Going To A Restaurant On Thanksgiving

Yesterday was the day after Thanksgiving Eve. A day of reflection spent pretending that you’re not hungover and like all of your cousins. This year was something. My dad had been reinstated to holidays since he’s started dating my mother again. My family couldn’t go to my aunt’s like normal since my grandfather won’t talk to my uncle. And I’d been ignoring all my friends texts messages because of my performance from the night before. So what did we do? Kicked a field goal down 28 in the fourth. We went to a restaurant on Thanksgiving. 

I picked up my little brother from his trailer in the late afternoon. Normally not one to miss a holiday Instagram opportunity, he walked out in a hoodie, beanie, and cigarette hanging off his lip looking like he hadn’t slept. It’s why I decided to drive him, misery loves company. We tried erasing flashbacks of the night before by chain smoking menthols and playing alternative music too loud. It didn’t work. 

Despite our 3:30 reservation, we didn’t sit until 3:15. I don’t know if you’ve been to a restaurant on Thanksgiving but it’s a sad place. It’s mostly fathers having their crack at it while their kids scroll through the phones. Or other various characters who dressed like they had been kicked out of their family. Plus all the servers look at you like it’s your fault that they’re not seeing their family today.

It took saying grace for my grandpa to bring up my uncle. No one found it as funny as I did but he gave me a wink after his rant. After my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s we took his car since he insisted he could still drive. We took it about two years ago and whenever he asks where it is we say it’s only been in the shop for a week. But it wasn’t always that easy. My uncle, who’d spent the most time with my grandpa, fell on the grenade for us. When we first took the car grandpa lashed out at all of us. My grandma and aunt took the brunt of it. So my uncle sat him down, asked him if he trusted him, told him he took the car and explained the dangers of him driving. Since my grandfather’s sick, he said my uncle stopped in the middle of the Outerbridge, dangled his keys in his face, and chucked them over the side. Now he says the next time my uncle will see him is at his wake. None of it is true of course, I actually have my grandpa’s car now and even drove it to the restaurant. 

My grandma was stressed over my grandpa. My mom was sad her sister couldn’t be there. My dad was overcompensating too much for missing the last three Thanksgivings. My brother couldn’t stop going to the bathroom. My sister’s baby, the youngest of her four, wouldn’t stop climbing on her and crying no matter what tricks we threw at him. We were the crying baby table. And my flashbacks wouldn’t stop coming. 

But do you know what? My grandma gave the funny toast she does every year. My oldest niece and I played a game where we make funny faces and the first one to laugh loses. I lost every time. My sister and I almost fell on the floor from the look my mom gave my little brother when he came out of the bathroom wiping his mouth. My nieces were so excited to ask my parents to keep going up to the buffet to make their plates. And my Grandpa had us dying when he kept having his great grandchildren recite “knock-knock” jokes that made absolutely no fucking sense. 

It wasn’t what we were used to. It wasn’t what we preferred. But any day on this side of the ground is a good day. And I was thankful that we ate together, even if it was at a depressing ass restaurant.