On the day after Thanksgiving, Sarah woke to discover her unborn twins apparently engaged in an in utero kickboxing match to the accompaniment of her growling stomach. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for the crackers her husband had left on her nightstand beside a glass of water. She gently stroked her abdomen as she nibbled, taking care not to drop crumbs on the bed, and thought about the busy day full of friendship and fun awaiting her. It would be a quilter's holiday at Elm Creek Manor, and as soon as Sarah satisfied her hunger pangs, she would drag herself out of bed and seize the day.
“Morning,” Matt said sleepily, propping himself up to kiss her cheek and then her tummy, twice. His curly blond hair was flattened against his head on one side and his brown eyes were still half closed. “Honey, I’ve been thinking . . .”
“How have you had time to think? You just woke up.”
“I’ve been awake for a while, lying here watching you nibble your crackers.”
Sarah held out a saltine. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I’ll wait to see what Chef Anna’s fixing for breakfast. Yesterday Jeremy mentioned that he was going to drop her off early on his way to Chicago.”
“I’m afraid you’re on your own.” Sarah carefully sat up against the headboard, drew her long, reddish-brown hair over one shoulder, and muffled a grunt as she leaned over for the glass of water. “Jeremy’s dropping Anna off for our quilter’s holiday—not for kitchen duty. Sylvia insisted she take the morning off.”
“After preparing that Thanksgiving feast yesterday, she deserves a day of rest.”
Sarah sighed happily, remembering. Although she had toasted the holiday with ginger ale rather than the California cabernet sauvignon her friends and family had enjoyed, for the first time in her adult life, she had indulged in a Thanksgiving feast without giving calories a second thought. “I’m eating for three,” she had responded cheerfully when her mother cautioned her against taking such generous helpings of Chef Anna’s succulent roast turkey and savory cranberry cornbread dressing. Green beans and butternut squash had never seemed more flavorful, and best of all, she didn’t have to choose between pumpkin pie and apple cake for dessert but took modest slices of both.
“Matt’s going to have to roll you upstairs to bed tonight,” her mother had remarked. “You won’t need to eat for a week.”
Carol had gained only twenty pounds in her pregnancy, or so she claimed, but Sarah had left that number behind long ago.
“Anna earned the time off,” Sarah agreed, “so it’s oatmeal or cereal for you this morning, honey.”
“I’ll make up for it at the potluck lunch.” Matt propped himself up on his elbows, motioned for her to scoot forward, and slipped his pillow between her back and the cold brass bars of the headboard. “Husbands are allowed at the feast, right? Even though we aren’t participating in the quilting bee?”
Sarah smiled, but her gaze traveled past Matt to the window, where the light peeking below the curtains was thin and November gray. The weather forecast called for snow, but not enough to keep her friends away. “You know the rule. Everyone who brings a dish to pass will have a place at the table, quilter or not.”