Thanksgiving 2020

Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash

I slowly slid out from the blankets and into my fuzzy slippers. I sat still on the edge of the bed because Gene’s snoring had stopped snoring. He rolled over and then returned to a quieter rhythm. It’s still dark as midnight, but that turkey won’t bake itself. I steadied myself with the nightstand and eased off the bed. Gene didn’t flinch. One of the few times I’ve managed to get out of bed without waking him. I tiptoed out the bedroom door, gently pulling it shut behind me.

Dim light from the kitchen spilled down the hallway. I must have forgotten to turn that out last night before bed. As I got closer, I heard running water quickened my steps. Hope I didn’t leave the water running, too.

Stepped into the doorway to see Paul washing up one of Camille’s bottles. He paused for a moment. I stepped back into the darkness and away from the doorway. Don’t want him to think I’m spying on him. I am, but he doesn’t need to know that. I worry about him.

After he didn’t say anything or shut the water off, I peeked around the doorframe again. Paul was holding on to the edge of the sink and pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s missing Twila. My baby is heartbroken.

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