Chapter 8 - The Main Table
A year has passed since that Thanksgiving. It is November again. The air outside is freezing, but inside my home, it is incredibly warm. I am hosting Thanksgiving this year. I bought a new dining table made of solid, reclaimed oak—massive and beautiful. It seats fourteen people comfortably. There is no ladies' table. There is no children's folding table near the kitchen. There is only one table, and everyone has a seat.
My parents drove in from Michigan. My brother and his husband flew in with their adopted twin girls. Even Denise Harper is here, laughing loudly with a glass of red wine in her hand. The house smells of sage, brown butter, and freedom. I carry the roasted turkey out of the kitchen myself. I do not wait for a man to carve it. I slice it perfectly and cleanly, arranging it on a heavy ceramic platter.
May you like
I look down the length of the table. At the very head of the table, sitting in the best chairs in the house, are Lily and Sophie. They are laughing and wearing beautiful dresses they picked out themselves. They are not worried about who is watching them, or what they are worth. Lily looks up, catches my eye, and smiles a bright, completely unburdened smile. “This is a great table, Mom,” she says.
I walk over and kiss the top of her head. “The best table is for the women who know their own worth,” I reply. I sit down beside them, pour myself a glass of wine, and finally enjoy my meal.
