Thanksgivings! We’d sleep on the floor of your family’s Connecticut farm house on pieces of foam, heaps of blankets. We’d wake up to the little border collie snuggled in between your legs. In my memory it is also snowing outside, falling on the trees and melting into the pond and dusting the little butter-colored baby chickens. In my memory it is everything wonderful I ever saw with you, curated into one weekend. Pickled okra, stuffing, cranberries, “these mashed potatoes are so creamy!” We’d eat all day on Thursday, fall asleep on the couch to Home For the Holidays Thursday night, sleep late on Friday and eat pie leftovers for breakfast and lunch. Your mom, fixing something. Your sisters, a dance party in the kitchen. I would knit something, you would read articles on your laptop and any time you laughed I would say “what?”

It’s well over a year later. I love someone else. I am beginning to accept that I may always miss this in November.