Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.
This year’s Thanksgiving excerpts come from Chapter 4, “Thanksgiving 1959,” of Little Ragdoll. While Adicia Troy and her four closest sisters are going to dinner at the Bowery Mission with their surrogate mother Sarah, and oldest sister Gemma is going to a friend’s house, the rest of the Troys bar delinquent Carlos are staying in the tenement for a pathetic excuse of a holiday meal.
“I got some turkey breast lunchmeat at the deli for seventy-five percent off since it was two days past the expiration date,” Mrs. Troy says proudly. “Our darling baby Tommy will eat even better than us, since I found some turkey meat at my job the other day. These rich people who eat at that hotel never ask for their leftovers to be wrapped up, so the wait staff throws the excess food in the garbage. People who throw food in the garbage are fools. I bet they’d have heart attacks if they knew poor people like us are getting free meals thanks to their pompous stupidity.”
“How much turkey meat is there?” Allen asks excitedly. “I hope it can feed all of us!”
“You ain’t getting none. That meat is for Tommy and Tommy only. You’re only my third-born; Tommy is my precious baby boy and the first boy after four girls in a row.”
The ten lines end here. A few more follow.
“But what if there’s leftovers? You really think a three-year-old kid can eat a full adult-size serving?”
“Tommy can get as chubby as he wants. It means my baby’s staying warm with extra body fat even if we can’t afford a rich boy’s coat. Now shut up and start setting the table.”
“I guess now ain’t the right time to ask why you and Dad always seem to have enough money for drugs and alcohol but not enough money to buy decent groceries.” Allen stalks over to the cupboard and pulls out four chipped white and orange plates from a tableware set his parents got as a wedding gift in 1941.