Chapter 19
This is the longest week of my life. Sarah and her mother seem to have come to an uneasy truce, in that they’re avoiding each other.
Or maybe Sarah is avoiding and her mother is ignoring.
Every time Maria or Sasha walk into a room, Sarah gets up and leaves.
If they see her, they don’t speak to her.
Sasha has sneered more than once and let loose more than a few snide comments—it’s taken every bit of willpower I have not to grab my omega and bunny and bolt for the hills.
But I’m waiting for Sarah to tell me what she needs.
We all stand around a huge table that’s weighted down with food; there are tacos and tamales, and enchiladas, but also a turkey, a few different variations on potatoes, and at least three different kinds of bread.
Part of me is surprised that the table can hold everything, but looking at the couple dozen people all crammed into the room, it’s not a shock that they made this much.
Maria claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I want to give a special thanks to Sasha this year for helping me with the turkey. She insisted that it was her turn. Such a sweet girl.” Sasha preens under the attention of the room, looking in our direction with a smug smirk on her lips.
Sarah rolls her eyes so hard that you can practically hear it, and her sister’s expression becomes an ugly sneer.
Her mother prattles on while the sisters continue to exchange angry glares.
Eventually, the oldest alpha I’ve seen here, one of Sarah’s grandfathers, presumably, steps forward to carve the turkey.
He seems to be having some trouble cutting into it, and I do not have a good feeling about this bird.
I fix a plate for myself and one for Sarah so we can escape upstairs to actually eat in peace.
Unsurprisingly, we don’t even make it out the door.
As soon as I pass my mate food, Sasha saunters over.
“So, you clearly aren’t watching your carbs, are you, sis?
” The plates I fixed up are relatively small, since I didn’t want to seem greedy.
We each got a twice-baked potato, a roll, a slice of turkey, and I picked out a taco for me and a tamale for her.
I wasn’t sure which one she wanted, so I figured she can have mine if that’s what she’s in the mood for.
Not to be outdone, or possibly in a failed attempt to keep the peace, her mother comes over.
“Oh, Sasha, hush. It’s Christmas; let the girl have her food.
She’s old enough to know how much she can eat so she doesn’t put all the weight back on.
Plus, it’s only once a year, I’m sure she does better back at that fancy school of hers. ”
Sarah swallows a few times and sets her plate down on the counter before turning and leaving the room.
Her mother looks surprised by the reaction—like that wasn’t a shit thing to say to your own kid—but Sasha just sneers at me.
I nod at both of them, grab Sarah’s plate, and follow her back to her room.
My girl isn’t gonna miss her chance at Christmas dinner for this shit.
She’s sitting on her bed, watching Shaggy hop around his pen.
She got him a special treat this morning when we shared an apple for a snack and saved him a slice.
She says he can’t have them often, because of all the sugar, but he loves them and is nibbling away at the tiny chunk that’s left on top of his hay.
Sarah sniffles loudly as I set her plate down on the nightstand and settle in next to her.
One bite in and I’m kicking myself for forgetting to bring a drink up.
“The matrix is telling me that I’m eating turkey jerky,” I say, spitting out the tough leathery bird into a paper towel.
Sarah snorts laughter beside me, turning her red-rimmed eyes up to mine.
I’ll take whatever I can to lighten the mood right now.
“Seriously, I expected this thing to be dry…but now I feel even worse that the poor guy lost his life for no reason. Nobody can eat this thing. It’s like trying to gnaw through a boot.
You’ve seen that Christmas vacation movie from the 80’s, right?
Where they cut into the turkey and it just cracks open and hisses out steam.
I thought we were gonna have that sort of situation with how hard it was for your grandpa to cut the thing open. This is seriously inedible.”
She’s giggling now, her face pressed into my side, soft snorts of laughter filling the air before she tilts her eyes up to me.
“Thanks, Pretty Boy, I needed that…well, something to keep from crying again. Listen, how about I trade you turkey jerky and potato for your taco? Abuela always makes the best tamales, and you need to at least have a bite…though if you want more than that, you’ll need to go down and get your own.
” Sarah pulls her plate off the nightstand and sets it in her lap, unwrapping the corn husk and using her fork to cut a piece off the aforementioned tamale.
She skewers it with a fork before holding it out to me.
The flavor is great, but as with all tamales, I find the texture incredibly off-putting.
Still, it’s better not to tell Sarah that her grandma’s food makes me gag, so I just nod and smile around the mouthful as I attempt to choke it down without chewing.
She finishes off the rest and my taco before looking nervously between me and the door.
She doesn’t even have to say anything as I take her plate out of her unresisting hands and head for the door.
Sasha is waiting at the bottom of the stairs and glares at me as I walk past her.
She mutters something about wasting food, but that bitch can eat the whole boot leather bird herself for all I care. I’ve got tamales to find for my girl.