At 5:30 p.m., the night before Thanksgiving, my phone rang.
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
"I borrowed videos from the library and I'm going to eat spaghetti in my pj's while I watch them."
"Can I come to your house? I'll bring a pumpkin roll."
"Don't you have anywhere else to go?"
I went to the store and bought the smallest turkey. It weighed 24 lbs. I don't remember everything I prepared, but I recall baking yams, mashing potatoes and stirring gravy. I'm sure I made something green, but I couldn't tell you if it was a salad or peas. I probably made something into a casserole, with either corn or green beans as the primary ingredient.
He brought wine. When I nudged the cork from the neck of the bottle, it exploded and vinegar rained down from the kitchen ceiling. I laughed. He didn't.
It was a snowy day and his dog's breath fogged the windows of his truck. I refused to serve dinner until he brought him inside, not realizing the dog wasn't housebroken.
My friend was too heavy to bend over and clean up after his dog, but I didn't mind. He didn't eat much, so I packed up the leftovers and sent them all home with him.
A few days later, he called again. "I bought a Christmas wreath for your house."
A high school classmate left a message on my voicemail, which I didn't return. "We drove by your house. There was a big fat guy hanging a wreath on your front door."