When I walked into the house just before four, it smelled like every holiday movie montage: rosemary, garlic, butter, cinnamon, cloves.
“Cora!” Eric called, voice a little too bright. “Surprise!”
The table was set like a magazine spread. Candles flickered. The turkey gleamed at the center.
“Eric, this is… amazing,” I said. “I can’t believe you did all of this. I’m so proud of you.”
He kissed my cheek. His mistress’s perfume still clung to his shirt.
I looked at the turkey, the carving knife, the perfect gravy boat. Eric wasn’t lying; he just wasn’t telling the truth.
Our families arrived just after six. My mom, Gina, swept in first with jars of cranberry chutney. My dad, Eddie, followed with two boxes of pie.
“Cora says you cooked the whole meal!” Dad laughed, clapping Eric on the back. “Didn’t think you knew how to turn on the oven.”
“I’m full of surprises, Ed,” Eric grinned.
My brother Chad came in with a six-pack and a smirk.
“If this turkey is dry, I’m walking out.”
Eric’s parents, Doris and Walter, arrived next. Doris took in the table, eyes wide.
“You did all this, son? Impressive.”
“Every bit,” he said, glancing at me like I should be dazzled.
Throughout the evening he played the perfect host, collecting compliments like trophies.
“I just wanted to spoil my wife.”
“And you certainly did, honey,” I replied, lifting my glass.
Continue reading on the next page 👇
