Thanksgiving Pudding

Evelyn rang the doorbell and waited patiently on the porch to gain entry into the home she despised. After an interminable passage of moments, the matriarch opened the double doors.

“Oh. Evelyn. It’s you. Where’s Jamesy-wamesy?”

“Happy Thanksgiving Mrs. Kroy. James couldn’t make it. He -”

“The Meyers case?” Mrs. Kroy waved a diamond studded hand at Evelyn. “He told me all about it. Tickle-face never keeps secrets from his mother. I only wish he’d relax his work ethic this once and join us today. Well, come in.”

The McMansion was decked out for the holiday in typical Kroy fashion. Lavish autumn garlands adorned with ribbons, fake cranberries, and pine cones spanned corner to corner in the large living room. Mini gourds and giggling scarecrows replaced the usual rose bouquets as centerpieces on tabletops. Pumpkin spice filled the air.

Mrs. Kroy led Evelyn through the hallway. “I haven’t seen much of you lately. Just an observation mind you, not a complaint. What is that you’re holding there?”

“A casserole I baked for the occasion. I made it special for your family.”

“A dish?” The matriarch laughed. “Jamesy loves telling me about your adventures with the stove. You probably shouldn’t have.” She motioned to one of the servants busying themselves around the house. “Rosa, take this casserole here and put it on the table with the rest of the dishes.” Rosa bowed before Mrs. Kroy and took the pan from Evelyn. “Come now child. We were sitting to eat when you arrived. I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

Evelyn knew that thought was more like a wish.

Six Kroys sat at a grand oak dining room table abuzz in their side conversations and smug in their self-satisfaction. Evelyn winced before taking a seat on the cushioned chair. She shifted her weight to her right side to avoid putting pressure on the left. Jamesy-wamesy’s punches were brutal that morning.

“And where’s Sunny Boy?” Mr. Kroy asked.

Evelyn didn’t bother answering and listened as the elder Mrs. filled in the blanks.

“Honeypup is hard at work at the firm today.” She looked at Evelyn for a second then back at her husband. “I swear, he seems to love what’s at his job more than what’s in his own home. But Jimmy-toes always worked so hard, right? Remember his first business, that lemonade and pretzel stand?”

“Yes, Mom. I remember. Peachybear, or whatever baby name you call him, was a real wunderkind.” Jenner, the middle sister, plopped in the chair next to Evelyn. “Best bro in the world.” Evelyn held in her distaste for the new arrival. One of those SJW types, Jenner reeked of wheatgrass and Lilith Fair. She scanned the dinner table. “Mom, you do know that I’m vegan now?”

“Yes, Jen-Win. I know. I’m sure you’ll still find much to your liking. Evelyn brought a casserole.” Mrs. Kroy’s snickers were contagious. “Perhaps we should start our meal with that.”

Evelyn agreed. “It’s not vegan, but I promise it’s all delicious. I know you’ll love it.”

“Let’s begin with your casserole then. Rosa!”

Rosa removed the lid. Pure culinary succulence overtook the pumpkin spice perfuming the air. The Kroys licked their lips.

“This smells delectable!” Mr. Kroy exclaimed.

“Smells like heaven,” Uncle Chester declared, “can’t wait to sink my teeth in.”

All perked up as Rosa began scooping Evelyn’s casserole onto their plates. All except the Mrs.

“Heaven, you say Chester? That reminds me of the time my sugarbear got that ridiculous tattoo across his stomach. Remember Edgar?”

Mr. Kroy could only nod as his mouth was stuffed with casserole.

“What was it? A screaming angel climbing a ladder, Jacob’s ladder. I couldn’t even get angry with my little Jimmybird. I made him go to Dr. Conroy’s straightaway for a shot though and -”

Mr. Kroy interrupted the Mrs. “Evelyn dear, this is scrumptious. Are you sure you made this? With your very own hands?”

“Yes sir. Took me all afternoon. Took away my appetite too apparently.”

“You’re not eating?” Jenner asked through a mouth dripping with casserole gravy. Everyone stared at her. “What?” she said. “Look, I do still possess the right and privilege to change my mind about things, don’t I?”

The Mrs. glared at Jenner as Rosa handed her a plate. She tossed the food around first then placed a forkful in her mouth. She closed her eyes. “Well, Evelyn. I suppose this is one time a meal worked out okay for you. This is... nice.” She fed herself forks piled high with casserole. “Looks like my family might just eat clean through the foil lining the bottom.”

“I didn’t use any foil to line the bottom of the pan.”

“You didn’t?” Mrs. Kroy smiled. “I guess you’ll expect my workers to scrub out the caked on mess when it’s time to wash dishes. Young wives these days. There really should be classes of some sort.” She grabbed Evelyn’s pan, nearly emptied of the casserole, and gave it an inspection. “What is this at the bottom then? Wax?”

Evelyn said nothing.

The elder Mrs. took a spoon and scraped about the tannish sheet that stretched across the 13X9 inches. It was both withered and smooth, and wilted upwards along the edges.

“What is this Evelyn?” Mrs. Kroy demanded.

“Just a dish I made special for everyone here. Made it with all the things you love most, so I knew you’d like it.”

Mrs. Kroy dropped the pan onto the table and gasped.

“What is it Agatha?” Mr. Kroy and the others ran over to the Mrs. and looked closely at what lined the pan.

A tattooed picture of an angel screaming atop a ladder peeked through the leftover morsels and chunks.

Mrs. Kroy cried. “No, it can’t be. My pudding?”

Evelyn smiled for the first time that day.