30. Bethany
Chapter 30
Bethany
“ Y ou’re going to burn the gravy.” Micheal hip checks his way in front of me. “Let me help.”
Micheal’s my youngest brother. He was born with cerebral palsy but that doesn’t stop him. Special crutches help him walk. His speech is as normal as the rest of us, just a slight hesitation when he pronounces certain words. Growing up wasn’t easy, but the older he’s gotten, the more self-sufficient he’s become. We aren’t super close, but I check in on him weekly to make sure he doesn’t need anything.
“You know you’re doing a shit job when Micheal feels the need to step in,” Alicia pipes in from her seat at the table, where she’s arranging the marshmallows on our sweet potato casserole.
I flip her off, open the fridge, grab the butter, and start making cinnamon butter for the rolls. While I work, my mind drifts to what’s happening across the street, just like it’s done all day.
Walking away from Nolan three and a half weeks ago has left me in a miserable hell. Not just because he had my body so turned on that my pussy was on fire with the need to come.
And dammit, when I got home and tried to relieve that burn, nothing worked. Exhausted and heartbroken, I cried myself to sleep, curled up in bed.
All my fault, I know, but it’s not like I’m about to do shit about it. I’ll suffer through, because what I did was for the best. Eventually, I’ll be able to breathe again without the constricting pressure in my chest, that feeling of suffocation. I’ll keep faking it. Paste on my happy face and pretend I’m not slowly dying inside. I might have to move, but that’s the price I must pay for getting involved with the sexy firefighter across the street.
Never again.
I’ll revert to my old habits of fucking men to scratch that damn itch and nothing more. I’m not ready to do that again just yet. Before I let another man touch me, I need more time to feel sorry for myself. I’m pretty sure Nolan ruined me. The proof is in my toy drawer; those damn toys mock me. It’s like my body is broken. It’s that, or it’s punishing me for throwing away the man who knew how to make it soar to heights unknown. Hooking up with a younger man who moonlights as a sex god comes at the cost of my sanity.
“You want to talk about it?” Switching off the stove, Michael covers the gravy and slides the pan to the back burner.
“Talk about what?”
With the casserole dish in her hands, Alicia walks toward the second oven. Best thing I added to my kitchen when I renovated it a couple of years ago.
“She’s riding the rough rapids down the river of denial.”
Micheal grunts. “The neighbor.”
To drown them out, I flip on the mixer and listen to the butter thunk around as it softens.
Assholes.
Siblings are assholes.
As soon as it’s nice and fluffy, I flip it off and spin to grab the cinnamon, powdered sugar, and honey. They’re still talking about me like I’m not even here. Which is why when the doorbell rings, I volunteer to get it. I need a break from these two; their constant talking is driving me crazy.
I dismiss Dillon, whose handsome ass is settled in front of the TV with the twins. They’ve been sitting there watching football since Alicia and he arrived earlier this morning.
It’s got to be my parents. They’re late, which is no surprise. Just like it was no surprise when my other brother Chad called this morning to inform us he wasn’t coming. I can’t remember the last time he graced us with his presence. His life in New York overshadows any chance he gets to see us. It is what it is.
I don’t check before flinging open the door, my fake smile back in place and say, “Happy Thanksgiving. Dinner is almost finished.”
But it’s not my parents.
It’s Mollie.
And she’s crying.
Fuck, I can’t stand to see her cry.
I crouch, taking her chin in my hand. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”
Her body trembles as fat tears trickle down her cheeks. “I want turkey. But Aunt Cora is too sick to make it. And Kellie said… she doesn’t know how to cook a-a-a flipping turkey. I called Daddy, b-bu-but he’s working and… won’t be home until tomorrow night because he’s working two shifts.”
She sniffles and tries to catch her breath. “And Gr-grammy left to go back to Atlanta where my… my crappy, selfish, no n-n-no good Grandpa lives, which is why she didn’t come cook like she promised.”
Lifting a hand, she wipes it across the bottom of her runny nose and cleans it off on her pants. “And Aunt Stacy is with her oth-other family because Uncle Levi is at the hospital and hers throws up when she looks or smells raw-raw turkey.” Her little foot stomps as a deep frown mars her cute little face while she continues to ramble, her words getting faster and faster. “And I want turkey, b-but no one in my stupid family will feed me any. And it sucks, and I just wanted to ask you if you had turkey. I don’t care if I’m not supposed to ask. I’m hungry.”
Well, damn.
Because I can’t resist this little angel, I pick her up and hug her tight until she stops hiccupping. I’ve missed this. She gives the best hugs.
Placing her back down, I turn slightly. “Let me slip my shoes on, and I’ll walk you home.”
“I don’t want to go home!” Crossing her arms, she stomps her little foot once more. “I want to stay here and eat turkey food.”
“I know.” Now that I have on my crocs, I take her hand. “I’m going to walk you home and talk to Aunt Cora. If she’s okay with it, I’m okay with it. We’ll invite Kellie to dinner. I bet she’s also hungry for turkey food.”
While we walk across the street, Mollie gazes up at me with hopeful eyes. “Do you have mashed potatoes?”
“Yes, and stuffing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, homemade rolls, and pretzel salad.” Each new item I list makes her smile grow.
“And turkey!”
“Yes,” I laugh. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving dinner without turkey.”
The front door to her house swings open and Cora stumbles out, looking like a hot mess. “Mollie, I told you to stay in the backyard.”
Little miss spitfire grumbles. “I’m hungry. Miss Beth said I can eat with her. She has turkey food.”
With a weariness that permeates her entire being, Cora leans against the doorframe and shuts her eyes. “Your dad will skin me alive if I let you go over there.”
The closer we get, the more apparent it becomes that Cora’s in bad shape. And right before we reach the front door, she turns and runs off, rounding the corner to where the closest bathroom is. The sound of her vomiting bounces off the walls.
“She’s been doing that all day.” Mollie makes a face. “I hope it’s not contagiously. I hate throwing up.”
Me too, sunshine. “I hope it’s not contagious either.”
Once I hear the toilet flush, I walk into the short hallway and wait for the door to open. When Cora emerges, looking worse than she did mere moments ago, I know what my next action needs to be.
“You’re sick. You should be in bed. Let me take the girls back home with me.”
Cora hesitates at first, but a brief nod signals her final consent. “That would be nice. I think I have that bug going around the station.”
“It’s no big deal. We have plenty of food.” I crouch down again, grinning warmly at Mollie. “Go tell your sister. I’ll wait.”
She runs off and as soon as her feet are thumping on the stairs, Cora motions for me to follow her into the living room. “They miss you.”
“I miss them too.” As soon as the couch comes into sight, I find myself unable to look away, flooded with memories of my last visit. “I tried to tell your brother this would happen.”
She’s curled up in the oversized chair now. “Look, I don’t really know the whole story. And it’s not my business. All I know is that my brother was starting to be less of a grumpy ass when you were around. I’m sure he said or did something stupid.”
“He didn’t.” There’s no way I’m letting her fault Nolan for what I did. “We just don’t want the same thing.”
Her eyes hold a myriad of unspoken questions, ones I’m not prepared to answer. Luckily, I’m spared the task as Mollie and Kellie approach, and she turns her attention toward them instead of me.
“Don’t overstay your welcome. Come home as soon as it gets dark, or dessert is served. Whatever comes first. Listen to Miss Beth and don’t be rude. Have fun.”
After the girls give her a hug, they take off for the front door. I hear Mollie telling Kellie, “I told you it would work,” with a gesture emphasizing her sister was wrong.
Seems I’ve been ambushed, not that I care.
“I’ll make sure they get home before dark.” Just as I’m about to leave, I snap my fingers. “Does Kellie have her EpiPen? I don’t think we’ll need it, but just in case.”
“I doubt it. There’s a spare in?—”
“The top drawer of the kitchen. I know.” I returned the one I’d kept at my house because seeing it in my drawer was too hard. When I handed it to Nolan, any hope he’d been wearing on his handsome face disappeared as he snagged it from my hand and slammed the door in my face.
As I was leaving, I intended to ask Cora if she’d like me to fix her a plate, in case she starts feeling better, but she’s already out and snoring. I should’ve asked her how long she’s been feeling sick, since it seems she’s lost a little weight. But then I remember what Rylee said. People who go through tough breakups often experience bouts of depression. The diminished urge to eat can contribute to weight loss. It would also account for her paler complexion and extreme tiredness.
On the other hand, there’s an alternative explanation for those symptoms. I doubt she’s thought about it. I know I hadn’t when I was in the same boat. That’s why I’m going to keep a close eye on her. If there’s no improvement in the next couple of weeks, I’ll speak with her.
As I’m walking out the front door, my parents’ rental car pulls up to the curb and parks. My father’s voice carries through the air as he opens his car door, and he expresses his wish to make this quick so he can get back to the ranch.
They have no idea I’m here, which has to be why my stepmother says what she does next.
“Is it the ranch you want to get back to or the new farrier you hired?” The frown on her face says she’s not stupid.
“Don’t,” my father warns as he closes his door. “That’s not your concern.”
Right before she says anything else, my stepmother spots me and pastes on a fake smile, giving me a wave. “Beth, sorry we’re late. Your father had business he needed to take care of this morning.”
She’s perfected that over the years. Just like my mother had before she died. It’s something I remember, even though I was only four when complications in childbirth stole her away from me. Being in a marriage with Jimmy Rogan meant accepting his preference for variety and his lack of effort to hide it. I’m not sure why Tammy allows him to run around on her. I always thought she wore blinders, refused to acknowledge what the rest of us already knew. Seems I was wrong.
This just reinforces my decision to stay away from committed relationships. I’d rather live my life alone than with a man who shared his bed and expected me to accept it. Nope.
I’m happy for Alicia. She’s snagged one of the few good ones. Dillon, however, has been warned that if I even think he’s fucking around, I’ll tell her and it’s likely he’ll become a missing person. Not kidding. I’d do it. I was close to doing it with her ex, Adam.
Now it’s my turn to fake the charm and play along with my parents.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” I tell them as I cross the street. “We have two more joining us. My neighbor’s daughters. His sister, who watches them, is sick, and he’s working.”
“Oh.” My stepmother pulls me into a hug. “That was nice of you to invite them.”
My father looks down at his watch and frowns. “We need to leave in an hour. I’m not fighting the traffic to Atlanta later.”
And that’s how the next hour continues. My father constantly reminding us how he needs to go because they have a six a.m. flight and he wants to make it to Atlanta before it turns dark. While my stepmother complains about the food and how she was hoping I’d have made something besides turkey since they’re having that tomorrow.
Alicia, Micheal, and I are used to this, but Dillon looks shell-shocked. I can see he wants to say something but bites his tongue. Welcome to the family, brother-in-law. This is our norm, and it’s why we’re all so well adjusted .
Mollie, my savior, paying no attention to the grumpy old people, took the seat beside me, ready to update me on her adventures since Halloween. I’m not sure how many times she said, “This turkey food is the best.” All I know is that each time she said it, my heart pounded harder in my chest while the little voice in my head kept repeating, if only you were stronger, you could make her turkey food every year .
Which is why as soon as dinner is over and my parents run out the front door, I excuse myself to my bedroom and hide in my bathroom and cry. I’m not stronger and hate that I’m choosing to remain miserable and alone, all because I’m a stubborn bitch who’s scared to want more.