Thanksgivings

The next morning at my car as I was preparing to leave, the scene was emotional. Mom hugged me tightly with some tears in her eyes. When Mike's turn to hug me came, he had cried openly in front of Mom. I kissed him on the lips again. Finally, I'd broken the embrace and told them both how much I loved them. They both wished me well in my studies. As I had driven away I was sure Mike and I both knew the nature of our relationship was undergoing a metamorphosis. I hoped that given some time apart we could get passed all of this and resume a normal relationship.

I kept my word and stayed in contact with Mike after I left. I would call him on weekends and he'd seemed okay when I called. I made a point to write him at least once a month. He replied to all of my letters and even wrote me one out of sequence that was very upbeat. He was applying to Harvard and wondered if he could live in my apartment with me if he got accepted. I hadn't responded to that letter yet because my apartment wasn't very big and only had one bedroom with a twin bed. I was going to talk with him about it over Thanksgiving break.

Now, as I approached the turn off to our home, I realized my heart was racing. Mike would be there. I didn't want to disappoint him, but I was worried that his living with me might set us back. I turned on my radio to try and distract my thoughts only to be caught up in the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, 'I'm Not In Love' by 10cc. Its breathy background vocals laid bare the true nature of my feelings of denial.

The road sign welcoming me to Rhode Island - The Ocean State gave me a warm feeling inside. The closeness of water sometimes preserved a few more leaves on the trees in the area even this late, but this year only a few stragglers remained and evergreens were about the only barriers to viewing the landscape. Just a bit more driving and I was in Bristol and shortly after that, I rounded the last turn, where the absence of leaves allowed me to see the old home just down the road.

Pulling into the long winding cobblestone drive the leaves whipped up in the draft of the Thunderbird. The place was looking like it needed some attention. Only Mom and Mike were living there full-time now. The place was huge. I called it a home but most people would probably say it was an estate or mansion. A large charcoal black granite rock with one face highly polished welcomed me about a quarter of the way up the drive. On the face were ornately engraved large silver-white letters of the name as Dad had declared it: Mokem Miklet, which was Yiddish and roughly translated as 'attempt to create a refuge or sanctuary'. The marker was nearly half the height of the tall dual lantern gas lamp post that stood next to it.

Dad had bought the initial property with a very small house on it before Mike or I were even born. The small house was used as a guest cottage now, since it was only two bedrooms, one bathroom, an eat-in kitchen and a small family room. It had been big enough when my parents just had Ben and Rachel but when David was born Dad had put his grand plans into action and Mokem Miklet began to take shape.

Over the next several years Dad added something new each year. First was a much larger residence which was built a bit away, but caddy-corner to the smaller house so a traffic circle was formed. The main house had ten bedrooms and was finished right after Sarah was born. It had two masters on the main floor, four bedrooms on the second and third floor. The ground floor also had a large family room, spacious eat in kitchen, dining room, an office for Mom and Dad, a small den, a sitting room and two car garage.

Shortly after I was born Dad added a pool and a pool house with a sauna. Some of my first memories are of me and my family in the pool. When I started school, he added a tennis court because Dalia and Frank had gotten onto the high school tennis squad. Mike and I had started taking lessons at a fairly young age because of their interest. Eventually, we followed in their footsteps and joined the high school team. It was the only team type activity in which we'd participated and another point of shared interest we stayed with through high school.

As the older children started to drive Dad added a separate six-car garage that was three bays wide and two deep which had two apartments overhead. He'd referred to those as the double mother-in-law apartments. Both of my grandmother's had used them a few times over the years, but the guest house was much more practical since there were no stairs. Ben had lived in one of the garage apartments full time before he was married and they were frequently used by visiting friends or adult children. They gave a little more privacy and independence to the occupants. Once the larger garage was completed, the original garage had been bricked in and converted to a play room with pool table, TV and wet bar.

There would be plenty of room for the eighteen of us this Thanksgiving. There was still an outside chance that a couple of aunts, uncles and grandparents might come as well. Our folks were both the youngest children in their families. So their brothers and sisters were all retired or semi-retired. Our Dad's mother had passed last year, but his father might come. Mom's parents were slightly younger so they would probably come but it depended upon the weather.

As I got closer, I could see all three bays of the six car garage were open and I pulled through the middle one to park at the exit door. Beyond the open exit door I could see the tennis court just past where the drive split off and rejoined the long winding driveway. Looking through my driver side window, I smiled as I scrutinized what was presumably Mike's new toy.

Shortly after I'd headed off to college, Mom had taken Mike shopping for a car. Up to that point, he had been riding with me or using Mom's car when he needed to go somewhere. Mom might have been putting off buying him a car out of worry but once he was a senior, he was starting to need hers more and more, so she finally suggested he should have his own, and he'd jumped at the opportunity.

They had settled on a Jeep Wagoneer that had four wheel drive. I guessed Mom had probably accepted this choice, since she was funding the purchase and she was still a little concerned about safety with the history in our family. The Jeep met her requirements since it had higher road clearance, higher visibility and was a larger vehicle. The four-wheel drive part was just the thing for Michael's tech side. The day he got it, he'd called me and talked for a half-hour about its QuadraTrac automatic four wheel drive, Trac-Lok differential, power disc brakes, eight track tape player and countless other details he'd absorbed about it.

Turning off the engine, I unbuckled myself and reached to open my door, only to find it swinging outward and away from my reach. Just as suddenly, Mike took my extended left arm and assisted me from the car, nearly lifting me from my seat in his eagerness to hug me. Perhaps he'd been tinkering in his Jeep but I hadn't seen him waiting and the surprise of him being there, holding me so tightly, heightened my anxiety instantly.

"God, Maya. You don't know how much I've missed you!" he exclaimed.

I hugged him back. "I missed you too," I whispered, as my voice cracked and tears started to flow.

Damn it, I cursed my weakness.

This was exactly what I hadn't wanted, although my body was responding differently. Mike's hug was very comforting; it made me feel safe, protected and warm. There was still a bit of a nip in the early morning air. The damp air coming off of the salt water made it feel that much cooler. It soaked the heat right out of you. Finally, breaking the embrace I reached back into the car to retrieve my wool coat and pulled it over my shoulders.

"Here, let me get your bags," Mike said, as he held his hand out for the keys.

I handed him the keys and followed him to the trunk. His long dark hair was parted on the right side and was partially covering his left eye. Out of habit, I pushed it back in a comb of fingers so I could see him. He'd kept his hair almost shoulder length since the accident. It was how he hid himself from the world. I needed to look into his deep blue eyes. They were sparkling in the low angle mid-morning sun. He broke into a broad smile full of teeth, the dimples in his cheeks forming instantly, which made him look so cute.

"What?" he asked.

"It's really good to see you, Mike," I told him very honestly.

He looked well. His features weren't as gaunt as they had been the weeks leading up to my departure. He had grown up some emotionally; it was clear. Maybe it was me who was still dependent. I didn't want to think about it, so I tried to redirect my thoughts.

"I like your Jeep," I said, pointing to the Wagoneer.

"It's fun to drive."

"Looks like I'm the first to arrive. Mom's last letter said I'd be staying in your room, right?" I asked hopefully.

"I think that was the plan. The rooms will be almost full. Mom was trying to leave a couple rooms vacant in case others could make it," he said.

He headed out of the garage lugging the heavy ivory colored case. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, closed the trunk and then followed him out.

As I followed him, I thought about the arrangements Mom had made. Even if she'd have put me in my old room, he would have been on the other side of the Jack-n-Jill bathroom. She probably knew that wouldn't last, she'd never tried or even suggested that we distance ourselves from each other.

I followed Michael across the court yard between the two houses. The large holly bush in the central brick planter was full of nearly red berries this year. Thick solid wrought iron hand rails welcomed us as I followed him silently up eight wide brick steps that led to the front door. A newer brick wheel chair ramp came up from the left side of the front porch. A similar ramp had been installed at the back of the house, but there was no way to retrofit the steps into the garage play room, although Mom had its exit doorway widened.

"Where's Mom?" I asked, when I realized her car hadn't been in the garage and wasn't parked in the circular cobblestone path either.

"Oh, she had to make a trip into the office shortly after you called. She didn't say what for exactly," he said shrugging.

Mike opened the rightmost of the darkly stained and carved redwood double doors. He held it open for me and as I passed through it, I observed the tarnished bronze mezuzah case near the upper portion of the right-hand door frame had been polished a bit. The raised Hebrew lettering and Star of David shown a bit brighter, which made me smile. The item wasn't new, it'd been there as long as I could remember but it'd recently been cleaned a bit which made me believe they'd probably had the mezuzot parchments inside the case checked by a qualified scribe as well. It's placement on our door frame wasn't unusual either, since it was common even for nonobservant Jews to have them. The cleaning and checking of the parchments, however, was about Mom or Mike trying to make our relatives, that were religious, feel welcome.

Once I was inside he closed the thick solid door and led the way through the vestibule. Then he headed up the right redwood-tread stairway towards Michael's and my old bedrooms. The stairs to the left led to Rachel and Sarah's rooms. Ben, David, Frank and Dalia's rooms had all been on the third floor, but were vacant most of the time now. Dad had built the house so that the upper floor could be isolated from the rest of the house and use little or no cooling and less heat, just keeping it warm enough that pipes wouldn't freeze.

At the top of the stairs we turned left following the open redwood banister railing supported upon white spindles and sturdy redwood posts. The open area here overlooked the vestibule and waterfall fountain cascading prism chandelier that hung there. When we reached my room, I looked inside to find most everything was like I'd left it four months ago. My tall mahogany four poster queen bed was nicely made with extra pillows, ruffley topper and matching comforter. The bed was at an angle to the wall and my matching mahogany chest on chest highboy dresser sat in the wedge it formed. The wall at the other corner was decorated with a few awards and mementos. A window separated it from my desk which contained a lamp and some stuffed animals from childhood. Seeing them now, I found these inanimate things brought back so many memories and made me wish I were living here again.

This long weekend, however, I would be rooming with Michael. Mike really disliked being called by that name, but it was how I still thought of him. I had to mentally correct myself frequently, even after all these years. It probably made him think about Dad's death. That was how we'd been called to the office that portentous day. Michael and Maya Aaron, come to the office, please. A couple weeks later he was Mike, like that other guy never existed. He wouldn't even answer if you called him Michael.

Approaching the redwood door to his room I saw the ornately polished pewter Mike sign attached by a couple hooks. I was instantly reminded of how the plaque came to be there. We had gone to get our licenses at the same time; I was seventeen and he was sixteen. Mike had encountered difficulty after he'd passed the tests because they wouldn't put 'Mike' on his license. He'd obstinately refused the one they'd made him. They said they were required to use his full legal name. So, Mom actually had it legally changed. It was one way she had acknowledged his grief, his damage and tried to help fix it. The plaque had been a gift the day the paperwork came back. Dad probably wouldn't have liked it much since Michael was named after our Dad's father in a fashion, Lev Michael Aaron. However, to Mike, it was a new beginning.

Mike's room was obsessively tidy and orderly. To me, this simply seemed to mirror the compartmentalization that must be occurring in his mind. Inside the room, his sturdy walnut sleigh queen bed was made with a handsome royal blue patchwork quilt and two king size pillows. There were no ruffles or frilly bits in his room. Comparing it to mine, it was kind of Spartan. His simple antique dresser had an antique shaving stand on it, which had an attached pivoting mirror. There were no nick-knacks, pictures, watches, knives or anything of that nature visible.

His desk was similarly clear. There was a thick piece of glass that was used to protect the writing surface. But there was nothing atop that or even slid underneath, not even a calendar. All the little drawers across the top were where Mike kept anything that might have otherwise set upon his desk. On top of the drawer section was a wind up antique mantel clock which had been our great grandfather's. Mike kept it wound and cleaned. He'd even repaired it once, when horseplay had knocked the pendulum into one of the gears. I think its ticking calmed him, providing a metronome for his highly sensitive mind. Soft gentle sounds seemed to soothe him. Even as a young boy he would frequently be brought to tears when there were loud noises or yelling. In grade school, it had earned him the unfortunate diminutive of 'crybaby' for a time.

The window facing the south had sunlight streaming in through the open floor length royal blue drapes that matched the patchwork quilt. The mid-morning fall sun gave the austere room a somewhat cheery glow. To the right of this window was the door to the bathroom, which stood open. Seeing it reminded me I needed to use it. While Mike put my bag on the blanket chest, I dropped my backpack, purse and coat at the end of his bed next to that and made for the door.

"I've got to use the privy, I'll be right back," I told him.

Entering the restroom I found Mike's aroma thick and musky. I closed the six panel door, lowered my slacks and panties so I could sit and void my bladder. Before the accident, there had been frequent conflicts over whose turn it was or how long we each were staying in the central portion of the bathroom. The fact that there were water closets off either end had made things a little better, but the shower area had been a battleground. After Dad's passing, we were suddenly much gentler with one another. We were patient, calm, subdued, supportive and, yes, inextricably codependent. I wiped myself absently in the realization that I still was. I found the distinctly teenage male odors here prodding my mind towards the memories of those tender moments spread out over the final years of high school.

Standing I returned my panties and straightened them as I tried to ignore the tingle that was developing as the dampened cotton contacted me. I pulled up my slacks and wondered when that might have begun as I washed up at the black and white marble pedestal sink. I rejoined him back in his room and found him sitting at his desk in the accompanying maple desk chair. He swiveled it towards me as I entered his room. His arms relaxed on the curved wooden arm rests as he watched me sit on the edge of his bed facing him.

After a few moments of silence, he pressed me, "You didn't reply to my last letter, Maya." He certainly wasted no time coming right to the point.

"Mike, I'm sorry. I was busy with midterms when it came in the mail."

While that was absolutely true it didn't reveal that I had opened it immediately and read it through several times. I'd then made numerous attempts, to try writing him back, but each response quickly met its demise as an addition to an increasing pile of crumpled papers in the waste bin by my desk inside my apartment, because I simply couldn't bring myself to say what I knew should have been said. I still couldn't.

"I don't know if I can do it without you," he said softly. "These past few months of high school have been even harder with you gone."

We were always very open with each other about our feelings. That honesty made it much easier to help one another after the accident. I hadn't been playing fair these past months. After I left for college, I'd been hiding my concerns from him with the miles between us as my excuse. Hiding wasn't really the right word, maybe avoiding them whilst obsessing over them. Mike knew of my concerns to an extent already, he just didn't agree that our codependency was a problem to be avoided. Quite the opposite, he cherished what we had. Being completely honest with myself, I cherished it as much or more. But I worried, I worried a lot. We were already so damaged.

Mike's chair squeaking slightly brought my attention back to the moment. My long silence was wearing thin and the noise was due to him turning to stare out the other window, his eyes glassy and sad. I went to him at once and leaned to hug him.

"Of course, you can live with me." I heard the words tumbling from my mouth. That's not what I'd told my mouth to say. I was going to use softer Let's see... kinds of phrases.

Oh, well. Ironically, my weaker self was taking charge of the situation for the moment, I thought.

He leaned forward in the chair hugging me tightly around my waist. His head resting against my tummy, I ran my hand through his long dark hair comforting him. A small damp spot formed on my slacks as a few tears escaped his right eye.

Then without really thinking about it clearly, I was raising him from the chair to a standing position so we could hug more directly, more intimately and perhaps help stem those tears. Mike met my gaze and I wiped the tears from his left eye. I hugged him and our faces brushed together. He returned my hug with strong arms and I suddenly found his face tilting to meet me in a kiss. I should have turned away. This wasn't going to make things any better and it might make them worse. But I didn't. I hadn't the willpower but it was more than that; I didn't want to turn him away. It was essentially where we'd left things that night before I'd departed for college. Only now, he was returning those feelings to me tenfold.