Christmas in Bethel

Chapter Twenty-Four

This was the most peculiar Thanksgiving of my life. Also, the most enjoyable.

Beth Stilton’s Diary

The next morning, I was making the cookies when Marc walked into the kitchen. He startled me, as Lee had gone to the UPS Store, and I forgot that I wasn’t alone in the house. It was the first I’d seen him since I’d met him on the beach.

“Good morning, Beth.”

“Good morning and happy Thanksgiving,” I said.

“Happy Thanksgiving back. What are you making?”

“Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.”

“You’re a sugar addict, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Me too.”

“Good. Now we can be friends.”

A smile crossed Marc’s face. “Where’s Al?”

“He took a package to the UPS Store.”

“Oh.” He just looked at me for a moment, then said, “You’re very pretty. I can see why he’s attracted to you.”

“Thank you. Are you always that direct?”

“I’m not verbose.”

“Good, then can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I know how close the two of you are. I was just worried about you thinking—”

Before I could finish, he said, “That you’re going to Yoko Ono us and break up the band?”

“Well, not quite what I was going to say.”

“There’s no problem. Al should have a girlfriend. He’s been happier than usual.”

Just then Lee walked in. We both stopped talking and looked at him. His eyes darted back and forth between us. “That’s suspicious,” he said. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” I said. “We were just talking.”

“We were talking about you,” Marc said. “I was telling Beth how happy you’ve been acting since you met her. She was afraid I thought she was going to Yoko Ono us.”

“I didn’t say that,” I said.

“Oh.” Lee still seemed a little put off. “Well, don’t go too heavy on that. I want to keep her on her toes.”

I threw a chocolate chip at him.

A little before one, a delivery van pulled up with our meal. Lee went through the box to make sure we had everything, then we set everything out, transferring the food from tinfoil and cardboard containers to porcelain bowls and silver platters.

The three of us sat down. Lee poured wine into our glasses, then said, “Marc and I have a Thanksgiving tradition. Before we eat, we say something we’re most thankful for. It can be more than one thing. Especially since we drink a toast each time.”

“That’s really sweet,” I said.

“And then we say what we’re most not thankful for. Which is also followed by a toast.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” I asked.

“Don’t mess with tradition,” Marc said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Who am I to mess with tradition?”

“Precisely,” Marc said.

“I’ll go first,” Lee said. His expression turned more serious. “I’m grateful to be here with my two favorite people in the world. I didn’t see this coming, but I usually don’t. Life is like a car swerving around the semi into the oncoming lane of traffic….”

“Whoa,” I said. “That went south fast….”

“My point exactly,” Lee said. “Way too fast. Life is the unexpected.”

“Are we still on the grateful thing?” I looked over at Marc. “Are we?”

Marc just shook his head, like I was in violation of a house rule.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Lee cleared his throat. “As I was saying, life is like that car coming around the semi into your lane of traffic. You never see what’s going to hit you.” He turned to me. “Beth, you’re that car.” He raised his glass. “To Beth.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I think.”

Marc raised his glass. “To Beth. And other bad drivers.”

“I’m not a bad driver,” I said.

“That remains to be seen,” Lee said.

I drank along with them, still not sure what to make of their tradition.

“What are you not grateful for?” Marc asked Lee.

He took a deep breath. “People who don’t signal before they turn.”

“Brilliant,” Marc said. “I like how you kept with the bad drivers theme.”

“Thank you. I was going for that.”

Marc looked at me and raised his glass. “To bad drivers again.”

“All right,” I said. “I see how this is. I’ll go next. What I’m grateful for…”

“It’s not your turn,” Marc said. “We go by age. I saw this meme the other day. A reporter was asking people what was the worst birthday present they ever received. Most of them were like, ‘a diet plan’ or ‘a mouse pad.’ But one of the respondents said, ‘My life.’?”

“That is so, so deep,” Lee said.

“Like a really deep well,” Marc said. “It’s existential.”

“Definitely existential.”

“I’m lost,” I said. “Is that what you’re grateful for or not grateful for?”

Marc looked at me. “Neither. It was just something I saw online.”

Lee chuckled.

“I’m getting serious now,” Marc said. “I’m going to start with what I’m not grateful for. What I’m not grateful for is bees.”

I looked back and forth between them. “Bees?”

“Each year bees kill more humans than spiders, centipedes, scorpions, venomous marine animals… and I don’t need to remind you that we are on the water… and snakes, including pythons, cobras, and rattlesnakes, combined. In fact, bees are fifty-three times more deadly than sharks. And if that’s not frightening enough, one stung me last week.”

Lee laughed.

“Counterpoint,” I said.

“This isn’t Face the Nation,” Marc said. “No debating.”

“But we need bees. They pollinate. Without them we’d have no food. Like this meal in front of us wouldn’t be here. This food that I’m hoping we might actually eat at some point.”

“Oh,” Marc said. “That’s a very good point. Then bees are what I’m most grateful for.”

Lee practically choked. When he could speak, he lifted his glass and said, “Two cheers.”

We clinked and drank twice, then Lee said, “Now it’s your turn, Beth.”

“Wait,” Marc said, lifting his hand. “I’m not finished. I have one more gratitude thing.”

Marc cleared his throat. “I’m grateful for you being here, Beth. Because you make my brother happy. And that makes me happy.”

I was surprised at how sweet he suddenly was. “Thank you. That was… lovely.”

“And this is where the television audience goes, ‘Ahhh,’?” Marc said.

“You are really weird,” I said to him.

“Yes, and now it’s your turn. Try to keep up.”

“Okay. I’m grateful to be here, in this beautiful house with two beautiful men, hopefully to share what looks to be a delicious meal that’s getting colder by the minute.”

“You’re saying I’m beautiful,” Marc said.

“Yes, that was implied.”

“To beautiful me,” Marc said, lifting his glass.

“To beautiful Marc,” Lee repeated. We clinked glasses. Marc drained his.

“I need more wine,” he said.

Lee poured more wine, then said to me, “Now tell us what you’re not grateful for?”

“Things I’m not grateful for. People who do not clean up after their dogs.”

“Amen,” Marc said.

“And people who tell you about their hernia operation or pretty much any medical procedure you did not want to hear about.”

“Preach it,” Marc said.

“And one more thing. Eggplant. People act like it’s edible. It’s not.”

Marc turned to Lee. “She’s good.”

Lee said, “I told you she was.”

“She’s totally going to fit in around here.” He turned to me. “You’re totally going to fit in, Yoko. Now stop talking and let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.”

I just shook my head. It was by far the oddest and best Thanksgiving meal of my life.