On the weekend of Canadian Thanksgiving, Amelia was rather nervous. They were going to George’s parents’ home for Thanksgiving dinner. George insisted they didn’t have to bring anything this year, and Amelia had to wonder if her new in-laws didn’t like her cooking.
“Should we bring pie?” Amelia asked her husband as they made their way around Costco. “I don’t even have to bake it. We could buy one here.”
“Aunt Agatha always brings the pie,” George said.
“What about salad?”
“Uncle Bert brings the salad. He grows his own lettuce.”
“What about a box of chocolates?”
“Mother said not to bring anything at all,” George replied. “And she is such an army sergeant when it comes to the dinner. Really, Amelia, it’s okay!”
But it didn’t feel okay! George dialled his cell phone, murmured into it and then passed it over to Amelia.
“It’s my mother,” he said.
Amelia shot George a very severe look at being put on the spot this way, but she took the phone and answered it.
“Hello? she said hesitantly.
“Amelia, my dear,” her mother-in-law said briskly. “You wanted to know what you can bring for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, Mrs. Frog,” Amelia said. “What can I bring?”
“Can George hear me?” she asked.
“No, Mrs. Frog.”
“Good. Amelia, my son is always late to Thanksgiving dinner, and if you could just get him here on time this year, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“I… I could do that,” Amelia said. And she was quite sure she could.
“And as for a contribution to the meal, you are newly married, my dear. All we want is your beautiful smile! We are so looking forward to having a good visit with you. No pressure, Amelia. Just come and do your best to hurry up your husband.”
When she hung up the phone, she cast George a sweet smile.
“We don’t need to bring anything, George,” she said. “Just ourselves.”
George and Amelia sat under their favorite tree, talking about all the family fun they had had at Canadian Thanksgiving dinner in October, which was a month earlier than American Thanksgiving. George had been so proud to sit next to his wife at the long, elegant table. She had sparkled and chatted and everyone loved her.
“Of course, they love you, Amelia,” George said. “You’re very loveable.”
Amelia leaned her head on his shoulder, and he felt very happy.
“I wonder what our contribution to the dinner will be next year,” George said thoughtfully, “when we are no longer newly married.”
“Oh, I already know,” Amelia said.
“You do?”
“My job is to bring you–on time. Apparently, you are always quite late.”
George straightened.
“Is that why you were prodding and pushing me?” George asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m not always late,” he said irritably. “I’m hardly ever late for you, am I?”
“And if your mother has her wish, you’ll never be late for again, either,” Amelia said, and she kissed George’s cheek. “Oh, George. Do this for me. Your mother will think I’m a miracle worker, and I do so want her to think I’m a miracle worker.”
And what could he say?
“All right, Amelia,” he agreed.
He couldn’t help feel that he’d been played by his very own wife and his very own mother… although it was hard to mind very much with Amelia’s head on his shoulder.
Amelia Frog worked from home as a book editor, and her main author was Patricia Johns who wrote romance novels. Amelia enjoyed the Amish characters. She especially liked the heroes who were so strong and decent. They knew what was right and what was wrong, and they loved the heroines so deeply. Patricia’s Amish heroes reminded her of her George.
As Amelia worked on Patricia’s newest story, she paused over the description of a roast beef dinner with mounds of mashed potatoes, savoury gravy, steaming vegetables, and a beef roast that made Amelia’s stomach rumble.
“Patricia is going to make me fat,” Amelia muttered to herself. She pushed back her chair and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
This was her third snack this morning, and it was only 10!
I hope you’re enjoying my Amelia and George stories. I sure do have fun with them. And if you’d like to take a peek at the books Amelia edits, you’d make her day and mine!
Happy reading!
❤
Patricia Johns 
Your comments make me feel warm and fuzzy. Seriously!