29. Benji
Benji
The knock comes far too fast for the game we’re playing.
I groan, shooting a glare down the table at my sister.
She tosses a sickly sweet smile back at me, ignoring the complaints that come from all the others around the table.
She’s just announced that we all get one more chance to swap our cards before we have to show them, and her knock means she’s convinced she’s got the best hand.
We’re playing our family’s version of Golf, a card game that involves memory, luck, and – most importantly – money.
It’s the perfect sedentary game for a post-Thanksgiving meal, which is why it’s been our tradition for as long as I can remember.
Anyone who gets invited has two rules: They need to bring cash to play Golf, and they need to pretend they don’t see our great-grandma Catherine cheating at it.
Every year, she gets a bit more obvious as she peeks at her cards and slides one or two up her sleeves, but at ninety-four, it’s an unspoken rule that she can do whatever the hell she wants.
I think she knows it, which is why she doesn’t bother to be sneaky anymore.
“God, really, Gabi?” Her friend Mia groans as she flips her cards over. They’re all high numbers, and they don’t match, so she’s easily got a score in the twenties or more. “You wrecked me.”
Gabi smirks, and I can’t help but wonder if we have the same shit-eating grin. We have the same dark hair and eyes, and I’ve been known to make a similar face when I think I have a round of Golf in the bag. “Can’t help it, I was dealt a good hand. You know the rules.”
And she does. Mia has been coming to our Thanksgiving for the past three years.
Her family life is rough, and we have a firm open-door policy for anyone: friends, family, and acquaintances alike.
The food is always overflowing, and our parents are warm and welcoming.
There’s a reason us kids keep coming back to the area, even when life takes us to another state for a while.
It’s rare to look at your family and realize they’ve done it right, but we’re blessed enough to have that.
Even when a piece of that family is now missing.
My eyes skim over the seat where my brother always used to sit, and I draw in a ragged breath.
Fucking hell. Grief tends to hit hardest when you think you're doing so well, painting the happiest moments over in shades of grey.
I flip my cards over and count, forcing my thoughts back to the present. “Eleven,” I announce.
Everyone takes their turn announcing their scores, with the winner being my great-grandma Catherine. The rest of us fold down a corner of our bills, accepting the loss, and say nothing about the ace that drops out of her cardigan as she collects the money that’s had all four corners fully folded.
“How’s your nose?” Alice, Gabi’s wife, asks as the cards are shuffled and redealt. She’s leaning over Gabi, her blonde bob shifting as she tilts her head to examine my nose. She tucks stray pieces of hair behind her ear again and frowns at whatever she sees on my face.
I shrug, brushing off her scrutiny. She's a nurse, and she's always worrying over my inuries. “The medical team checked it out after the game. It’s sore, but it’s not broken.”
“I can’t believe that Roberts is still such an asshole,” Gabi scoffs. “You’d think he’d grow out of that.”
“Yeah, well, I think when you’re that kind of asshole, you stay that kind of asshole for life. It’s a permanent condition.”
“It’s a shame he’s actually good,” Alice puts in. “If you’re gonna be a dick, you shouldn’t be allowed to have talent, too.”
I laugh at that, and Gabi tosses me a card, giving me a long look before moving to toss more cards down the table.
“What’s that look for?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Is there something else you want to tell us about the other night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oooh, right,” Alice gasps, her face brightening. “Did you point at someone in the crowd after your first goal? We saw it on TV.”
Shit. I feel my cheeks burn. “I think you’re both seeing things.”
“Yeah, no.” Gabi hums, exchanging a knowing look with Alice. One of them interrogating me is hard to navigate, and they become supercharged when they’re together. It’s impressive, but scary. “I don’t think so. I think it has to do with that girl you were hung up on a few weeks ago.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I argue, even though I know it’s already useless.
“Sure. Agree to disagree.”
“That’s just because you like to disagree with me, don’t you?”
Gabi pins me with that classic smirk. “No.”
I sigh and organize my cards, peeking at the bottom two – only once, as allowed – though I promptly forget what they are as my mind wanders to Lyssa.
We talked briefly the other day, so I know she’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving at Andi’s place.
I hope she has a good time there, but I still can’t help but wish she were here at my side.
My mom would have fawned over her, and my dad would’ve given his curt nod of approval.
She would have held her own with Alice and Gabi, made friends with Mia, and we could have all laughed at how obvious great-grandma Catherine is with her cards.
I know it was too soon to invite her into this world, but I also know this world is ready for her when she is.
“I invited her here,” I mutter.
“What?” Gabi barks out a laugh. “Oh, Benj. Way to scare her off.”
“Why would that scare her off?” Mia shoots us a quizzical look. “The Estes Thanksgiving is awesome!”
“Well, she doesn’t know that,” Gabi replies. “All she knows is Benji just invited her to meet our entire family. As awesome as we are, that’s a big step.”
“Who wants pie?” my mom calls, as if to underscore the point. “We’ve got apple and pumpkin, with ice cream or whipped cream.”
We all raise our hands obediently, and she takes our orders, heading back to the kitchen. Mia and Alice go to help, and while we wait for dessert, I type out a message to Lyssa.
Me: What’s your Thanksgiving dessert of choice? Apple or pumpkin pie?
L: Hmmm. Depends. Is the apple pie warmed up?
Me: Let’s say yes.
L: Do I get ice cream with it?
Me: Obviously.
L: Then how could I say no to that?
Me: But pumpkin’s the classic!
L: NOTHING is more classic than good old apple pie, a la mode
Me: Pumpkin hater.
L: ??
I grin down at my phone, and Gabi pokes my shoulder. “It’s good to see you like this.”
“Careful, now,” I say. “Don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Ah, how can she resist? You just have to turn up that Estes charm.”
“She’s right,” Alice says, sliding two plates piled high with pie in our direction. She leans down and gives Gabi a kiss. “We can’t resist that Estes charm.”
My phone buzzes, and I look down to see another text from Lyssa.
L: Want to hang out tomorrow?
“See?” Gabi exclaims, shamelessly leaning over to read my texts. “Can’t resist. Oh, and she’s right,” she adds, shoveling a piece of pie onto her spoon. “Apple all the way.”