Chapter 21
MILES
Working Thanksgiving is always hit or miss at the firehouse.
Some years we’re called out multiple times a day and others we sit around waiting for the alarms to sound.
This year, it’s the latter which is nice because it allows me time to cook up a mini-Thanksgiving lunch for the on-duty members at the firehouse.
At our specific one, we agree to split the major holidays into half shifts instead of full ones.
Doing this allows all of us time at home with family to spend the holiday with them in some capacity.
To make it as fair as possible, every year switches in terms of who takes the day shift and who takes night.
With this year being a day-shift year, Carter and I are working until seven o’clock and then heading out to Ivy’s house for dinner.
We’ll be back bright and early tomorrow for our standard twenty-four on like usual.
The oven is warming up while I slice and dice some potatoes to make my homemade mashed potato recipe.
For years I’ve dreamed of making a full Thanksgiving meal and spending a full day in the kitchen.
But with what I do for a living and having to drop everything at a moment’s notice, making half meals will have to suffice.
“Annoying little—” Carter gruffs, stalking into the kitchen. He throws his phone down on the table before throwing himself into a chair with the same force.
“You okay?” I ask apprehensively, continuing to stir the boiling potatoes and adding a dash of salt to the water.
“Huh? Oh, yeah I’m fine,” he humphs, crossing his arms over his chest.
I let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, you look real fine to me.”
“I just—it’s just—” he struggles to find his words. Biting down on his lip, he seems to be contemplating what to say. “Why are women so frustrating?”
This has me turning around and looking at him fully. “What woman would you be referring to, exactly? I didn’t know you’re seeing anyone.”
He swallows hard and squirms in his seat. “I didn’t say I was seeing anyone, I simply asked why they’re so frustrating.”
“Why who’s so frustrating?” Brooks, another company member, asks as he enters the kitchen.
“Women,” Carter answers quickly, falling back into his chair and crossing his arms again.
“Women aren’t frustrating. At least, they’re not when you’re not only attracted to them,” he winks at Carter before laughing. Brooks is the first queer fireman to join Firehouse Nine and is one of the best on the force.
“I feel like you’ll have very good insights on this seeing as how you date both men and women.” Carter sighs, looking at Brooks with an exasperated expression.
“I think women can feel frustrating because they communicate differently than men. Men are typically more straightforward where women tend to expect you to read the signals they’re sending,” Brooks explains.
“Now that’s the biggest line of bullshit I’ve ever heard,” a fourth voice cuts in. Billie, our company’s only female firewoman, steps in and looks at where I’m standing at the stove. “I came to offer my help with Thanksgiving lunch. Do you need anything?”
I shake my head at her. “The only thing I need is to know who has my brother all in a twist like this.”
“No one,” Carter moans from the table but I can tell he’s lying. I always can. He does this thing with his nose that gives him away immediately.
“Women aren’t any less straightforward than men are in how we communicate. We just expect you to listen to what we’re saying to you and more often than not, you don’t,” Billie explains with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. I turn my back on the growing group of people and listen while I cook.
As they argue about the communication abilities of both genders, a pair of hypnotic gray eyes come to mind.
The image of her sitting across from me as we played checkers together makes my lips pull back.
I had far less pep in my step this morning when I remembered I wouldn’t be seeing her like I have been the last few weeks.
Turning the stove off, I dump the soft potatoes into a strainer before adding them to the standing mixer on the counter.
The machine has to work overtime at the start but as the vegetables start to break apart, the pace of it picks up and they quickly come together into a fluffy like substance.
I scrape some butter into the bowl with another dash of salt and pepper and let the machine do the hard part for me.
I let my mind drift as I preheat the oven and open up the premade biscuits to drop on a cookie sheet and toss in once it’s hot.
I think about how cute she was when I let her win and the way the color seemed to come back to her face as she ate the soup I made for her.
I didn’t want to leave at the end of the day but she insisted she would be fine.
She even texted me the day after letting me know she was feeling better already, claiming it was the soup that helped heal her.
I wanted to text her back but paused when what she said to me before cut through my mind.
How there was nothing between us and that she wanted to keep things professional.
Professional my ass.
After popping the biscuits into the preheated oven, I wipe my hands on the towel I have tucked into my back pocket and grab my phone. I type something in quickly and hit send.
“Miles, what do you have to say about this?” Brooks calls out, stealing my attention away from my phone.
“Say about what?” I ask, looking up at the group. At some point, two more company members have entered the kitchen and taken a seat at the dining table. The smell of lunch calls them into the room little by little.
“The communication style of men and women,” Billie adds from her seat. “Surely, an emotionally intelligent man like yourself agrees that it’s not women who are the problem here.”
“Emotionally intelligent?” Carter croaks and looks between Billie and I with his mouth ajar. “Have you met Miles?”
“I say that whatever issues my brother is having with this mystery woman is surely his fault because he’s a moron,” I snap at him. This gets a couple of the company members in the room to laugh.
Carter pouts in his chair. “I hate all of you.”
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I turn my attention back to it.
Happy Thanksgiving, doc. I hope you’re having a nice holiday and time off. You deserve it.
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.
Happy thanksgiving, fireman. I’m grateful that you were kind enough to take care of me last week 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 smirk at her message and type a response.
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 hit send on the message and stare at my phone waiting for her response. When I don’t get one right away, I slide the device back into my pocket and look up. Every pair of eyes in the room are locked on me.
“What?” I ask, looking between everyone.
“Who has you all smiley?” Brooks asks, the corner of his mouth hitched high.
I force my lips down into a scowl. “I am not smiley.”
Quickly spinning away from them, I set a timer on the oven and move to the fridge to grab the mac and cheese I made yesterday. The plan is to pop it in with the biscuits to warm it up and then serve everything at once.
“Oh, yes you were, big brother of mine. Who’s the girl?” Carter jabs.
“You tell me first, little bro,” I toss back over my shoulder at him. This earns me an eyeroll and more pouting.
“Whoever she is, it’s nice to see you so happy,” Billie adds. When I turn to look at her, she winks at me and gives me a nod.
While these people aren’t my actual family, they sure feel like it sometimes.
We rag on one another like siblings do and watch out for one another in the same way.
When you’re with a group of people so many hours out of the week, it’s hard not to feel like they’re part of you.
Even when they’re trying to pry into your personal life where they don’t belong.
I check my phone one more time but don’t have any new messages.
Maybe she’s with her family, just like I’m with mine.
The timer goes off on the oven, signaling that the biscuits are ready.
I pull them out and set them on top of the stove to let them cool and crank the heat up on it to warm up the mac and cheese a little faster.
Organizing all the sides and meat on the counter top, I look to Carter who’s hunched over in his seat looking defeated.
“Carter, would it make you feel better to ring the lunch bell?” I push my lips out at him and speak like I’m talking to a child.
“Fuck you, Miles,” he pauses and scowls at me before standing. “But yes.”
I swallow my laughs to not piss him off further and watch as he stomps over to the doorway, leans out into the hallway, and loudly rings the bell we have anchored to the wall.
We use it to signal that a meal is ready and within minutes, the entire dining table is full of bodies.
As we eat, we share what we’re thankful for and what our plans are for after our shift is over.
Most people are going home to kids or significant others while Carter and I are going home to our own version of family.
Looking around the table, watching everyone eat the meal I’d made for them, I can’t help but be grateful to be sitting around the table surrounded by the men and women I am.
My own version of an extended family that I’m thankful I get to spend another Thanksgiving shift with.