Bear
“Aw, look at us,” Becca teases, kissing my cheek while I carve the turkey. “We’re so domesticated.”
“Totally. Cooking a half-ass Thanksgiving meal in a frat house kitchen. So adult.”
She pats my ass, then gets back to whipping the mashed potatoes.
“Yeah, as much as this is awesome for a college Thanksgiving dinner, I have to admit — it ain’t my mama’s cooking,” Amber says, eyeing the green bean casserole suspiciously.
Amber is Becca’s best friend, a short little thing with curves for days, wild and beautiful curly black hair, warm brown skin, and a birth mark above her lip that makes her look like a glamorous Hollywood star from the twenties.
She and Becca have been friends since they were toddlers, and the way they act together, the way they even mirror each other’s gestures makes them seem more like sisters than friends.
Amber goes to school in Boston, but is visiting for the holiday, and watching her with Becca makes my chest warm and fuzzy in a new and unfamiliar way.
It’s one thing to see her undressed, or to have her all to myself in bed, both of us in sweatpants and lazy smiles.
But it’s another thing completely to see her with the ones she cares about, the ones she loves, joking and laughing and reminiscing on old stories.
“My mom always makes this amazing sweet potato pie,” Becca says, still working on the mashed potatoes. “She’s given me the recipe, but I swear it never turns out the way hers does.”
“That’s how my grandma is with her recipes,” Amber chimes in. “I think they leave out important ingredients or steps so that we keep coming home for holidays. My grandma’s homemade stuffing?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “That shit is magical. But she’ll never give away her secret.”
Becca smiles, giving me a wink when she catches me staring at her.
But I just can’t help it. Seeing her in the kitchen like that — apron around her waist, natural curls bouncing with every laugh and turn of her head, smile wide and bright and full of love…
it hits me hard in the chest, like a fist more than a feeling.
Because I can see it.
I can imagine us together, not just now but in the future, too. I can see her in our house, in our kitchen, with our family and friends gathered around us.
“What?” Becca asks, hanging a hand on her hip the longer I stare.
“You’re beautiful.”
I steal a kiss from her just as Amber makes a gagging noise. “Alright, that’s enough mush for me. I’m going to go watch Josh try to hit on Pamela.”
Becca and I chuckle at that. Pamela is Becca’s roommate, a sweet, shy, petite little white girl with dark freckles and long, brunette hair she always lets hang a little in front of her face, like she’s trying to hide from any and everyone.
Josh has been shooting his shot since the moment she showed up, and it’s been the entertainment of the day.
I told everyone that we’d have dinner around four, but that they were welcome to come to the house ahead of time to watch football and hang out. Most of our brothers clear off campus for the break, visiting their families, so we have the entire place to ourselves today.
Becca, Pamela, and Amber got here early, helping prep the food and cook and bake and set up the table. Josh stumbled out of bed around noon and plopped his ass down on the couch to watch football — and try his best to make Pamela uncomfortable, which was undoubtedly working.
But Erin hasn’t showed yet, and I can’t help but wonder if she will at all.
She’d been surprised to say the least when I called and invited her to Friendsgiving. But after asking if I was sure and if she could bring a friend, she’d agreed, and I’d be lying if I said my stomach hasn’t been in knots all day thinking about being around her tonight.
When Becca finishes mashing the potatoes, she washes her hands and dries them on a towel, looking around at the feast we’ve prepared. “I’d say we make a pretty good team, Chef Pennington.”
“You’re the chef,” I correct her, taking her in my arms and planting a kiss on her nose. “I’m just the big-fisted dummy you boss around to help you.”
She chuckles, threading her hands together behind my neck. “This was a good idea, Bear. The girls are having fun — even Pam, despite Josh being up her ass.”
I laugh. “Are you having fun?”
“I am.” She pauses, swallowing. “Is Erin still coming?”
I take a deep breath. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
As if on cue, there’s commotion from the living room, and Becca and I round the corner to find Erin giving Josh a hug before immediately introducing herself to Pam and Amber.
Herself, and then the tall, brooding guy she brought with her.
“This is Gavin,” she explains, and he shakes everyone’s hands with an easy grin before tucking his hands back in his pockets. He listens as Josh and Erin chat, his eyes wandering the room.
Until they land on me.
Then, they don’t budge.
He and Erin couldn’t be more opposite. Where Erin is sunshine embodied, from her shining blonde hair to the mustard yellow dress slimming her waist and cutting off below her knees, he’s like the dark side of the moon, dressed in black distressed jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt with the name of some metal band I don’t recognize sprawled across his chest.
He nods his chin at me after a moment, and it’s as if that notion knocks me out of my spell.
“You must be Bear,” he says, stepping around the couch to where Becca and I are. He extends his hand on a comfortable smile. “I’m Gavin, Erin’s boyfriend.”
I hope I’m hiding it. I hope my jaw isn’t as tight as it feels, that my eyes didn’t just shoot open as wide as I think they did when I snapped my gaze to Erin’s.
She’s still standing by the girls and Josh, holding a casserole dish in her hands, her wide brown eyes watching me.
I hope an uncomfortable amount of time hasn’t passed as I force a smile and reach out for Gavin’s hand, both of us engaging in a crushing grip that tells me he’s threatened by me and whispers that I might feel the same about him, too.
“I didn’t realize Erin had a boyfriend,” I comment, and I want to kick myself for how petty it sounds.
“Yeah. From what she tells me, you two don’t talk much anymore,” Gavin comments. Before I can reply, he pulls his hand from mine and extends it for Becca. “Thanks for having us over.”
“It’s our pleasure,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Becca.” Then, her eyes land hard on me. “Bear’s girlfriend.”
I know that look. It’s the one that says why the hell didn’t you say this before I had to?
I clear my throat, rounding the couch to where Erin is standing with the casserole dish. I reach out for it. “I told you you didn’t have to bring anything.”
It comes out harsher than I mean for it to, and I internally curse myself. Snap out of it, big guy.
“It’s just a sweet corn casserole,” she says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear when her hands are free. “It’s my mom’s specialty.”
My stomach tightens.
It seems like everyone has a memory of their mother on this holiday, fond thoughts of cooking in the kitchen and famous recipes.
The only things my mom ever brought around on Thanksgiving were drugs and strangers.
At least, that was always the case when I was younger.
But earlier this afternoon when Becca and I were cooking, I got a video call from my little brother, showing me that they were all gathered at Mac’s house — including our mother and my older brother and his family — laughing and playing games and getting ready to eat their own feast.
Without me.
“Well, thank you,” I say after a long pause, shaking off my own shit to focus on the whole reason I had this get-together in the first place. I owe Erin an apology, but not now. Not in front of everyone.
Erin and I watch each other, her shifting her weight before the gaze becomes too much for her, and she looks behind me.
At Gavin.
Who promptly returns to where she’s standing, putting his arm around her waist. What pisses me off most is it’s not possessive or territorial or aimed toward me at all.
It’s comforting and calming, meant for Erin only, and she leans into that touch with a sigh of relief that makes my chest tighten for a completely new reason.
“Alright, let’s get this into the kitchen and I think we should be ready to eat,” Becca says, taking the casserole from my hands with a warning glare. “Everyone grab your plates.”
It’s all laughter and catching up and getting to know each other as we fill our plates and gather at the table — a folding table usually used for flip cup and beer pong that has been disguised with a tablecloth, some flowers, and a few candles.
The frat house always smells faintly of beer, but the candles help cover it a bit, and though it’s far from something Martha Stewart would approve, it’s not bad for a college Thanksgiving set-up.
I’m mostly a quiet bystander as everyone talks while we eat — Josh bragging about his IM football stats, Amber and Becca telling us stories from their raucous high school days, Erin and Pamela bonding over their shared love of well-organized planners.
And then there’s Gavin.
He’s almost as quiet as I am, chiming in time to time only to lay out a well-placed joke or to ask a question about something someone’s talking about. Like he cares.
And maybe he does.
Maybe he’s a perfectly cool dude with perfectly good intentions with Erin.
But after what she’s been through, I can’t help but watch him like the big brother she never asked me to be — arms crossed, gaze hard, jaw ticking as I fight back the questions I really want to ask.
Like:
Do you have a criminal record?
How many girls have you cheated on or broken up with?
When was your last serious relationship?
What plans do you have for your life?
What makes you think you deserve the most amazing girl in the world?
I shift uncomfortably as that last thought flitters through me, chugging half my beer in one swallow with Becca’s eyes watching.
“So,” I say when I set my glass back down, staring at Gavin. “Gavin. How did you and Erin meet?”
Erin smiles at him when he turns to her, and even without being able to see it, I know he grabs her hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.
“She was walking on the beach at sunrise, her hair and skirt blowing back behind her in the breeze as she watched the horizon. And I watched her. I mean, how could I not, with the morning glow on her face like that? I was just out surfing, but I didn’t care about the waves once I saw her.
I had to know her name. So, I paddled in and hopped off my board and walked straight up to her and said…
” He pauses, looking at Erin with a bent brow and making his voice deeper.
“Hello, my queen. It is I, your King, and I have searched this world high and low for you.”
Erin shoves his chest with a roll of her eyes, still smiling when she looks at me. “We met at therapy.”
The girls all laugh, and Amber holds up her glass to Gavin. “You had me going. I was leaning in like oh my God, what did she say to that?!”
“I was just about to start taking notes, see if I could pull the same stunt on Perfect Pam here,” Josh added, which made the group chuckle again. Well, except for Pam, who blushed and hid behind her hair.
And except for me, too, because I couldn’t find it in me to so much as smile.
“What are you in therapy for?”
The room goes silent at my question, and Becca pinches me under the table. “Bear,” she warns.
“Do you have to be in therapy for one specific reason?” Gavin asks, taking a sip of his wine, completely calm and cool and collected.
“Isn’t that kind of the point?”
“The goals of therapy differ greatly, depending on the person. It can be focused on healing, growing, resolving issues, surviving trauma.”
“So what’s yours?”
“Bear,” Erin says this time, her eyes wide.
“A little of everything, I suppose. Do you go to therapy, Bear?” Gavin asks.
“Of course not.”
“Oh, so you’re perfect? Nothing wrong with you at all, huh? No shit to work through, nothing holding you back from being your best self?”
I don’t have an answer to that, which makes me grip my glass harder as I lift it to my lips and drain the last of my beer.
“I think it’s great,” Becca says, somehow managing a smile when she finally peels her murderous glare away from me.
“Me, too,” Amber agrees. “And I think it’s awesome that you two met at your most vulnerable. Not a lot of people can say that, you know? We all play games when we first start dating. We hide who we really are in the name of being who we think the other person wants us to be.”
Becca sips her champagne silently, glancing at me with a sullen look in her eyes as Erin and Gavin smile at each other.
“It is pretty awesome,” Gavin agrees. “There’s a side of this girl that she doesn’t show to anyone but me. And I’ll admit, I’m a greedy bastard when it comes to that pile of gold.”
The girls visibly swoon, but I just grind my teeth, not able to hold back my sarcastic grunt.
Gavin turns to look at me, arching one brow. “Something else to say, Bear?”
“Not to you.”
“Whoa, bro,” Josh says, smiling at everyone to try to make the moment lighter. “What’s with the hostility? Gavin, did you steal the last of the cranberry sauce or something?”
“Actually, I think I stole the girl he never thought to make his. And now he’s regretting his inaction and thinks he can piss on her to scare me off.”
My chair grinds against the wooden floor when I stand, towering over Gavin as everyone jumps. I point my finger straight into his chest. “Listen here, you disrespectful little fuck.”
“Oh, I’m listening. Go on. Tell me I’m wrong,” Gavin challenges with a smirk, not even so much as puffing his chest back at me. He’s not threatened, and that somehow pisses me off more.
“I think we should go,” Erin says, standing and folding her napkin primly before laying it carefully next to her plate. “Becca, I hope you don’t mind if we don’t help with clean up.”
“Not at all,” Becca says, standing too. Only she doesn’t fold her napkin — she bunches it in her fist and throws it down on the table with her eyes on me. “In fact, I think Bear can clean up this mess on his own.”
She storms out of the room without another look at me, her friends on her tail, Pam looking at me with pity, while Amber’s glare matches the one Becca had been giving me all night.
Gavin stands slowly, helping Erin put her camisole sweater on before grabbing her hand and leading her toward the door. “Thanks for dinner,” he says to me, winking. “It’s been a real treat.”
My muscles work before my brain does, and the only thing that stops me from launching at that motherfucker and beating his face in is Josh’s hands wrapping around my arms and quickly holding them behind my back in a stiff lock.
I shrug against it to no avail, which makes Gavin shake his head with a look like he pities me.
Then they’re gone, and it’s just me and Josh.
“Damn, bro,” he says when they’re gone, releasing me. “What the hell was all that?”
And I just breathe like a bull, chest heaving, wishing I knew the goddamn answer myself.