Chapter 20
HANNA
“Hello, Wilson, how are you today? Ready for Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask my father’s oversized orange cat who’s perched in his usual spot on the back of the couch.
Thankfully, whatever my dad gave me ended up being a minor version of the flu.
Miles mentioned that his friend who’s a nurse told him some sort of virus is going around that looks a lot like the flu, but only lasts a few days instead of a week like the normal flu does.
Thank god because feeling like that for longer than seventy-two hours would have been the worst.
Miles was nice enough to hangout for the majority of Monday to make sure I kept my food down and got enough fluids.
When I started to feel bad again later in the afternoon, I told him he could go while I took another nap.
He watched as I texted both my family group chat and Rae to tell them I was feeling sick and was pleased to hear that my entire family unit was going to swoop in that night to play doctor.
I knew I shouldn’t have told him where I lived and I definitely should not have let him stay as long as he did, but it was nice to have another person to lean on for once.
The last several years of my life I’ve been so focused on career, career, career, that I don’t think I realized that I was missing out on another key piece of life: finding someone to share it with.
“Honey bee, where’d you put your casserole, sweetie?”
Turning, I find my mom standing in the doorway of the living room wearing her favorite apron.
One that she wears every year and only on Thanksgiving.
I don’t know where she found it, a thrift store probably, but it’s stitched together with a million different patterned fabrics that come together to make a massive turkey across the front of it.
When I was little, I’d stare at it all day and count the different fabric pieces while she cooked.
Holidays were really the longest time I got to spend with her since she was always so busy traveling for work.
Seeing her in it now makes my heart happy.
“I put it in the warming drawer,” I reply, standing from the couch to head for the kitchen.
“Ah, yes, of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
Following behind her, I hear the sounds of fuzzy music getting louder.
We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at Dad and George’s house this year.
Dad, having moved in with George a few years back, inherited a vinyl collection that any true music enthusiast would lose their mind over.
Walking through the kitchen and into the front room, I’m met with shelves filled to the brim with paper sleeves.
There has to be hundreds of different albums on the shelves.
I once asked George how many vinyls he owns and he told me he’s somewhere in the twelve to fifteen hundred range.
Every time you come over, a different one is playing.
Today’s flavor is nineties Nirvana. The classic naked baby swimming in the pool album cover stares back at me from where it’s propped up next to the record player.
“Hanna, I’d like to apologize again for passing my germs to you last weekend. I told your dad he should stay home but he insisted on going for his morning walk with you,” George says, resting a hand on my shoulder as he passes me to sit at the table.
Dad scoffs, overhearing the blame being put on him. “I told you, I felt fine when I left the house. I didn’t mean to get her sick. How was I supposed to know I was that contagious?”
“Uhm, probably by listening to your partner for once?” George asks, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into an embrace.
“Mmm, doesn’t sound like me,” Dad teases with a cocky smirk. He rests a hand on George’s chest and leans in for a kiss. It’s sweet, watching them be happy. But it makes my heart long for the same thing.
“Some things never change,” Mom mumbles under her breath from where she’s standing in the kitchen.
I take the casserole dish from her and she winks at me.
Passing a smile between the two of us, I turn and take a few steps before setting the dish down on the round glass table George has set for dinner.
A full set of gorgeous Creamware plates sit out with smaller saucers set in the center of them.
Floral printed napkins are folded on the table as well while a large, fresh bouquet of flowers creates the centerpiece.
“George, the table looks amazing this year,” I compliment. He smiles shyly, admiring his table setting.
“The plates have been in my family forever. I feel like at one point my mother mentioned they were supposed to be passed down through the women of the family. When she only had one child, and that child ended up being a very gay son with an appreciation of beautiful tableware, she decided bending the rules was okay.” He laughs and reaches for a plate, wiping the edge of one with his thumb.
“Alright, dinner is ready.” Mom comes out of the kitchen, hands protected by oven mitts covered in cats, holding a serving tray with a roasted chicken instead of turkey.
I never really liked turkey growing up, so one year we roasted a chicken instead.
The tradition stuck and we’ve done it every year since.
George and Dad gasp at the tray as she carries it.
“Mel, it looks amazing,” George says, eying the slow roasted veggies that are scattered around the meat. “Thank you so much for cooking that up for us to enjoy.”
“Of course, it’s been my job since Hanna was small and it will continue to be my job until I die,” she boasts confidently. She isn’t wrong. She is always in charge of roasting the Thanksgiving bird. Turkey or not.
I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek. “It looks incredible, Mom. Blue ribbon job, just like always.”
Setting the tray down, she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you, honey bee. I’m so grateful for you today and every day. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I reply, squeezing her tightly before taking my seat. As I lower myself in the chair, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. I instinctively grab it to check who it is when Dad’s voice grabs my attention.
“Hey, no phones at the dinner table. You know the rules. I don’t care if you’re an adult and on your own now. Today is a holiday and holidays are family days.”
Freezing mid-air before my butt hits the cushion, I stand back up and take a step away from the table.
“There, now I’m not at the table,” I tease and stick my tongue out at him.
Glancing down and reading the name on my screen, I feel my cheeks get hot.
“It’s Rae, let me just make sure she’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
My feet hurry away from the table quicker than they should for the message being from my best friend, but it’s not.
It’s from a man who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since he left my place earlier in the week after taking care of me all day.
This is the first I’ve heard from him after he checked up on me the next day via text message.
When I replied telling him I was feeling better, I expected it to turn into a conversation but it didn’t.
Part of me has wanted to text him to say thank you again, but every time I open my messages something inside me hesitates.
Maybe he didn’t text me back because he isn’t interested anymore.
Maybe I said something when he was over that offended him.
Standing in the other room, alone and out of sight of the dining table, my thumb swipes across the screen and opens our text thread.
Miles Adler:
Happy Thanksgiving, doc. I hope you’re having a nice holiday and time off. You deserve it.
I smile at my phone like a complete idiot when another message pops up.
I’m grateful you came into my life when you did. You make me a better man and I hope to only get better with your help. I’m counting down the days until I get to see you again at our appointment next week.
My fingers come to my mouth and I can feel the smile he’s caused. A wave of butterflies takes flight in my belly thinking about getting to see him next week.
“Hanna.” The soft voice of my father’s partner catches me off guard and I snatch my phone to my chest as if I just got caught doing something illegal. His eyes flash to my phone and then slowly looks at me with a knowing smile. “Your dad asked that I come get you.”
“Oh—yeah, sorry. Rae sent me a happy Thanksgiving text and I wanted to respond. I’ll be right in.”
George peeks over his shoulder and takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Take all the time you need. Might I suggest a trip to the powder room? Your cheeks are a little flushed.”
My hand comes to one of my cheeks and I can feel the heat in it.
“That is, unless you want to be answering questions about why Rae is making you blush so much.” He winks at me and places a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you, Georgey,” I whisper sheepishly, trying to pat down the stupid smile I had on my face before he walked in. He’s always been a quiet confidant of mine in these types of situations. Never one to try and parent me but more so be a friendly ally to lean on when I need it.
He tips his head at me and winks again before crossing the threshold into the kitchen.
Licking my lips, I contemplate what to respond with. My thumbs fly across the screen of my phone multiple times, typing a reply, then deleting it, then writing another. Finally, I hit send on the text and shove my phone in my back pocket, trying to trust that I sent the right thing.
Happy thanksgiving, fireman. I’m grateful that you were kind enough to take care of me when you really didn’t need to. It meant a lot to me. I’m also excited to see you next week. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll kick your ass again in Checkers
I’m a few steps from the threshold to the kitchen when I feel my phone buzz again. I’m about to pull it out when my dad calls out to me.
“Hanna, let’s go, we’re waiting for you to start.”
“Hold on, I’m coming!” I shout back and quickly pull my phone out to read his message.
I’ll happily let you kick my ass whenever you want. I don’t know if you know this, but you do a cute little dance when you win. I find it very endearing.
I roll my lips around my teeth and bite back a smile. I can’t believe he noticed that. Or that he finds it endearing.
I’m about to text him back something smart when I hear someone’s feet approaching. Not wanting to have to explain myself, I lock my phone and shove it in my back pocket.
“Everything okay, honey bee?” It’s Mom this time and she looks concerned.
“Yeah, yeah everything’s good. It’s just Rae, family stuff,” I lie, and roll my eyes to sell it.
“Okay, well, you’re about to have your own family stuff if you don’t come in here. You know how your father is about the holidays.” She sighs, pressing her lips into a tight line.
“Then let’s go before he gets too cranky,” I say, looping my arm with hers. We walk side by side back through the kitchen. I set my phone down on the counter as we pass, telling myself it can wait until after dinner. Dad’s right, this is family time and I need to be focused on them.
And while I participate in conversations and eat our family meal with gusto, I can’t stop my mind from thinking about the messages on my phone and more specifically, the man who’s sending them.