“Daddy, do you really think the turkey will be fit to eat?"  I ask, a little worried about dinner 'cause Nita is making it this year.  

Oh, my name is Juney, short for Juniata, and I’m nine.  My big sister is Nita and she’s sixteen.  Sometimes, Nita makes me so mad I think I could spit at her.  I saw that once in a movie, and Daddy says that’s the worst way you can insult a person.  Still, sometimes I feel like it.  

Nita’s never made a fancy dinner before.  In fact, I once heard her ask Mom, “How do you make a baked potato out of a real potato?”  

That’s why I’m so concerned about our Thanksgiving meal.  

Mom has one of her sick headaches.  The doctor calls it a "migraine."  I feel bad for her.  She said she might not even come to the table, just stay in bed.  We’re supposed to have company, Aunt Cora and Uncle Buiee, that's Boo-ey.  Daddy hopes they’ll take the hint that Mom is sick and make their own turkey.  

Nita has assigned chores to Daddy and me and Robbie, our little brother.  Everybody but Millie has something to do ’cause she’s too little to help.   She just sits in her high chair and whines.  Robbie is supposed to take out the garbage, keep the cat off the counters and help set the table.  He always puts the silverware on the wrong side of the plate, and I have to fix things.   Daddy is in charge of the mashed potatoes.  His are better than Mom’s ’cause he puts a whole stick of butter in them and makes them yellow.  But I can’t tell Mom I like his better.  It would hurt her feelings.  I don’t like to do that to anybody, except maybe Nita.  

Nita is bossing me around, but what else is new?  I'm keeping my temper, mostly.  I don't want to get into trouble on a holiday.  After Nita washes the head of lettuce, I tear it up for tossed salad.  

"The pieces are too big," she says.

I scrape the carrots.  

"You've missed some dark spots," she says.  I get a mug of milk.  

"Stop that, Juney.  You’ll spoil your dinner," she says.  

I have a piece of cheese, and she says not to eat it ’cause she’s trying to make a cheese soufflé, whatever that is, and she needs it.  On and on.  Nag, nag, nag.  Even my teacher in school doesn't fuss as much.  

The turkey has been in the oven for hours.  I watch Nita wiggle the legs.   She says that's how you can tell if it’s done.  When she was in the bathroom, I saw Daddy poke it with a fork.  I think he was testing it himself, just to be sure.

Robbie is getting his fingerprints all over the glasses with the gold eagles on them, so Nita tells me to finish up the table. 

"Get lost!" I tell her.

She goes in to tell Mom I'm being hateful.

While I'm washing the fingerprints off the glasses, one slips out of my hand and breaks in the sudsy water.  I cut my wrist and the water turns pink.  I cry for Daddy.  He’s outside shoveling snow in case the relatives show up.

Robbie hollers, "Let me see the blood!" 

Nita comes running out of Mom's bedroom, slips on the throw rug in the hall and lands flat on her butt.  I laugh at her and she gets mad.  Millie is crying.  Mom is out of bed.  Her arm is through one sleeve of her robe.  She usually looks prettier than now.  She tells Nita to tell Daddy I’ve cut myself.  He comes in, tracking snow all over the living room rug.  Mom has a towel wrapped around my arm.  Daddy takes a look and says ointment and a small bandage should do the trick.   He says I’m very lucky I don’t need stitches.  Mom kisses me and goes back to bed.  This time she closes her bedroom door.

The oven timer goes off, and Nita pulls out a puffy-looking brown thing.  Holding it out for Robbie and Daddy and me to see, she says, “My hair caught fire and I burned my thumb, but the cheese soufflé stands tall!” 

We’re all clapping when the doorbell rings, and guess who?  Yup.  It’s them.   Aunt Cora and Uncle Stupid Head - that’s Uncle Buiee’s nickname, but we only call him that when he can’t hear.  Well, and when Mom and Daddy can’t hear either. 

The relatives are just in time for the turkey.   The table looks pretty good.  There's the usual Thanksgiving stuff, potatoes and gravy.  Daddy found the gravy in a jar at the store.  He found a can of cranberry sauce there, too.  

When Daddy cuts into the turkey, it looks nice and juicy.  "Done to perfection," he says.  Then he pulls a bag of something from inside the bird.  I ask what it is, and he says,  “It’s the giblets.”  

I guess Nita forgot to take them out before she cooked the turkey.  Aunt and Uncle think it's pretty funny.  So do I until I see Nita's face.  She looks sorta sad.  

Then, I hear Aunt Cora say,  "There's sand in the lettuce and shells in the deviled eggs!"

All that's true, but when Uncle Stupid Head grabs the second drum stick that Daddy always saves for me, I yell, "Take it all, ya damn hog!"  

I’m in big trouble now.  But after all, the turkey is the only part of the meal that's any good besides the mashed potatoes, and I want my aunt and uncle to know they shouldn't be ugly about Nita’s cooking.  Hey, they’re eating free food, aren’t they, so whatta they want?  

Daddy says it’s a good thing that Mom didn't hear my last remark from the bedroom - it might have sent her straight to the hospital.  He says I have to apologize.  I do, but I’m not very sorry.  Nita is smiling at me.  That’s strange ’cause she never smiles at me.  Ever.  

Daddy tells me it’s time to clear the table.  It doesn’t take long before Aunt Cora and Uncle Buiee clear themselves off.  They don’t like to do the dishes any more than I do.   Daddy fixes a plate for Mom and serves it to her in bed.  She’s feeling lots better.

I don’t care that our company has left, ’cause I’d rather be around just Mom and Daddy and Robbie and Millie and even Nita.  You know, when we’re all in a pile together like this, it really does feel like Thanksgiving.  But don’t tell Nita.  I don’t want to encourage her cooking too much.