My First Friendsgiving

I loved my family, but hosting Thanksgiving dinner year after year? That was driving me crazy

- By GLORIA JOYCE, Willow Grove, Pennsylvania

Sitting on my deck enjoying the September breeze, I chatted on the phone with my best friend, Kris, who lived a couple hours away in Maryland. We texted frequently but tried to talk every so often to keep our friendship strong across the miles.

Out of the blue, she asked, “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”

An innocuous question, but I froze, my shoulders tensing. I knew exactly what I would be doing come Turkey Day. That was the problem.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” I said. There was nothing to discuss. I would be hosting, as I did every year for my extended family.

“It’s just us this year,” Kris said. “Why don’t you, Matt and the girls come spend the day with us? It’s been too long.”

I wanted more than anything to say yes. But that would mean saying no to my family. “Let me think about it,” I said, then changed the subject. “So how are your kids?”

I’d met Kris almost 30 years earlier when we lived across the hall from each other at Wesley College in Delaware. I had started college at 21, older than the typical first-year, and hadn’t been assigned a roommate. Kris had a difficult roommate and spent a lot of time in my room. I was lonely, and Kris was easy to be around. We both had longtime boyfriends, who also got along well. Her offer to become roommates the following year felt like an answer to prayer.

Kris said what she meant and meant what she said. Which I was drawn to, coming from a family that didn’t exactly communicate well. Kris and I talked about music, movies, classes, our boyfriends, our post-college plans. She even opened up about her family. I didn't. College was my escape from impossible-to-please parents.