Thanksgiving dinner at my place seemed like usual family fun. However, as my mother-in-law Linda entered holding her sweater, I felt she was hiding something. I was right. Something under her top left us stunned.
Know that peculiar sensation when someone enters a room and you know something’s off? That’s how I felt when Linda arrived for Thanksgiving dinner.
Her acting was off.
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite. Gathering everyone around the table, exchanging tales, and eating your mastered cuisine is special.
Jeff calls me “the turkey perfectionist,” but I know he likes it too.
A business friend introduced Jeff and me seven years ago. At first, I was wary about blind setups, but after we started conversing, I wanted to know him more.
Coffee dates turned into meals within weeks because we clicked. Meet each other’s families next.
You wanted Jeff’s parents, Linda and Ronny, as in-laws.
Ronny was kind and made me feel comfortable right away. He could make you laugh when you didn’t want to.
However, Linda was different. Though nice, she had a quality I couldn’t quite identify.
She was mysterious, like she was hiding something.
She discreetly supported our romance without interfering. I grew to like her reservedness.
The mystery persisted as life progressed. Three years after Jeff and I married, we had Ava.
Linda loved becoming a grandma and showered Ava with gifts and babysitting. Ronny died abruptly from a heart attack last year, ending a wonderful life.
Linda was heartbroken.
After 30 years of marriage, Ronny’s disappearance left a void in her life. Jeff and I attempted to help her, but grief isolates people.
I recall sitting with her one afternoon and watched her stare at Ronny’s vacant chair.
“It’s never going to be the same,” she whispered.
“I know it’s hard, Mom,” Jeff replied, softly touching her shoulder. You don’t have to do this alone. Here for you.”
She nodded but said little.
Months later, she left the family.
Every time we asked her to dinner, she said, “I’m not feeling well,” “Oh, I have a few errands to run,” and “I just don’t feel like leaving the house today.”
Jeff and I did everything to engage her. She also refused our weekend mountain trip invitation.
“She’s avoiding us on purpose,” Jeff stated one night. “Those excuses are complete lies.”
I said, “She just needs time,” but I wasn’t persuaded. Jeff, grief is complex. It causes strange behavior and speech.”
It grieved to watch Linda so alone, but we gave her the space she needed.
Thanksgiving followed.
I didn’t anticipate much when I invited this year. I anticipated her usual rejection. I was surprised when she consented.
Wait, seriously? Jeff inquired after I informed him.
“Seriously,” I grinned. “Maybe she’s ready to come out of her shell.”
“Or maybe she’s plotting something,” Jeff said, twitching his eyebrows.
His remarks lingered with me despite my laughter. Linda had always been unpredictable, so I wondered what altered her mind.
I avoided overthinking it.
I focused on making the ideal dinner. I wanted the finest everywhere. I wanted fun for my family.
On Thanksgiving, the home smelled of roasted turkey, candied yams, and pumpkin pie.
Ava helped me prepare the table while waiting for everyone. Everything was OK until Linda entered.
I suspected something was awry when she came.
She held a little bag of cookies and her sweatshirt to her chest in the doorway. She appeared frightened and tense.
She whispered “Happy Thanksgiving” before placing the bag by the door and going to the restroom.
That wasn’t odd, but what followed attracted my attention.
The door was locked by Linda.
She had never done it before, even when Ava accidently barged in. Out of character, it intrigued me.
Your mom okay? I muttered to Jeff as we looked down the corridor.
“Maybe she needed a minute,” he shrugged. “You know she hates long drives.”
When Linda came out of the restroom, her sweater seemed bigger. Something seemed strange, but I wasn’t sure.
She stiffly entered the dining room with her arms crossed over her chest, guarding whatever was below the heavy cloth. I nudge Jeff.
“Something’s not right,” I muttered. “What’s she hiding?”
He noticed her and raised an eyebrow.
“I have no idea,” he responded. She may be sneaking the turkey she was meant to bring.
I rolled my eyes, but his jest didn’t calm my suspicions. Linda sat at the table nervously.
She hardly touched her meal. I just saw her eat mashed potatoes.
She avoided eye contact and carefully grasped her sweatshirt, fearing it might slide away.
We noticed a slight stir while everyone was eating. Ava’s words interrupted my thinking that the chairs were scraping the floor.
Grandma, why is your tummy moving? She asked.
It was uncomfortable for Linda to laugh.
“Oh, no, no, sweetie,” she said. It’s nothing. I ate a large lunch earlier.”
Jeff snorted, and Mike, my brother-in-law, whispered, “Is she smuggling? Why the sweater?
No longer holding back.
I said gently, “Linda, is everything okay? You look preoccupied tonight.”
“I-I’m fine,” she responded hurriedly. My only complaint is fatigue.
She was unconvincing.
Throughout the meal, I felt something was amiss. I had never seen Linda act like this. I sensed she was hiding something, but I couldn’t figure out what.
Another hushed sound came from her. This time, a gentle, distinct “meow.”
“Anyone else hear that?” I requested.
Mike laughed, thinking it was Ava’s toy.
“Nice try, Ava,” he remarked. You almost got me.”
“It wasn’t me,” Ava said. “I think Grandma sent it!”
Jeff challenged Linda as we all gazed at her.
Mom, honestly, what’s up? he asked. “You acted weird all night.”
Linda tightened her sweater. She glanced at the front door as if to flee.
“I think it’s time for me to leave,” she shouted.
Jeff stepped up and said, “Mom, wait.” “You can’t leave. We’re family. Tell us if something’s wrong.”
Ava hurried to Linda before she could react.
Grandma, what’s under your sweater? asking, she extended her hands.
She gently tugged Linda’s jumper hem and it occurred.
Oh my God, Linda! WHAT?! A yell.
Linda collapsed as three small heads peered out from behind the cloth, as if the world had lifted from her.
Sighing, she carefully peeled aside her sweatshirt. Three small kittens fell out and meowed quietly, shocking me. Without understanding, they blinked at us with wide, interested eyes.
Finally, Jeff spoke out.
“Mom,” he said. “Why do you have kittens under your sweater?”
Linda cried as she held the nearest kitty.
“I found them,” she muttered. They were abandoned in a box along the road. They cried in the cold. I couldn’t leave them.”
She first looked at me, then Jeff.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she added. “I didn’t want tonight to be about me, but I didn’t want to leave them. They were newborns and needed warmth.”
Jeff approached.
“Mom, you could’ve told us,” he added softly. “We’d help.”
It was then that she started crying.
“I-I was afraid,” she said. I was afraid you’d think I was crazy. Or that I was attempting to replace your dad. I was afraid you’d think I didn’t miss him and wanted kittens. I didn’t want to spoil Thanksgiving.
A lump formed in my throat.
Her statements showed me she was carrying more than kittens. Her anguish weighed her down. Even by isolating herself, she tried to spare us her anguish.
Indifferent to the strain, Ava clapped with joy.
“Kitties!” she exclaimed. “Can we keep them, Mommy? Please?”
The kittens stumbled about Ava’s feet, smelling her toys and wobbling on their small legs, making the room chuckle.
“Mom, you don’t have to handle everything alone,” Jeff advised his mother, wrapping his arm around her. He wouldn’t have wanted you to. You have us.”
Linda nods. “I didn’t know how to ask for help.”
“We’ll figure this out together,” I replied, moving forward. “But for now, make these little guys comfortable.”
I helped Linda set up a nice living room location for the kittens with a towel. Ava excitedly called them Fluffy, Mittens, and Snowball and informed us about their experiences.
As Linda watched Ava play with the kittens at night, she laughed. She appeared joyful for the first time in a while.
Although Thanksgiving wasn’t ideal, it reminded me how important family is.
It meant supporting one other through life’s surprises and turmoil.
