A month after moving in, George was still settling. As a retired sailor, and younger son of an amateur optimist for whom the grass was always greener somewhere else, moving wasn't new to George. He, like his own sons, could pack a Uhaul better than many professional movers. All that experience had taught him it takes almost a full year to make the place you live in feel like home, so he wasn't surprised by feeling unsettled there at Sinclair Towers. 'Give it time,' he thought. 'It will happen.'
Not being able to share his new apartment with the various members of his widely-spread family didn't help. His one brother lived a pleasant half-hour drive away. Three sisters were scattered about the northwestern US, and his parents were in the Idaho foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Then were his own children, largely grown themselves and even more widely scattered. He had to tell everyone his new address and phone number, of course. And those who lived in the surrounding area were already asking when he'd be ready for visitors. Fighting down a small burst of panic, George guiltily explained about his lack of furniture ("you're always welcome but there's no place to sit"), parking congestion, tap dancing as best he could while mentioning everything he could think of but the one real reason he wasn't ready for visitors.
The crisis in family visitation popped up during planning for the holidays. George's parents wanted the family to gather on the farm one more time, for what would probably be the last "old fashioned Christmas" the family would have. That meant that, by default, the Thanksgiving gathering would take place among those living closer to the coast, meaning George or one of his siblings would have to host the family gathering. Group E-mails flew like electronic locusts once the discussion began.
"I vote for George to host," Kay wrote. George almost stopped breathing when he read that one short line. Kay was his older sister, now in her fifties but still small and attractive. She had recently left her third husband and was living alone (with cats) and working as a librarian in the town nearest their parents' farm. She was easy going, and like most of his family had a great sense of humor. Kay might, George surmised, be quite happy with his new living arrangements -- once she got over the shock of every single man in the building being butt naked, including her own brother. George thought for a moment, then shelved that thought for future consideration.
"I second," baby sister Marie responded that evening from Olympia's outskirts. "I hear his new apartment is awesome." Marie might also adjust, George surmised, or even welcome the quirks in his living arrangements. As the youngest of his generation of Hanovers, she was in her mid-forties, a plump but attractive nurse with dark hair, brown eyes, a wry wit and perhaps the easiest belly laugh of all his family. She'd been divorced for years, generally loved life and didn't care a whole lot for what everyone else might think. George suspected she might think a little eye candy would just make Thanksgiving even sweeter.
"We've been waiting for a dinner invitation, maybe this is the time to pony up eh?" Janey wrote. She was Jerry's wife, the same age as Marie, and though unrelated by blood could almost pass as one of the family. She always said it was because she and her brother, like George's generation of Hanovers, had grown up watching Montana recede out the back window of a station wagon. But while the Hanovers tended toward introversion, Janey was outgoing, almost domineering if she saw the need. She, too, was a nurse, but she had moved into the management side of life, and was now deeply involved in building a home health care business with Jerry. Family rumour had it their business was worth millions. Others might disapprove of George's living arrangements, but Janey was the most likely to publicly twist the knife. His own kin would politely wait until his back was turned to crucify him.
"We can help with an extra table and some folding chairs if needed," Jerry chipped in via his own e-mail account. Jerry was the oldest of George's siblings. Like Janey, he had parlayed a health care background into major business management experience before setting out to make his fortune. George used to tell his own children, "I spent my life trying to do the right thing. Jerry spent his life making money. I think that's fine, if it's what's important to him. He thinks I'm a freakin' idiot." Jerry seldom said anything to contradict George's assessment. He and Janey lived in the hills west of Portland, an easy drive from George's new apartment. While George was now blessed with an incredible urban panorama outside his windows, Jerry and Janey were equally blessed with views of wooded slopes and patchwork farms stretching across to the Coastal range of northern Oregon. Sunsets from their deck were to die for. But of course George was merely paying rent on his view, while Jerry and Janey were purchasing equity in theirs.
"I guess it's settled then," Lea wrote. "Thanksgiving dinner at George's new apartment. We'll be there, appetites in tow!" Lea was the sister closest to George in both age and temperament, so of course they were fated to be either best friends or worst enemies. Her pale coloring and green eyes were similar to his, as was her tall, slender build and quiet, moody temperament. Her husband, Niles, was a successful environmental management consultant who loved a good joke himself -- else he couldn't have survived around the Hanover family -- but had grown up in what George referred to as "Politically Correct California." He had a strong sense of what was proper, permissible behavior, and didn't hesitate to share it with the more rustic Hanovers. George, a retired Navy man, could seldom appreciate either his prissy attitudes or his well-meant input.
After a near-sleepless night, George gathered his thoughts and sat before the altar of the internet gods to prepare his response. "I guess I'm willing to host Thanksgiving dinner," he wrote, "but you all need to be aware of a number of issues that will impact the occasion." He re-read the line. It sounded very formal in his mind's voice. 'Move on, George,' he ordered himself. 'Quit stalling.' If he didn't just bull his way through this task, he'd waffle forever and never get the note sent. He resumed typing.
"First, I don't have a clue how to actually prepare a Thanksgiving dinner, so I will need lots of input and elbow grease from the more experienced amongst us." Honest enough, he thought. None of them would be surprised by that, but maybe they'd decide it would be easier to gather someplace where the cooks actually knew how to cook.
"Second, I live in a high-density urban neighborhood. Parking is always a problem, so we'll have to check into alternatives. I only have one slot in the parking garage here, and management has already told me there are no guest slots available. Sorry for the inconvenience."
"Third, while my apartment is very spacious for my needs, and the views are just indescribable -- especially sunset on Mt. Hood on a clear day -- it could be a tight fit if everyone shows with kids in tow, so I'll need to know exactly how many we'll be feeding and make sure I have places to put them." If he could make it sound inconvenient enough, maybe they'd all decide on another spot for Thanksgiving dinner. Without exposing himself, so to speak, to their judgments. And view.
"And, fourth, my apartment building has some peculiar rules concerning lifestyle and deportment that we'll need to discuss before we make a final decision." He clicked the send button, rushing his comments to the others, hoping they'd decide it was too much trouble to gather at his home for Thanksgiving yet also, maybe a little secretly, wishing they could all know and be okay with it. Wishing he could stay here in this fantastic apartment at an incredibly low rent and not have to hide any of it from the people he was close to. Wishing he could talk openly and unguardedly, and they could drop in for visits while in town, and no one would be embarrassed or offended or have to dance around the real issues like he was in this email.
Lea was the first to respond. "I have no problem with helping out," she wrote. "Women cook, everyone eats, men clean up after. Isn't that the way it usually works anyway?"
"I've met with clients in that neighborhood, and George is right, parking is horrible" Janey wrote. "You have to have a city permit just to park on the street. Business parking lots are patrolled, and they tow."
"If you want, everyone can gather at our place and carpool in. We have the Suburban, we can shove you in like circus clowns," Jerry offered. "It's easier to park one large car than a half dozen smaller ones."
"I'm alone this year, the Kid is doing Thanksgiving with his Dad," Marie wrote. "Same here," Lea chimed in, "just Niles and I." "Ditto," Kay the librarian responded. "No kids in tow."
