glasses.
A carved turkey.
One large bowl of salad.
Nothing else.
Brenda nearly walked into her.
“Where’s the food?”
“This is the food.”
Rachel turned.
“You didn’t make mashed potatoes?”
“No.”
“Stuffing?”
“No.”
“Cranberry sauce?”
“No.”
Her face reddened.
“You’re hosting Thanksgiving.”
“And I told everyone exactly what I was providing.”
“What are the kids supposed to eat?”
“Turkey and salad.”
Rachel stared.
David looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“You always make backups,” he said.
“I used to.”
Brenda put down her purse.
“This is ridiculous.”
I pulled out my chair.
“It
