“Are you going out for thanksgiving,” he asked.
“No,” she said, her bluetooth clicking on. “They expect a thousand people a day to die when it’s over. If you don’t know how many that is, put a thousand spoons on your counter everyday. I mean a thousand on top of a thousand, on top of a thousand.”
“No one has a thousand spoons, let alone a thousand a day,” he said.
“I know that. What do you have a thousand of?”
“Nothing that I can think of,” he said.
“What you want to be grateful for, is NOT going out and saving the lives of the people you love and the people who work in hospitals and are first responders..”
“You’re right. Unfortunately, airports are packed.”
“I don’t understand it,” she said.
“Neither do I. People are tired of…”
“Living? Saving the lives of others?”
“I guess,” he said.
“Look, I’ll call you on thanksgiving and we can have dessert together. I’m going to have a chocolate sundae, with cookies and whip cream.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll have the same thing.”
“Pretend I’m hugging you right now,” she sighed.
“Not the same as being together, but hugs back.”