no such thing as Macy's Day.”

“Whatever.”

“How you can waste your time watching that-”

She turned. “Oh, come on. It's an American tradition. Did you know my sisters were on a float one year?”

“Wow,” he said. “You must have been so proud.”

“I’ll be in the den,” she said. “Can you make my eggs sunny-side up? With the yolk runny?”

“You're not eating runny yolks on my sofa,” he said. “I’ll make them, but you have to come back in here to eat them.”

She rolled her eyes. “You spill something once and it's like some natural disaster.”

“You spill every time you're here,” Sam said. “That's not an accident, it's a pattern.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She went and stretched out on the sofa and watched the parade until Sam called that the eggs were ready. She ran back into the kitchen and was sitting down, reaching for her fork, before he'd even put her plate on the table.

“So why are you alone on Thanksgiving?” she asked him through a mouthful of eggs. She was crazy hungry.

“Put the napkin in your lap,” he said, glaring at her from under his thick dark eyebrows. “And remember to use it.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“And stop talking with your mouth full. I’m not alone on Thanksgiving, Kathleen. I’m having breakfast with you, and, in just a few hours, I’ll be having Thanksgiving dinner with my ex-wife and daughter and former in-laws. Any other questions?”

“Your former in-laws?”

“Yes.” When she just stared at him blankly, he said, “Patricias parents.”

“I’m confused.”

“Do you need me to draw you a chart?”

“No,” she said and stuck another forkful of egg in her mouth. She swallowed. “I get who you're seeing. I just don't get why. Do you like seeing them?”

He laughed out loud. He, of course, had carefully spread his napkin over his lap. He was still in his bathrobe, but his manners were as impeccable as always. “No, actually, I don't. You ask the right questions, Kathleen, I’ll give you that.”

She wiggled in her seat like a child given a compliment. “So why go?”

“Because I want to be with Joanna, and that's where she'll be.”

“Why not ask her to come and have Thanksgiving alone with you?”

“Because she likes being with the whole family. And I don't want to take something she likes away from her.”

“Huh,” Kathleen said. “Can I have some more eggs?”

“Did you finish those already? Jesus, you're a pig. That was three whole eggs. Extra-large.”

“I’ve been up since eight and I went running. And I think I forgot to eat dinner last night.”

He sat back and regarded her. “Does it ever occur to you to stock the refrigerator with food and actually cook for yourself? You have a fully functional gourmet kitchen down there, you know.”

She shrugged. “I don't know how to cook.”

“It's not hard. You just follow directions. People teach themselves to cook all the time. All it requires is a tiny bit of effort and forethought-although it is possible you're not capable of either.”

“I’m capable of enough forethought to ask you for more eggs before I’ve eaten all my toast.” She tilted her head with a smile that showed all her teeth, top and bottom.

“Someone must have told you you were cute when you were little,” Sam said, “and we're all paying the price now.”

“No one ever told me I was cute when I was little,” Kathleen said. “That's what people said to the twins. I was the responsible one.”