by Kathy Vandermark

Created on: November 21, 2008   Last Updated: November 26, 2008

Gloria woke and ran her hand across the emptiness of the bed, where her husband should have been laying. The sounds of pots rattling in the kitchen reminded her of what the day was, and she sighed and put the pillow over her head. It was Thanksgiving and she and her husband, Paul were going to be hosting their first event in their small apartment for both sets of parents.

Parents was what had stirred up the whole argument between the two of them. They didn't know which set of parents to invite. They had come to the conclusion that they were both inviting their own parents, and it was left at that.

They had been married a mere six months and Gloria never dreamed she and Paul would be fighting so soon, if at all. And she never dreamed that their interracial relationship would take a toll on the relationship, but it had. Paul was white and Gloria was African-American. They didn't know how to break the news of marriage to their parents, so they eloped. Paul and Gloria realized they had made a mistake by eloping, when they finally broke the news to each set of parents. Both mom's were upset that they didn't get to prepare for a wedding. But today, Thanksgiving, both families would join together, and Paul and Gloria both felt it wouldn't work out.

Gloria rolled herself out of bed and scampered to the kitchen for a drink of water. Paul, a chef at heart, was rushing around the kitchen, in his objective to develop a feast for a king. Gloria felt a pang of hurt and separation upon seeing him, and she hated they were barely speaking at the moment.

"Is there anything I help you with?" she asked quietly.

Paul kept his focus on the mixture he was stirring, as he politely answered her. "No. I got it all under control. The turkey's in the oven, expected to come out at noon and I'm working on the casserole right now."

"Well I'll go straighten up the house then." She entered the living room and fluffed up the cushions on the worn couch, wishing they had better living conditions with company coming. As she looked around, she knew she couldn't do much for the place. It wasn't dirty or messy, just poverty stricken because of their low income. She could at least store away the array of their music collection, she thought, picking up the latest works of Marc Broussard off of the coffee table. She definitely needed to lighten the mood so she slipped Josh Hoge into the CD player and turned it up enough that it could be heard through the distance of the apartment. A moment later, she could

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