Things were simple when Mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner. She said “Dinner is at 4,” and her guests showed up on time. There was the expectation that she would cook a turkey and bake a pie. The guests brought wine, complimented her on the juiciness of her turkey and the richness of her stuffing. The guests cleared the table and helped her clean the kitchen. After dinner the adults sat around for a while, sleepy and a bit gassy, and everyone was gone by 8:30.
But that was then. Last year it was my turn to host Thanksgiving, mainly because after the Thanksgiving of 2015, in which my nephew and his ex-wife both declined to attend the dinner but then both showed up with their new paramours, resulting in a certain awkwardness, my middle sister, who hosted that year, has flatly refused to ever host the family again.
In 2014 my older sister hosted Thanksgiving and was completely traumatized that the niece of a family friend, a humorless vegan, showed up wearing a “Meat is Murder” tee-shirt and showed pictures of a turkey slaughterhouse during dinner. My older sister also refuses to ever host her family again.
Thanksgiving of 2016 got off to a bad start when a niece from upstate wanted to eat at three so she could head back home to care for her cat, while my brother, also from upstate, wanted to eat at 7 so he could give his dogs their lunch before he hit the road.
One of my step-nephews did not want to come if he was expected to eat turkey, and his girlfriend, who is in Recovery, refused to come if wine was going to be served.
My friend Bill wanted to know if we were using disposable, plastic plates again. “Eating off plastic is barbaric,” he told me, and he pointed out that when he serves dinner he uses Wedgewood china and Waterford crystal.
I told Bill with some heat that the use of plastic dinnerware was not negotiable: By this time the guest list was at 26 and counting and washing dishes for a crowd that size was not even a possibility, even if I had Wedgewood china and Waterford crystal, which I certainly don’t.
Bill sighed, clearly unhappy, but said he’d come anyway, as though he was doing me a favor. “I guess you’ll be serving that cheap wine again?” he asked.
My good friends Kenny and Carlos usually come to Thanksgiving dinner: Typically they are alone on Thanksgiving because both of their families live in foreign countries: Carlos’ in Argentina and Kenny’s in Alabama, but this year they declined because two of Carlos’ brothers, and their families, were in town and they were going to eat with Carlos’ cousin in Miami.
“But I hate my cousin,” said Carlos, adding, “and we always have such a good time with your family.” He paused and I was silent. “Would you mind if I brought a couple of extra people to dinner at your house?” he finally asked.
“How many extra?” I asked.
“Fifteen,” said Carlos. I was stunned into silence and there was an awkward pause. “Did I tell you my brothers are allergic to cats?” said Carlos helpfully.
In the end I decided that dinner was not a democracy.
“Dinner is at 5,” I texted all and sundry. “I am serving turkey. There will be plenty of wine. Vodka too. We are using plastic plates, plastic cups and plastic flatware. There will be cat hair on every horizontal surface that is not covered with dog hair. Please RSVP.”
No one declined.