“All right, gentlemen,” Harold said, “secure the cards.”

“Danny,” Anne said, “will you and Paul set the table? Rich, you and Terry can fold the napkins and bring the centerpieces in from the family room. Harry, bring the dessert trolley in from the garage, please. James, will you decant the wine and set out the whiskey on the drinks tray? Steven, you come with me and help set the kids’ table.”

“You heard the lady,” Harold said to everyone. “Chop-chop.”

The Carmichael Thanksgiving was a rollicking mixture of traditional food and lively conversation. Harold said a typical Catholic grace—“Bless us, O

Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”—and then used an electric knife to carve the massive turkey.

We passed the plates instead of the serving dishes, and everyone drank wine. The talk steered clear of politics, but anything else was fair game, from children’s books to violence on TV. I had a surprising conversation with Danny and Sabrina about nudity in the movies. She and I agreed it was fine, while he was more prudish.

When everyone had eaten their fill and then some, Anne and Marianne brought out the dessert trolley. They cut slices of mincemeat and pumpkin pies and added huge dollops of real whipped cream. Christy ate an enormous slice of Lynne’s chocolate cake, while I had a much smaller piece. Rich must’ve eaten a dozen cookies that the girls had decorated especially for him.

Danny was eating a piece of pie when he pretended to bite into something hard. I tapped Christy’s knee to get her attention.

Marianne quietly slipped to the kitchen door and stuck her head through.

Danny played it up and tried to figure out what he’d bitten into. Sabrina grew concerned. Out of her sight, Marianne held open the kitchen door as the kids silently crept into the room. Danny pursed his lips and made it look like he pulled out a diamond ring. He held it up in surprise.

“Someone must’ve lost a ring in the mincemeat pie.”

Lynne made a show of checking her left hand. “No, I have mine.”

“It isn’t mine.” Marianne showed us her own ring finger.

“Not mine either,” Anne said.

“Oh, Danny, I wish!”

Everyone chuckled except Danny, who looked at the ring in confusion.

Sabrina still hadn’t caught on.

“Well… that’s odd,” he said at last. “Who’s missing an engagement ring?”

Marianne signaled the kids. Their high voices chorused, “Sabrina is!”

Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared at him with wide, misty eyes.

Danny knelt in front of her and took her left hand.

The whole table fell silent.

“Sabrina Claire Sharpe,” he said slowly, “will you do me the honor—”

Christy squeezed my hand.

“—the very great honor… of becoming my wife?”

He slid the ring onto her finger to cheers and applause.

Sabrina blinked back tears of joy as she stood and showed the ring to the other women. The rest of us shook Danny’s hand and congratulated him.

“This calls for a toast,” Harold said when the din quieted.

Jim went to the drinks tray and poured twelve glasses of the good stuff.

Harold raised his and waited for everyone to grow quiet. “Daniel, you’re a good man and a fine Marine, and I couldn’t be prouder. Sabrina, you’re a beautiful, devoted woman, and I know you love him with all your heart.”

“Not yet,” Danny stage-whispered.

Harold laughed with the rest of us and then smiled indulgently. “Danny, Sabrina… May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings, slow to make enemies, quick to make friends. But rich or poor, quick or slow, may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. Sláinte.”

Harold and the happy couple moved into the living room, along with the other men. The kids followed, but Anne and the rest of the women lingered behind. I stacked the plates nearest me, although Christy nervously tried to take them from me.

“You don’t have to, Paul,” Anne said. “Why don’t you go through with the men?”

“Where should I put them?” I said instead. “In the sink or on the

“The counter, please.”

So I helped the women clear the table. Christy seemed mortified at first, but she followed her mother’s lead.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said to Anne. “I’m not a big fan of tradition when it comes to ‘women’s work’ and ‘men’s work.’ Work is work, especially housework. Besides, I helped make the mess. The least I can do is help clean it up.”

“What a refreshing idea,” she said with a mixture of amusement and sincerity.

We finished clearing the table and left the kitchen for later.

“We’ll be nibbling all evening anyway,” Anne said. “No sense putting away leftovers and then having to get them back out again.”

“Right you are,” I said.

Marianne winked at me. “Birdy said you’re a keeper.”

Birdy herself turned pink.

Marianne gestured to Virginia and Amber to vacate a chair for me. I protested, but she insisted.