Thanksgiving

Our glasses were refilled from the pitchers, with the usual comments about head. I grinned at Ed as I slid his glass to him. “There you go, my friend,” I said. “Drink up.”

“Thanks,” he said. He seemed suddenly subdued. He’s a moody guy but he’d just been laughing and joking. I wondered what threw the switch.

“You okay?” I said.

He nodded and took a quick sip of beer.

“What are your Thanksgiving plans?” I said.

Ed shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Still firming.” Sitting up, he turned and looked at me. “I just realized while sitting here, that I don’t have any memories of Thanksgiving with Dad.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Wow. Did he pass early?”

“No, he’s still alive, almost ninety,” Ed said. “I guess he was either gone or working in the early years, and then he and Mom divorced. I visited with him after the divorce, but I guess I never spent Thanksgiving with him. It’s just a surprise to realize that.”

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