By the time we got back into the kitchen, the table was set. And when I say set, I mean, set with two complete and separate dinners. The left side of the table was clearly Granny M's dinner: turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, spiced apples, homemade bread, sweet potato soufflé, and green bean casserole. On the right side was Peking Duck with plum sauce and handmade wrappers, eggrolls, a whole steamed fish, and a stir-fry of mixed vegetables. That was Wai Po's. Maybe this was going to be my last Thanksgiving dinner ever. Or anybody's last Thanksgiving dinner. If it was in fact my last Thanksgiving, I supposed I wouldn't want it any other way. I just hoped that they would get along, just this once, so I could have a happy memory. Mom sat down at the table last, even though it didn't look like she got to cook anything on her menu. She took off her apron and pushed hair out of her face. "Why don't you say the blessing over the Thanksgiving dinner, David," she said. Granny M didn't miss a beat. "In Hebrew." "The turkey isn't even kosher," I said. "It's still good practice," said my grandmother. What I really wanted to say was, Please, God, don't let the Soviets or my grandmothers blow us up on Thanksgiving Day . But I didn't know how to say that in Hebrew. Excerpted from This Is Just a Test: A Novel by Madelyn Rosenberg, Wendy Wan-Long Shang All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
