As always, Harriet's parents hadn't quite managed to put away all of their Halloween decorations before prepping the house for Thanksgiving. A black cat with its fur standing on end and a startled look on its face arched its back from inside the cornucopia centerpiece. "He's surprised we've got such a huge feast in store for you," Harriet told Sam.

But he wasn't looking at the unseasonal decoration, the leafy garlands hanging from every window, or even the speck of cranberry sauce spoiling his grandma's attempt to sneak a taste without either of them knowing. He only had eyes for the extra chair in the dining room.

"Why don't you go watch the parade?" Harriet said. "I heard Santa will be there."

Sam trudged off to make himself cozy on the couch while Harriet handed Nia a dish full of green beans. "I figured we'd better get the boring stuff out of the way first. The sweet potato casserole's in the car."

"Can't have Thanksgiving without at least one dish nobody will touch," Nia said with a laugh.

"Hey, we have to at least pretend to eat something healthy today so we have an excuse to pig out again when Christmas rolls around."

"Amen to that!"

Harriet set the dishes that had already been prepared on the table where her mom had already put the cranberry sauce and cornbread. With Sam occupied critiquing the parade floats, she joined Nia in the kitchen. "Alright, let's get down to business. Where do we stand?"

"I was just about to start prepping the stuffing. Any word from Frank?"

"They still haven't boarded yet. Plane's delayed 'cause of snow." Harriet sighed. "At least he let me know."

"You'd think that would be a given," Nia muttered as she started sautéing the onions. "Would you be a dear and handle the giblets for me, honey?"

As Harriet plunged her hand into the turkey, she felt a strange kinship with the bird. This had been one of her father's Thanksgiving duties, along with making dessert and providing moral support. Without him, she felt as if she too had her innards exposed for the world to see thanks to her constantly cracking voice and eyes sunken with insomnia. Unlike the bird, at least she could find at least a moment's relief, even if that meant fumbling around in the poultry's cavity until her fingers closed around the moist giblets.

The organs hit the frying pan with a crackling sizzle. "I wish Dad was here," Harriet muttered.

The stove brought her no release. No easing of the pressure building in her tear ducts, no inkling things would eventually feel alright. It left her with nothing but a lonely hollowness in her chest and a painful awareness that the stove could never soothe her soul the way the oven could.

"Me too," her mom said softly, "but I'm glad we at least get to spend a little time together."

They both wept. "If Sam asks," Harriet said as she wiped her eyes, "I'm blaming the onions."

"What is it kids say these days, that they're surrounded by onion-cutting samurai?"

"Ninjas, but that makes about as much sense. They may be sneaky, but I'm pretty sure the ninjas would be bawling their eyes out too!"

"I don't know about you, but I'm never the least bit quiet when I'm cutting vegetables, crying or not. I swear it sounds like gunfire half the time."

"As far as Sam's concerned, Brussels sprouts are even worse than onions."

"Not on the way in, but on the way out? I love you, honey, but boy am I glad I won't have to smell your stomach's opinion about those tonight."

"Oh please, as if you don't—" Harriet's phone cut her off. "Hang on, I've gotta take this."

Harriet retreated to her father's study. The oxygen tank was gone, but her father's plants remained, still as vibrantly green as ever despite his absence. Nia must have been tending to them, not allowing a single dead leaf to taint what had once been his sanctuary. Far from Sam and her mom, this was the only place Harriet could get some quiet privacy while she answered Frank's call.

"Good morning, babe." His voice came through along with howling wind and the distant, monotone voice of the airport's PA system.

"Good morning, honey. About to take off?"

"About that..." More wind, punctuated by a baby crying. "We've got a storm coming, so I'll be stuck for at least a couple hours. Maybe until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Harriet choked on the word, her throat tightening so hard she could barely breathe as she stared at her father's prized peonies. Now they'd have two empty chairs at the table. Two empty chairs, and a hole in her heart where her father used to be.

"I'm sorry, babe." She could barely understand Frank not because of all the background noise, but because his voice was cracking with tears. "I wish I could teleport over there and give you and Sam the biggest hug right now."

"It's not your fault," Harriet whispered even though it absolutely was. Not the storm, but the trip. The late nights in the office. The chasm widening between them as they drifted apart.

"Tell Sam I love him, and tell your mom I said hi." A sharp intake of breath, followed by him blowing his nose. "I love you so much, Harriet. You'd better get used to hearing that 'cause when I've finally got you in my arms again, you'll be hearing that a whole lot."

"I love you, too. Stay safe."

She hung up, making her father's plants the sole witnesses to her tears.

Deep breaths. In and out until Harriet's eyes no longer burned and she was sure she could talk without her voice giving out on her. Breaking the news would be hard enough without her having a breakdown.

By the time Harriet calmed herself down enough to leave her father's study, Nia had joined Sam on the couch. "Turkey's in the oven," she said as she patted the seat next to her. "Now all we've gotta do is sit back and watch this fiasco."

The parade was not going well, to put it lightly. Balloons swayed drunkenly in the wind as their handlers struggled to keep them from crashing into buildings. Sheets of dark gray clouds spilled endless flurries of snow onto the procession as marching bands fought to make their instruments heard over the wind.

"Is Dad almost home? He's gonna miss the dinosaur!" Sam pointed at the giant brachiosaurus balloon that had just started rounding the corner, its neck flailing in the wind.

"He won't be home for a while, sweetie. His flight's delayed." Harriet forced her lips into what she hoped would pass for a smile as she sat beside him. "Guess somebody's gonna have to take care of his share of the pie for him."

"Oh." That's all Sam said. No crying, no disbelief that his dad would be late, if he came at all. Just a soft little oh as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

Nia's lips set into a firm line. "Sam, sweetie, would you mind setting the table for your grandma? I bet Santa will put you on the extra nice list."

"He's busy with the parade," Sam mumbled. "Like Dad's busy with work."

"Well you didn't hear it from me, but I heard he's got Mrs. Claus making sure everybody behaves themselves while he's out." Nia raised the volume on the TV a couple notches. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to run back here if you hear those sleigh bells jingling."

Sam trudged to the dining room. Harriet braced herself to remind him not to break anything, but instead of the usual clatter of silverware hitting the table, there was only a dull, deliberate thudding.

Harriet's back tensed against the couch. Here came the I-told-you-so speech she'd been dreading ever since Frank had told her about his trip. The look that told her exactly what her mother thought of her marriage. Disappointment as unrelenting as the storm keeping Frank from her.

"You holdin' up alright, honey?" Wrinkles creased her mom's forehead. "You were in there a mighty long time."

Her mother's concern was more painful than her disappointment could ever be.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." Harriet's hands kneaded her lap. What was she even supposed to say to that? Her dad was dead, her husband was stranded in Pennsylvania, and she couldn't even bake thanks to the damn turkey hogging the oven.

"What kind of mother would I be if I didn't worry about you?" Nia scooted next to Harriet and hugged her close. "Did he say anything else to you?" she asked quietly.

"Not much. Just that he loves me and is going to hug me within an inch of my life when he gets home." Harriet swallowed a lump in her throat. "Why?"

"I just thought maybe with how much he keeps ditching you..." Nia shook her head. "Are you sure it's all because of work?"

"Frank would never—" Harriet couldn't even finish that sentence. Frank loved her, or at least kept saying he did, but they'd been drifting apart for months. Now all she could do when he was actually around was worry about when he'd leave her again. Her voice came out hoarse with unshed tears. "I don't know, Mom. What should I do?"

Her mom's hug tightened. "I don't know, honey, but I do know all your daddy and I ever wanted was for you to be happy. Anything I can do to help you be happy again, you just say the word and momma will be there for you in a heartbeat."

Harriet knew with absolute certainty that she was telling the truth. This was the same woman who had booked her an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii to help her get over Vicky, helped her plan her wedding even though she'd never been a fan of Frank, and sped the whole way to the hospital as soon as she heard she was in labor. No matter what happened between her and Frank, her mom would always be there for her.

Harriet was pulled out of her thoughts by quiet whimpering. "You hear that?"

She and Nia followed the sound into the dining room. Sam's shoulders rose and fell as he muffled his sobs with one of the good napkins. He'd set the table for five people. "I forgot they couldn't come," he said between sniffles.

"Oh, honey." Harriet wrapped him into a hug, praying he couldn't feel her tears dripping onto his back.

"Hey, a couple extra spots never hurt anybody," Nia said. "Would it make you feel better if we gave 'em a little something?"

Sam scooped a dollop of mashed potato onto each of the extra plates. Nia added some green beans, and Harriet gave them a heaping helping of sweet potatoes. "Dad always did love those," she said. "Or at least the marshmallows on top."

"This was always his favorite holiday," Nia said. "Christmas is nice and all, but he knew the presents were always what everyone was focused on then. Not like Thanksgiving. Today, it's all about family. And good food of course, but who else could possibly help you finish it all?"

But they weren't there to help them today. It was just the three of them against enough food and grief to fuel a small army. Harriet's hands ached to whip up something to ease one of those burdens. "How would you feel about some biscuits? We've still got a little bit before the turkey's ready."

"Pass," Nia said. "We've already got the cornbread. I don't think I'll have any room for dessert if I'm not careful."

Harriet stirred the bowl of mashed potatoes idly. Why had she suggested baking even more food? The table was loaded, and her dad's empty chair served as a stark reminder of what the allure of the oven could do to someone.

Yet, that treacherous appliance called out to her in a way only it could.

"Alright," Harriet said, "but we are definitely going to make dessert later."

Once the turkey finished cooling, Harriet carved them each a piece while imagining an unusually poultry-esque cake. That did little to improve her mood, although the hot, greasy drumstick kept her smiling even as the anecdotes about her dad threatened to spill tears down her cheeks.

By the time they finished eating, Harriet's tear ducts ached even worse than her stomach. "You hear that?" she asked as she cocked her head toward the living room. "I think a certain someone's about to arrive at the parade."

Sam nearly knocked his chair over as he sprinted to the couch, leaving the ladies to handle the dishes.

"You could have just let him watch the rerun," Nia said as she piled plates to soak in the sink.

"Yeah, but then we wouldn't have privacy while we bake. You want to swat his hand out of the pie filling every five seconds?"

"Not particularly, no. We should at least let him lick the bowl, though. The chief taste tester needs to earn his keep around here."

Harriet rummaged through her mother's cupboards like an explorer in a foreign land. Everything was out of place, with not even a speck of sugar where she expected it to be. "I'll get to work on the crust. Could you find what we need for the filling?"

"Yes, Chef!"

As she mixed together a basic dough, Harriet muttered to it under her breath. Each word dripped with frustration and pain as it slid off her tongue. Grief faded to loneliness, which faded to a numbness filled only by the warmth of the oven and words that had been reduced to mere noise.

"Did you say something, honey?" Her mother asked as she whisked together a thick, brown filling.

"Do you want me to teach you a trick I learned from Carol?" Harriet asked before she could stop herself. Surely the trick would ease her grief, but her mother wasn't exactly built to slave away in the kitchen until flour took up permanent residence in her wrinkles. She wouldn't press the issue if she said no, Harriet decided, but she couldn't deny her own mother the chance to feel better.

"The county fair baking champ? Is the Pope Catholic?"

"I heard he recently converted to Buddhism," Harriet joked. She took her mother's hand in hers as she stirred the filling. "It's real easy. All you have to do is tell the food whatever's bothering you, and you'll feel better. It helps if you really put your heart into it, but even just saying it does wonders."

Nia raised an eyebrow. "What did you eat this morning, a bowl full of Coo Coo Puffs?"

"Just try it. The worst that could happen is you'll feel a little silly."

"As long as you don't use this as evidence I need to be put in a home..."

Harriet guided her mom's hand in circles around the bowl. "Whenever you're ready."

"I wish your husband cared more about being there for you instead of his coworkers. He can't keep lighting himself on fire to keep other people warm, or else you'll go up in flames, too."

"I'm sick of him thinking he can buy his way out of Sam and I missing him," Harriet said as the filling foamed with bubbles.

"I wish you and Sam didn't have to go so soon. I feel him around every corner, but no one is ever there." Her voice cracked as she whipped the filling to a froth. "This is about ready. You got something else I can ramble at for a while?"

Harriet put her in charge of chopping up pecans while she went back to working on the crust. Once the nuts were ready, they incorporated them into the dough together. "Now I understand why you brought so much to the funeral," Nia said. "This really does help."

Harriet poured the filling into the crust in a sugary waterfall. "You up for more after this?" she asked. There was no harm in doing more, she thought. Her dad would have wanted them to be happy.

"Might as well. We'd better give our chief taste tester a holler first though, or else he might go on strike."