**Author’s note: I started my own publishing company in late 2019 — It’s A Go Publishing — in order to distribute my electronic short stories online.
Rags to Riches continues to be free below, but at present, it remains incomplete. I look forward to reviewing, editing, and continuing this short story in the coming months.
If you happen upon this post, and you would like to provide your feedback before I continue, please comment below. As always, thanks for reading. It’s A Go!**
Hi everyone,
Thank you for joining me to read part 23 of my first Saturday Story: Rags to Riches.
Have a great weekend! Happy Thanksgiving to my Canadian readers!
Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!
Amber Green
Rags to Riches
Part 23:
To Riches
After I received my windfall of wealth, my family and I were especially thankful for our new found financial freedom; it was all anyone could talk about- especially during that Thanksgiving.
It was the first major holiday we celebrated as a newly affluent family. I’ll never forget it. Everyone was so happy- and of course, we went all out with ridiculously expensive crystal stemware and china place settings.
It was also our first major holiday together since my father stopped talking to my brother, Chris after he told our parents that he and Dave were more than friends. (In the years following that Thanksgiving, my mother and sister looked on that day fondly because they said that we felt like a family for the first time in many, many months. I agree with them. The time that my father and brother did not speak was very hard on all of us- especially Chris.)
Before the money, we always had way too much food at family gatherings, but I imagined that the tabletop laboured under the weight of the countless platters teeming with steaming, delicious Thanksgiving cuisine that year.
As we sat down to give thanks and dig in, I noticed an odd look on my mother’s face.
“Mom? What is it?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Frankie. It’s just- this doesn’t feel right,” she said with some hesitation.
“Why?” My father asked, carving knife paused in hand.
“It’s just- well, we’ve been talking about how our lives have changed so much- and it’s great, Frankie, honey, really it is,” my mom said, assuring me that she appreciated the windfall that befell us. “It’s just- there are so many people who are alone, and don’t have enough to buy an order of fries on this holiday, let alone all of this…” she motioned to the feast that sprawled before us. “We’re lucky- we always have been.”
“Really, really lucky,” Dave added, and we chuckled.
“So, what do you want to do?” Chris asked our mom.
Priscilla answered before she had the chance. “Everyone grab a roll, and start packing it up. There’s a homeless shelter on Main Street.”
“All of it?!” My nephew, Nicholas, asked his mother in disbelief.
“Yes,” Priscilla said resolutely.
“But Mom, can’t we have some?” CJ asked.
“Put a roll in it, boys,” their father, Luke answered, as he took plastic containers from my sister.
“We can buy more. Other people can’t,” Priscilla explained.
Our lives changed, and we had purchased so much in the previous months that they understood and got onboard quickly. “Okay,” the boys said nicely (though I saw CJ look longingly at the pumpkin pie my mom packed away).
…
Our donation was warmly welcomed. I’ll never forget the look of gratitude and surprise on the faces of the people we met that night.
We thought that Thanksgiving was going to be our first grand holiday as an affluent family; instead, it bore a new tradition far richer than any we had ever known. The boys insisted that every Thanksgiving thereafter be spent cooking and donating food, money and time to those who need it most. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches after a fulfilling day of coming together, sharing our wealth and learning more about others became our new Thanksgiving tradition.
We are truly blessed and forever thankful.
From Rags
“Don’t worry, P,” I said, as I wiped down tables at the diner I manage. “You won’t have to do it all alone. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, but I can handle it,” Priscilla said. “I’m just stressed thinking that Dad won’t be here for Thanksgiving. He’s never missed it before. It won’t feel right.”
“I know,” I replied. “Maybe he’ll surprise us,” I said hopefully.
Priscilla snorted. “I don’t think so,” she said gloomily.
The door chime rang, and my favourite customer, Rosalee walked in. I waved to her and walked over to the coffee machine to get Rosalee’s usual order.
“I gotta go, P,” I said. “Don’t stress.”
“Okay. Thanks. Bye,” she said, and I ended the call.
“Hi Rosalee!” I said, genuinely happy to see her.
“Hello, dear,” she said warmly.
“Coffee and apple pie?”
“Need you even ask?” she said with a smile.
“I just want to make sure. We have pumpkin pie, if you want to change it up a bit.”
“The usual is fine, dear. I’m glad that you’re here.”
I looked at her from across the counter. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”
…………
*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2018-2020 Amber Green
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Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen