A McClendon Thanksgiving

by Sean D. Young

  Faith counted on her playfulness to pull Patrice out of her funky mood so they could have a nice, peaceful dinner.

  At the same time, Jennifer galloped down the stairs. “Why are you guys making so much noise? It took me forever to get those babies down and now I’d like to relax for a minute,” she tried to say in a whisper.

  The curt tone of her voice caught Faith’s attention right away, so she tuned in a little closer, watching Jennifer’s facial expressions and body language. Faith concluded that Jennifer, who was unusually grumpy this evening, had puffy eyes and looked plain exhausted. No wonder—raising two toddlers who were walking, talking and getting into everything, coupled with taking care of clients and running the salon—it was amazing that her baby sister hadn’t collapsed.

  Faith flung her arm around Jennifer’s shoulder, wanting to offer comfort or do something helpful. She could tell by observing the concerned look on her other sisters’ faces, they did too. “You okay, little sis?”

  The rest of the sisters surrounded the petite Jennifer, attempting to give her some comfort. “You look like you’re tired, baby girl,” Renee said.

  Jennifer shook off the group, walked over to the love seat in the living room nearby and dropped her body down into the cushions. Resting her head on the back of the sofa, she closed her eyes.

  Faith was sure that there was more going on than Jennifer being tired. She tucked several strands of hair behind her sister’s ear and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Jennifer lifted her head. “Yes, I’m fine, just had a long day at the salon. It’s tough being the manager and a stylist. It seems that you get blamed for everything, even when it’s not your fault.”

  Faith knew that feeling all too well, after dealing with Kevin. Especially if it involved someone he wanted to really impress and things didn’t go as planned. As soon as she and Kevin got into the car or their guests left, he’d ask Faith why she’d said one thing or the other. She’d gotten so sick of his finger-pointing that she finally had to tell him to leave her out of his schemes. She told him that sometimes people just don’t click.

  But in her sister’s case, Faith was sure that there was something that could be done.

  Patrice pushed Jennifer over, which caused her to push Faith to the edge of the love seat. It could barely fit the three of them.

  “You know you should open your own shop or, better yet, buy that jerk out ’cause he’s never there anyway. You’re already doing the work. If you’re going to take the blame and be responsible anyway, do it for yourself.”

  Jennifer rested her elbows on her knees. “I would love to, but with the kids and everything else, it would be too much.”

  “It’s too much now,” Renee said, then hunched her shoulders when the rest of them glared at her. “I’m just saying,” she added.

  Faith laid her hand on top of Jennifer’s knee, squeezing it gently. “She’s right. It’s too much now, but maybe we can help you with the kids or something. We’ve got to work this out,” she said, then stood. She stared down at Jennifer who was looking up at her. “I mean it, stop worrying.”

  “Let’s go see if Mama needs any help. It’s smelling good up in here, or maybe I’m just hungry,” Renee said, walking toward the kitchen.

  Jennifer and Patrice both stood up and followed.

  As soon as Faith entered the kitchen, she realized that she hadn’t seen her father since she came home. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Myra slipped on two oven mitts, opened the door of the bottom wall oven, pulling the piping-hot dish from the oven before she answered, “He probably got caught up at the barbershop, talking to Fred, and lost track of time.”

  Patrice leaned over and said to Faith, “I told Mama those men down at that barbershop gossip more than women.” She turned her attention to their mother. “How much do you wanna bet Daddy knows more about the people in this neighborhood than you do, Mama?”

  Myra waved her hand. “Your father is not a gossip,” she said.

  By Myra’s facial expression, Faith could tell that her mother didn’t appreciate Patrice’s comment. On one hand, Faith thought it amusing, but she also wondered if it was true. In her world-of-fashion experience, she’d discovered that men in the business gossiped too. A lot of times, they had more information than the women. So, there was a ring of truth to Patrice’s claims, because everybody knew that folks in the beauty and barbershops talked about business that wasn’t their own.

  “She didn’t say he was a gossip, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know,” Faith said in her sister’s defense.

  Myra opened the door of the upper wall oven and removed a stainless-steel roasting pan holding the pork roast. The succulent dish was piping hot as she slid it onto a cooling board so that it wouldn’t damage her countertop. She turned around to face her daughters. “If you want to help me, please set the table. Since you guys just showed up for dinner, I guess we’ll eat in the dining room.”

  Many delicious meals and good times were shared in that dining room, from birthday parties to Christmas dinners. It was a place where they gathered to eat, complete school projects and sometimes just chitchat. The heavy, baroque-style twelve-seat dining table had intricately carved decorative ends, and its luxurious top had a rich look even without a tablecloth. The Baltic-gray wall color looked almost blue, depending on how light hit it, and recessed lights gave the crown molding and wainscoting a rich and modern look.

  “Why did y’all have to piss Mama off?” Jennifer muttered.

  But before she could say another word, Myra said, “I’m not pissed off. And if you’re going to whisper, you need to tone your voice down.”

  Renee pulled the dinnerware from the china cabinet in the dining room, while Faith got the silverware from the drawer and followed. Soon Jennifer and Patrice joined them as well with place mats and napkins.

  Renee opened the drawer to retrieve the gold-lace tablecloth to put over the dark-mahogany table. Spreading the cloth, she leaned forward and said, “Now, I don’t know why you thought she wasn’t going to hear you.”

  Faith had wondered the same thing since their mother seemed to have bionic ears. There wasn’t much that they could get past Myra—even with their backs turned to her sometimes, she could repeat what they said. At an early age they’d learned not to mumble or talk back, even in their lowest tones of voice, because Myra would hear them.

  Just in case Myra was listening this time, Faith launched into the R & B singing group Brownstone’s version of the Eagles hit “I Can’t Tell You Why” to drown out Renee’s voice. Soon, all eyes were on her as she continued to sing the heavily harmonized tune, hoping that her sisters would get the hint. They used to sing all the time as they did their chores around the house, so she thought it would be a good idea to do it now. Not wanting to continue the previous conversation, singing was something everybody could do together, and well.

  One after the other, her sisters joined in, harmonizing as they busied themselves getting the table ready, changing the mood in the room at the same time.

  Jennifer added cream-colored place mats. Patrice took out crystal candleholders and inserted gold-colored tapered candles.

  Faith started to wonder why everyone was making all the fuss about dinner when she’d been back in town long enough for everyone to just sit down and eat. She didn’t need anything formal, but telling her mother that would take too much time.

  Neither Faith nor her sisters saw their father leaning against the door, listening to them, until they got to the end of the song. Russell walked into the dining room. “Wow, you girls still got it.”

  They all rushed to greet their father with a hug and kiss.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Faith said first.

  Russell shook his head, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m telling the truth. You girls could have been the next big girl group.”

  �
��Daddy, there aren’t many girl groups today, especially in the R & B world,” Patrice noted. “So by now, we would have been has-beens,” she added.

  Faith thanked God for her daddy because he always made sure that they were protected, had the things they needed and a lot of the things they wanted. Even though they loved their mother to pieces, each one of the McClendon girls had a unique relationship with their father.

  Faith remembered how he pretended that he had gotten something in his eye when he and her mother were leaving New York after helping her move into her college dorm. Truth was, her mother handled it better than her father, and for two weeks after that, he’d call her every day to make sure she was okay.

  Russell McClendon showed his girls he loved them by his actions, but he also showed them how to be strong, stand up to anyone, and Faith appreciated him. She just wished she would have stood up to Kevin a long time ago, but that was water under the bridge now.

  “What took you so long,” Faith asked, rubbing the lipstick that one of them put on his cheek.

  “I would have been back, but I couldn’t get away,” Russell said and by that time Myra walked into the room.

  Faith watched as her father bent over to capture his petite wife in his arms, sharing a sensual kiss that lasted more than a couple of seconds. In fact, it wasn’t until Patrice cleared her throat loudly that they came up for air.

  “TMI,” Patrice said. “TMI—that was an eyeful.”

  Myra cupped the side of her husband’s face before giving him another kiss—this one was much lighter and quicker than the last—before addressing Patrice’s comment. “That’s not too much information. I’m just showing you girls how it’s done.”

  Jennifer chuckled and said, “I’m the one with the twins. I think I know how it’s done.”

  “Anyway,” Russell said, getting back to his story, “Fred was telling me that Harry Marshall lost his job and that his wife threatened to leave him.”

  Faith guessed Patrice had made her point when she saw the satisfied grin on her sister’s face. Faith turned to her father. “Daddy, when did you start listening to gossip?”

  Before their father could answer, Patrice waved her hand. “Child, please, Daddy has a new story every week.”

  Faith hoped her father hadn’t been revealing things about her own situation, but she thought better of it because he’d always been so protective of her. She guessed a barbershop was just like a beauty shop, where most people treat the folks who work there like therapists, telling them all of their business. It’s not always the smartest thing to do because it could be detrimental depending on the situation. Her father never liked it when they would come home and talk about things that happened to their friends, so Faith was truly surprised that he was listening to idle gossip, but Patrice seemed to be enjoying it.

  “Daddy, that’s what Mr. Marshall gets for marrying a young woman who is twenty-five years his junior. That girl doesn’t want to be waiting on him hand and foot now that he doesn’t have the big paycheck coming in,” Renee said, pulling out a dining chair.

  Myra turned to leave the room. “Now, stop talking about other folks’ business. Come help me bring the food to the table.”

  Faith hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being away. Her family members were still the craziest people she knew, and she loved every minute of being around them.

  When the doorbell rang, Faith flicked her wrist to check the time.

  Michael arrived promptly at seven o’clock, carrying two bottles of wine—one white, one red. He rang the doorbell and waited before Russell McClendon opened the door.

  “Michael, good to see you again.” Russell pushed back the door so that Michael could come inside.

  They embraced each other and Russell said, “We were just about to sit down for dinner.”

  Michael followed Russell into the kitchen. “Honey, look who was at the door,” Russell said, placing the wine bottles on the counter.

  Myra glanced over her shoulder from her task of slicing the pork roast on the cutting board. Putting the carving knife down, she wiped her hands on a clean dish towel.

  “Michael, this is a treat.” Myra stood on the tips of her toes and threw her arms around him.

  Michael turned his suspicious gaze to Faith and back at Myra. “Faith didn’t tell you that I was coming to dinner?” He didn’t want to intrude on their family time.

  Myra turned back to her task. “Yes, she told me this evening when she came in, so it’s no problem. I didn’t know Renee and Treecie were coming to dinner; they just showed up. I know you guys want to hang out with Faith, so the more the merrier. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve shown up to have dinner with us. It’s been way too long since we’ve all broken bread together.”

  Michael excused himself and went to wash his hands before joining the others in the dining room.

  “Just have a seat, son,” Russell offered, taking his seat at the head of the table.

  Patrice leaped into the conversation. “How did I know you would be here, Michael?” she said, getting up from her chair to give Michael her seat.

  Michael wasn’t lost on what Patrice was getting at since Jennifer had asked him if he’d be around more often when they saw each other at the club. As for responding to Patrice’s comment, he didn’t think it was necessary since she’d say anything she was thinking.

  “Here, sit next to your friend,” Patrice said, moving to the empty chair across from him.

  Myra brought in a beautiful glass platter filled with arugula salad and Jennifer followed with the garlic mashed potatoes. A large platter of sliced pork roast with gravy was on the table.

  Michael wondered if they ate in such a formal way all the time now. The bone-china dinner plates had a delicate floral design with textured white beading and platinum trim, which was pretty fancy in his book. His mother only brought out that kind of dinnerware on holidays or special occasions. He then thought Myra may have felt it was a special occasion, with Faith being there. Whatever the case, he was happy to be included in the meal.

  Renee came in carrying a tall pitcher of ice-cold, homemade strawberry lemonade that had real strawberries in it.

  With everyone now seated at the table, Russell extended his hand to Faith and Myra, who sat on either side of him, and the others did the same. With their heads bowed, he said a word of thanks for the food that had been prepared for them and at the end everyone said amen.

  “I think we should have Michael take our family portrait during the holiday,” Myra suggested as she passed the potatoes to her right. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had one done and I want my grandbabies in the photo.”

  “Is Laurence coming home for Thanksgiving?” Faith asked.

  Michael hadn’t seen Laurence McClendon, the only male child of the McClendons, since he went off to serve his country in Afghanistan two years ago. He was a great guy, with a lot of Russell’s features and disposition.

  “As far as I know, he’ll be here,” Russell replied as he lifted a slice of the roast from the platter.

  “I’d love to take a family picture too, but I wanted to make sure that he was here,” Renee said.

  “I agree, it just wouldn’t seem right if we took one without him,” Jennifer said.

  “It would be my pleasure to take your family portrait,” Michael said staring at Faith. He also wished he could be a part of that photo, sitting right next to Faith.

  Enjoying a good meal, lively conversation about nothing in particular, it seemed like old times and Michael was enjoying himself. He watched Faith’s expressions and wondered at how comfortable she looked, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Did Faith invite you to the family Labor Day barbecue?” Myra asked.

  Michael glanced over at Faith. “No, she hadn’t mentioned a barbecue,” he replied. He gave her a sidelong glance
to see if her expression would give him a clue.

  Placing her fork down on the plate, Faith smiled. “I forgot about the barbecue actually. I’ve got so much on my mind lately.”

  Michael couldn’t blame her because she was getting her life in order. The last thing that would be on her mind would be barbecue. “It’s okay.”

  “Well, we’ll be over at my brother Henry’s house, in his backyard,” Russell said.

  Faith slipped her hand through the crook of Michael’s arm, leaning close to him. “We can go together.” She gave him a smile.

  “I’m moving into my apartment over the weekend,” Faith announced, holding up her glass of lemonade.

  Patrice, Renee and Jennifer raised theirs as well.

  “Cool,” Patrice said.

  Michael quickly joined in, but noticed that her parents were staring at her, until Russell cleared his throat.

  “Well, baby, I hate to see you go, but I understand,” he said, finally holding up his glass.

  Myra followed. “And I was just getting used to you being here, sweetie.”

  “Congratulations,” Russell said and then everyone else repeated it.

  Michael could see the worry in her parents’ eyes, and he wanted to tell them not to worry, he would be looking after her, but thought better of it.

  Faith squeezed her father’s hand. “Don’t worry. It’s not far from here.” She then stood up, pulling her cell phone from her pocket, to show everyone the photos she’d taken of the place.

  Michael leaned in and said to Faith, “Don’t forget to call me. I want to help you get settled.”

  “That is so sweet of you, but, remember, I told you that I was going to contract a moving company. But I still want to have you over for dinner as soon as I get settled.”

  Michael didn’t protest and insist that she allow him to help her. He would take what he could get.

  Chapter Seven

  SOUTHERN FRIED CORN

  12–15 ears fresh sweet corn

  1/2 cup milk