The Second Part of Chapter 10: Thanksgiving

Finally, they arrived at the Varrettes’ house in Willowdale; to James the journey seemed nearly as long as the train ride to Toronto, even though that train ride had lasted several hours, and he was not sitting in leather-upholstered seats, as were in the Mercedes; it was simply the concept of car travel that irritated him. This dissatisfaction also had much to do with the significant complaints against the car: that it was heavily polluting, that it was socially ostracising, that it turned what should be a co-operative exercise of getting to where one needs to go into a needless race, and of course there were the endless traffic jams and the thought that one could be killed at a moment’s notice by someone driving recklessly, not to mention that they were also obesogenic; yes, all of these were reasons behind their decision not to use a car, but rather live downtown and walk everywhere. His dislike for cars was further justified by Margaret’s observed habit of muttering under her breath while driving.

Margaret preferred that the relationship go another way; I already started on a slippery slope at the wedding, there’s no need to continue on that track now, she thought.

“Mary’s already here, and Jacob and Alice will arrive tomorrow afternoon,” said Margaret.


Mary was standing at the doorway, taking in the scene at Margaret’s return with James and Clarissa: Margaret was looking at her watch, mildly irritated, which Clarissa and James evidently didn’t notice; they had eyes only for each other, as this was still the soppy phase of their marriage. They would get out of that soon enough, she thought, as soon as Clarissa smells his dirty socks or something.

“Hello, Miss Sunshine!”

“Mary! It’s so nice to see you!”

Mary said, chuckling, “Clarissa, you make it sound like we haven’t seen each other in ages! I was at the wedding, you know.”

Margaret was thinking of the game plan; they are all going to stay overnight, and tomorrow will be the big turkey dinner. As Clarissa was walking up the front steps, she tripped. James rushed to her side, but twisted a tendon in his leg, and had to stop, grimacing. Margaret caught her, and wondered what Clarissa would do if her husband were unreliable in catching his wife in a fall; it was an important trust issue, and an insight into the nature of their marriage.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” said Clarissa.

Clarissa and James spent the following afternoon relaxing and chatting with Mary and Andrew. They were in the den at the front of the house, and they could see the road.

“I hadn’t noticed this room the last time I was here,” said James.

“That’s because you two had eyes only for each other,” said Mary. The equivalent phase in her marriage had passed by and now she and Andrew were simply comfortable.

“There are very many books in here,” James commented.

“We have a lot of books in our sitting room too, Jim; it’s not like you haven’t seen one.”

“It’s not just that; I haven’t seen so many massive books in one place. Look: there’s War and Peace, on that shelf is The Man Without Qualities, and there’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”

Those weren’t the only books of that size in the room either, as James noted; he could see a massive tome subtitled The History of a Young Lady. He thought that perhaps these books were there to make one appear more learned; seeing them there made him believe that Margaret had read these volumes at some point.

Clarissa was saying, “I don’t know why mom’s always pushing me to be virtuous,” she said.

“I’ve always wondered why she did that; she never spent any time with me giving moralising lectures; it was simply ‘just don’t get into any trouble’, and she left it at those six words. It wasn’t like the hours she spent with you.”

“’In all circumstances, one must be virtuous, and hold your head up high’” quoted Clarissa. “Perhaps it was in the hope that I would be redeemed later on,”

“Well, attitude counts for a lot, as they say,” said Andrew.

At that moment, Jacob and Alice arrived with Sean in tow. He was behaving properly, which was unusual; he was simply dawdling and had stopped to look at the flowers and shrubbery. He picked at a colourful flower with his hand.

“Sean, we need to get inside,”

“I wanna show gramma,” he said, holding up a flower.

“Grandma doesn’t want her plants yanked up by the roots, Sean. Put that down,”

Sean sullenly obeyed his mother.

Alice had a bag with her; she always did when Sean was around, with which to carry his toys and things with her wherever they went. Margaret said she was spoiling him by doing this for him; he ought to learn to keep still and not play with everything, she had said. Alice replied that it was either the toys or something made of glass or some other delicate material.

Margaret greeted them at the door, and Sean tried to hide behind Jacob’s leg; Jacob did not let that happen and instead held him by his side.

“Hello Jacob,”

“Hello, Margaret,”

“Hello little Sean,” Sean did not respond.

“Sean, say hello to your grandmother,” Sean simply stared rather than obey his father’s instruction.

“Sean––”

“Hello, Granma,”

Margaret smiled sweetly, in a grandmotherly way, but it was apparent that he had been slow to forget his ordeal with her when his parents had left him alone with Margaret at the family cottage, and he tried to stand at the other end of the room when he could.

“I go play, ‘kay?”

“First, you have to take off your shoes,” and before Sean could protest, Jacob held his shoulder while Alice removed his shoes. They were adept at this by now, as Sean had learned to walk just after his first birthday.


It was Thanksgiving dinner, and James had just piled his plate high with all the things he loved: dark meat, potatoes, the stuffing, and his favourite part of the bird, the pope’s nose, which preference nobody else seemed to share. Margaret seems cold to me, he thought, and as he looked up from eating his large portion, he saw Margaret looking at his dinner plate. Her plate, by comparison, had relatively little on it: two cuts of the white meat, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, steamed carrots, a small portion of potatoes, and no gravy.

“Enjoying your dinner,” Margaret’s address to him was more of a statement than a question; maybe she thought he should be dieting? Life’s too short to diet; one must have fun, after all, and she made an excellent turkey.

“Very much, thank you.” Margaret, looking at James’s dinner plate, was not impressed. If this is how he eats, with loads of gravy on everything, and only one Brussels sprout, then his bulging waistline was entirely unsurprising. Clarissa must have married for things other than his looks, which is always appreciated; perhaps it would have been worse were she looking only for male eye candy. Perhaps it was the jokes he told, or maybe that she had found a kindred spirit in another economist. On the other hand, she would greatly appreciate looking at some handsome man rather than this slightly doughy husband.

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