It All Started With A Kiss

IX. (Part Three)

  During the drive back, Jackson had painted a vivid picture of what Thanksgiving at his house would entail. His voice filled the car's silence as he described the bustling atmosphere, roasted turkey wafting through the air, and the warmth of family gathered around a beautifully set table. He said each person would take their turn to share heartfelt expressions of gratitude. I tried to imagine myself in that moment, surrounded by people who might not fully know or understand me, questioning whether I'd feel at ease or out of place in such a setting.

Justin and Britney took the most time. In a holdover from their hippie days, they thanked everybody and everything.

They would take a moment to express their gratitude for the intricate cycle of nature that rejuvenates the soil each season, ensuring bountiful harvests. They would offer thanks for the nourishing rain, which brings life to the vibrant plants and helps purify the air by washing away harmful toxins. Each family member would reflect on cherished memories of old friends, profoundly appreciating the times shared and the bonds formed. Together, they would celebrate their family ties, acknowledging the support, love, and laughter that each person brings into their lives, fostering a deep sense of thankfulness for one another's presence.

My family would say, "Let's eat," after they told me how beautiful I was.

Recognition was something I had always associated with my achievements, a validation that had once felt satisfying yet insignificant. It was the sole lens through which the world acknowledged my existence. I had grown accustomed to this reality, hardly giving it a second thought or feeling discontent. After all, with so much abundance surrounding us, why waste precious moments reflecting on what we had? Yet, now, an unsettling feeling began to creep in, like a persistent gnawing in the back of my mind, urging me to reconsider everything I had taken for granted. The weight of that realization became more challenging to ignore, and I questioned the depth of my appreciation for the life I led.

I may have been disappointed when I got home, but I was not surprised: I look beautiful.

Did they know I had come back from school? Did they know I had some kind of life there? Did they notice how distracted I was?

I'm questioning my life and my choices, and they're making small talk the few times anybody says anything other than, "Please pass the" whatever.

Thanksgiving dinner was even more disappointing than I had anticipated. In truth, it mirrored the past gatherings in every way, but that only amplified my sense of despair. It made me wonder if they held each other in as little regard as they did me. The atmosphere was thick with forced smiles and polite chatter, and I couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider at a table full of familiar faces.

The weekend was bustling with activity, yet I felt oddly disconnected. On Friday night, I was set to meet up with my high school friends, a tight-knit group I had grown up with. They would undoubtedly be eager to catch up, peppering me with questions about my life—what I was doing these days, who I was dating, and if I was even happy. I imagined their curious faces, waiting for stories that I wasn't sure I had the energy to share. Would I reveal how my Thanksgiving was just another reminder of my loneliness, or would I put on a brave face and pretend everything was perfect?

I would keep the information sparse and pry that same information from them to better maintain my aura of invincibility.

Saturday night was the highly anticipated "A" party at the country club, a gathering renowned for its elegance and exclusivity. My parents had meticulously planned an afternoon event at our home, where I would be the centerpiece, introduced to all the eligible sons of their social circle. It felt like I was on display—an unwritten rite of passage for young women in our community. In previous years, I'd gained quite a bit of insight and experience from these gatherings, often observing the dynamics of love, ambition, and rivalry unfold before me. After all, a proper girl couldn't simply place a personal ad; her social standing depended on these carefully orchestrated introductions and the connections that blossomed from them.