Kimberlee K.

My parents’ T-shaped kitchen counter has two bar stools sidled up to it, and on Thanksgiving they offer VIP seating to the organized chaos of the cooks. They also give perhaps too much access to the assortment of chips, salsa, and M&M’s set out to help bridge the gap between breakfast and Thanksgiving dinner, and at some point provokes all who dare sit to wave their hands in surrender, saying, “I’ve got to stop.”

But they don’t.

Because we chat and we dip and we crunch and we shovel M&Ms into our mouths as someone brings up a friend of a friend’s latest Instagram post, or whispers rumors of a second cousin’s potential proposal. We shuffle through the stories we’d vaguely referenced over text for weeks, saying, “I’ll tell you at Thanksgiving,” because now we’re finally here, together.

“Oh my gosh, tell me,” I say to my cousin Taryn, who has sat down at one of the bar stools and offered a low toned, “did you hear about…”

Standing in the kitchen, I pull a small bowl down from the cabinet and twist the clip off a loaf of white bread.

“Here we go!” my cousin Tanner says enthusiastically from the other bar stool, recognizing this as the first step of the Martha Stewart macaroni recipe that has become known in my family as “my macaroni” in the years since I started making it.  

I need about an hour and half to make “my” macaroni, so after a short burst of hugs and hellos, and the acceptance of a glass of wine that will take me most of the afternoon to finish, I tie up the hair I meticulously blow dried, take off my rings, and roll up my sleeves.

Then I start tearing bread.

“Can I stop you for a second?” my sister Natalee asks Taryn from the dining room table where she polishes the fancy silverware we only pull out for Thanksgiving. “How many place settings do we need?”

“Fourteen,” my mom says while opening the oven to baste the turkey, knowing the question is directed at her.

My sister nods, “got it, continue,” and Taryn does.

I melt two tablespoons of butter and mix them in with the bowl of shredded bread, then I pour five and a half cups of milk into a saucepan and set it over medium heat.  

“What’s our guy’s name this year?” Tanner asks, gesturing to the oven my mom has just closed.

We always name the turkey and refer to it in a casual, friendly manner throughout the day.

“I present to you,” my mom says, turning on the oven light, “Thadeus.”

A cheer erupts around the room.

“All right Thad!!”

“Keep cookin’, Thaddy!”

 I pull three blocks of cheese out of the refrigerator and reach below the silverware drawer for the grater.

“Did you bring your gloves?” Natalee asks as she begins to wipe down the china she’s pulled from the hutch.  

“Yes!” I say, holding up the protective wear gifted to me after I sliced the tips of my fingers a few years ago.

“Those are too funny,” Taryn says.

“What’s too funny?” Aunt Jacque asks as she walks in the front door.

“Kim’s cheese gloves.”

“Ah, well, better safe than sorry!”

Taryn and Tanner stand to offer hugs, and I wave, both to her and to Aunt Candee, who follows closely behind. Aunt Jacque reaches into a grocery bag and pulls out a loaf of her homemade pumpkin bread, waving it both to elicit enthusiastic smiles and silently ask if there’s room in the refrigerator. My mom nods.

“Troy will be so happy you’re here!” I say.

As if cued, my brother enters the kitchen from the side door that leads to the backyard. He walks to the sink to wash his hands after helping my dad bring extra chairs in from the garage.

“Aunt Jacque just put something in the fridge for you.”

“Yes!” Troy says knowingly, pumping his fist. “I’ll go ahead and have some right now, seeing as dinner isn’t for a while.”

“I think that’s only right,” Aunt Jacque says.

“Hey Kimi Kim!” Aunt Candee says, giving me a hug from behind.

Without needing direction, she puts her high sided pan for the green beans on the back left burner of the stove, then stacks three packages of Hawaiian rolls in the laundry room where various homemade desserts get piled on the dryer until after dinner.

“I also brought a veggie tray in case anyone wants some,” she says.

“Should I start making the salad?” Aunt Tracy asks from the living room, where she leans on the recliner my grandpa is sitting in, watching the morning football game.

“Not yet, I don’t think,” my mom answers.

“One of these years we should try to fold the napkins really fancy,” my sister says.

“Like swans?” Tanner asks.

“Swans, bows, something that can give us that extra oomph, you know?”

“That would be an incredible touch.”

I set down the cheese grater and transfer the bowls of shredded Gruyere and white cheddar into the refrigerator, then melt six tablespoons of butter in my mom’s high sided skillet on the burner in front of the milk.

“Woah!” my dad says from the living room holding the remote.

Tanner stands from his seat and walks in to watch the replay, and Troy, now holding two pieces of pumpkin bread, follows.

I set the cutting board that is sprinkled with leftover cheese aside, then grab a bag of flour from the pantry. I check to see that the butter is bubbling, then add a half cup of flour and stir.

“Hello!” my cousin Ashlynn says, walking in the door holding her seven-month-old son, Ace.

“Well!” Grandpa says, leaning forward, “is that my Ashlynn?”

I wave through the kitchen window at my cousin Spenser, who is carrying a diaper bag and a bottle of whiskey while walking behind a shy, two year old, Easton.

“He just got sacked in the endzone,” my dad says to Spenser.

“Did he?!”

“Grandma!” Easton says to Aunt Candee.

“Is this cheese for me?” Ashlynn asks, sitting on the bar stool.

“Of course,” I say, smiling.

“I really love you.”

“Hey!” Grandpa yells playfully from the living room. “I know you didn’t just sit down without giving me a hug!”

“Now you’re in for it,” Taryn says.

Ashlynn grabs a few pieces of the leftover cheese and then stands and walks into the living room.

“I brought you something, Nats,” Spenser says, holding up the bottle of whiskey to my sister. “Have you tried this one before?”

“I haven’t!” she says, just as her boyfriend Will walks in through the side door carrying two empty bags of ice. “Have you tried this one William?”

Will’s eyes go wide at the bottle.

“I haven’t! But I bet it will be delicious!”

“I figured we should probably do a tasting after dinner,” Spenser says.

“Oh definitely,” Will says at the same time Natalee says, “Obviously.”

I pour the hot milk into the high sided skillet and put the saucepan in the sink, then I start to whisk.

“Who wants to hold this baby?” Ashlynn asks.

“I do!” Natalee says.

Ashlynn looks out the window to check on Easton, who is now running around the backyard with Aunt Candee, playing with a bubble gun.

“Okay,” Ashlynn says with a sigh as she sits back down. “What did I miss?”

A few minutes later, my mom comes back to check on the stuffing and mashed potatoes, both of which are in Crock-Pots, and then grabs the thermometer and opens the oven.

“Thad check!” Tanner calls.

“Thad check!” we all echo.

Ace stares at Ashlynn in question and we clap our hands softly to assure him it is exciting.

“Kim!” Grandpa yells to me from the living room, “I don’t feel like you’ve said hi to me!!”

“She said hi to you right when she got here,” Aunt Tracy says.

“That’s true,” I say, pointing my whisk at her.

“Oh,” my grandpa says with a smirk, “well then maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve told me you love me.”

“Well I DO love you!”

“You better.”

With the sauce sufficiently thickened, I turn off the heat and add salt, nutmeg, black pepper, three cups of white cheddar cheese, and almost two cups of Gruyere. Then I fill a pot with water and set it to boil behind the skillet.

“Oven just dinged,” Taryn says.

“That’s you, Kim-O,” my mom says. “I preheated it for you.”

“Thank you!”

“How far out are we?” Aunt Candee calls from the backyard. “Should I start the green beans?”

“I’d say you probably can,” I answer.

“Should I start the salad?” Aunt Tracy asks.

“Maybe in like ten minutes.”

Natalee hands Ace to Taryn and he looks around the kitchen at everyone moving, taking it all in.

“Hey hey,” my cousin Cory, Spenser’s brother, says as he and his wife Amanda walk through the front door.

“She just woke up,” Amanda says, referring to their daughter McKinley, who she’s pushing in a stroller.

Aunt Candee walks in holding Easton and McKinley offers her a bright smile.

“Do you want to play with bubbles?” Aunt Candee asks.

“Let me just change her diaper first,” Amanda says.

“What’s the score?” Cory asks, walking into the living room.

I pour the box of macaroni into the boiling water and set a timer on my phone for six minutes.

“Can I get anyone some wine?” Aunt Tracy asks.

“Me!” Taryn says.

“No, thank you,” Natalee says, putting away the boxes and bags the silverware and china are stored in.

“I have wine somewhere,” I say.

“It’s on the table,” Tanner says from the living room.

“Have I taken a sip yet?”

“I think two,” Taryn says as Ace slaps at the kitchen counter in her lap.

“Oh my gosh,” my mom says playfully, “you must be drunk.”      

“Hammered.”

“How much time is left in the game?” Natalee asks.

“Four minutes,” Tanner, Spenser, and my dad answer in unison.

“I was going to say that too,” Grandpa says.

Amanda comes out from the bedroom holding McKinley, who wears a sparkly dress. We all wave as they walk through the kitchen to the side door, all of us fawning over how cute her curls are.

“Touchdown!”

My timer goes off and I pour the macaroni into a colander before rinsing it with cold water.

“I’m here, Kim,” Troy says, “how can I help?”

I pour the macaroni into the cheese sauce and stir.

“Can you help me pour this into the casserole dish?”

Troy nods and I follow him to the counter, where Taryn pushes aside the bowls of chips and salsa.

“I’ll pour, you scrape,” I say.

“Oh wow,” Ashlynn says, watching.

“I can’t wait,” Taryn adds.

I sprinkle the last of the cheese on top, then layer it with the buttered breadcrumbs before putting it in the oven.

“Can someone set a timer for 30 minutes?”

“Field goal!” my dad says from the living room.

“Tie game!”

I take a sip of my wine.

My mom walks into the laundry room and comes back with the carving knife, then opens the oven to check Thad’s temperature.  

“How’s our guy?” Natalee asks, carrying the gravy boat over to the counter.

“He’s ready.”

“Thad is ready!!”

“This is for the win,” Spenser says.

Everyone in the kitchen and dining room turns towards those in the living room, watching them watch the last few seconds of the game.

“Bills win!”

My dad claps his hands and walks into the kitchen.

“The moment of truth,” Tanner says, sipping a beer as he follows behind him.

My dad pulls Thad from the oven and we all ooh and ahh.

“Cowboys have the afternoon game?” I ask, and Spenser nods.

“Should we try the whiskey while the turkey cools?” my dad asks.

“Absolutely,” Will says at the same time my sister says, “yes please!”

“I’ll start my salad,” Aunt Tracy says.

“And my green beans are almost done,” Aunt Candee adds.

My dad pulls a few glasses down from the cabinet and lines them on the counter.

“Does anyone else want to try?”

My mom shrugs her shoulders, “why not?”

“Is the ice cream out yet?” my grandpa asks mischievously. He sticks his tongue out when he sees me smile.

Aunt Tracy mixes her salad, Natalee carefully pulls baking sheets out from under the oven, Aunt Candee starts opening the Hawaiian rolls.

“Are you feeling tall?” my mom asks Troy, pointing at the cabinet above the pantry where the breadbasket is stored.

“Always.”

My dad plugs in the carving knife and I toss my sister a pile of potholders to prepare the table for the hot dishes. My mom opens two cans of gravy and heats them in the microwave and Aunt Jacque unwraps three loaves of pumpkin bread. I scoop the mashed potatoes into a glass bowl and pass it to Taryn, who passes it to Natalee, and then do the same thing with the stuffing.

Then my timer goes off.

“Clear the way!” Tanner says, “Macaroni is done!”

I pull the macaroni out of the bottom oven and everyone behind me oohs and aahs. The cheese bubbles, and when I slide the serving spoon into the dish, the browned breadcrumbs offer a satisfying crunch.

Natalee pulls the trays of rolls out of the top oven and pours them into the bread bowl, and then everyone starts to make their way to the table.

“I forgot my wine!” I say.

“How many sips have you taken now?” Tanner asks.

“At least three.”

Once we’re all seated, we reach to the center of the table, grabbing at the dishes now hot and ready to eat. After taking our helping, we announce the food we’re holding to see who wants some next, then respond to the call of whatever dish we want next.

“Toss me a roll,” my dad says to Spenser.

“Nice catch!”

“Where are the green beans?”

“Can you put another piece of turkey on my plate?”

“No thank you, I don’t like cranberry sauce.”

“Toss me a roll, too!”

“My chest is warm from that whiskey!”

“Who’d you take in the afternoon game?”

“Mashed potatoes please!”

“Should I make more rolls?”

“Did you just kick me under the table? Should we fight?”

“Is this your knife or my knife?”

“Can I get anyone anything else?”

“Kim, your macaroni is already almost gone.”

“You should make it more than once a year, but it always tastes best on Thanksgiving.”