“Ok, people, chop chop! We’ve only a few hours until people start showing up. You all know how early Uncle Hal likes to get here for Thanksgiving, and we have no idea how early the rest of the family is going to arrive. Where’s Gravy?”

Mom was really taking ownership of Thanksgiving this year. And it made sense too, given that half of the family joining us had never celebrated Thanksgiving with us before. I guess the drive from Miami to Atlanta had always been a little too far for that part of the family until now.

“I’m here, mom!” I shouted from the other room.” Don’t even say it, I’m already prepping to make the gravy!”

I still can’t believe it’s 2015 already. Hell, I can’t believe it’s almost 2016! If I’m calculating correctly, that makes it...nine years – nine years! – since my wife’s family sat down with mine for the first time to enjoy Thanksgiving together. Apologies for the cliché, but it really does feel like yesterday since we all joined to celebrate this joyous occasion. But more importantly, it feels like only yesterday since I was given one of the most critical tasks of the night: making the gravy.

Gravy is such an interesting part of this endeavor that we call Thanksgiving Day. You see, it seems like one of the easiest parts of the whole process. I mean, it’s just a flavorful liquid that usually has a step-by-step guide printed right on the back of the ingredients box. There’s hardly anything to it, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. Gravy isn’t merely used to compliment a single dinner item. When most people use it, they pour it all over their entire meal. It goes well with mashed potatoes, turkey, biscuits, ham, and nearly every other part of Thanksgiving dinner. And it’s for this reason that it’s crucial to make sure the finished gravy product is absolutely perfect. Otherwise, you’ll feel the immediate and delayed depth of your family’s disappointment. Immediate, from the expressions on their faces, of course. But also delayed because of the thoughts that the family will share with one another behind your back, which slowly eats away at the beauty of your familial communion, like a rusty spike driven into the base of the strongest tree

So why me? Why was I selected to be the one to make the gravy every year? I can say for sure that I’ll never know why I was chosen for the first year, but I know the exact reason why I’ve been chosen to make it every year since. It’s because my gravy is perfect. It’s flawless. It’s the exact consistency it should be. The flavor is spot on. There’s always more than enough for everyone to enjoy it. And it’s how I got the only-during-Thanksgiving nickname, Gravy

Mom laughed at my response. “I figured you’d be working on it already. Seems like you start working on it before you even need to!”

Needing to focus, I ended the conversation by not responding. But what she said did leave a smile on my face because unbeknownst to her, I did begin my work before Thanksgiving actually arrived. Several days before, in fact. I wafted my hand near the bowl so I could get an idea of how it was coming along and was instantly reminded that the best gravy is one that’s been marinating well before it’s expected to be eaten. It needs time for the spices to completely blend with the rest of the ingredients. And you just don’t get that if it’s rushed last minute. My mouth began watering. This may be the best year yet.

“Oooo, I can smell it already,” Jen said about forty minutes later to no one in particular as she took another deep breathe through her nose. Her mouth started watering as well

To Jen, mom said, “Honey, can you ask your brother if he’s sure he doesn’t want to finish up out here with the rest of us? I know that he doesn’t like a crowded kitchen, but there’s plenty of room for him.”

“Heard that,” I shouted. “I’m fine, just finishing up.”

I don’t know where mom got the idea that my reason for making the gravy in another room is because I don’t like to feel too crowded. It’s true, but I’ve never told her that. I just let it slide to avoid conflict. In actuality, I have a few reasons for making it in solitude, the first being that I prefer the privacy. Everyone looks forward to the gravy each year, and I feel like all eyes are on me when I make it in the kitchen. I’m already feeling the pressure from making it, and I don’t need to feel even more. They’re probably just wanting to find out what my secret is anyway. Well tough, they’ll never know.

“What color is it going to be this year, Gravy?” Dad shouted.

“It baffles me that you know that you won’t get an answer to that question, yet you still ask it every year,” Jen responded to her father, shaking her head and smiling.

Oh yeah, my second reason for making it alone: for the surprise! I don’t want to come across as full of myself, but not only have I perfected brown gravy over the years, but I’ve managed to perfect a number of other kinds as well. I’m going for yellow this year (but don’t tell them yet).

Looking down, I determined that I was about halfway there. I heard a knock at the front door, then an exaggerated, “Uncle Hal!” from a few people in the house. I glanced at my watch and noticed that he hadn’t arrived early this year. A bead of sweat landed on the rim of the bowl as I realized that the rest of the family would be arriving any minute. I began scooping what I had made into a bigger bowl while I pushed harder to get the rest finished. More knocks on the door came and I could hear the rest of the family pour into the house.

“Can’t wait to try this year’s batch of gravy, I’ve been waiting all year! Hopefully we can take some home this year. Speaking of, where’s Gravy at?” I think that was the voice of Aunt Mary.

“He was just coming out to greet everyone,” mom’s voice got louder as she finished the sentence and turned her head toward the room I was in.

Completely exhausted, I wiped my hole and buttoned my pants, grabbed the bowl of what I hoped was enough fresh yellow gravy, and, just in time, made my entrance to the family. I’d given everything I had.