Chapter 43 Kai
Kai
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I can’t believe I’m about to walk into my house with Haven Lee for Thanksgiving dinner like we’re a normal fucking family. It’s insane.
We’re not normal.
We’ve never been normal.
Normal families don’t have a father who uses his belt like a fucking weapon. Normal families don’t have mothers who pretend they don’t hear the screaming. Normal families don’t have brothers who—
“Hey, you okay?”
Haven’s voice drags me back to the present.
I blink. We’re standing at the front door. I don’t remember getting out of the Uber. Don’t remember walking up the flagstone path.
“You got this,” she says firmly, taking my hand and giving it a hard squeeze. A gust of wind flicks her hair over her shoulder, and she uses her free hand to draw the lapels of her chocolate-colored wool coat together at her throat.
She looks amazing in her cream turtleneck and brown plaid skirt. She made a random comment about not knowing what to wear earlier this week, so I took her to Agony Hollow’s only mall to pick out some clothes.
I should be the one comforting her, not the other way around.
Shit’s about to get real.
My mother doesn’t know I’m bringing Haven. She’d probably have withdrawn her invitation if I’d said anything.
When I just stand there, thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper, Haven reaches out and presses the doorbell.
My mother answers the door wearing head-to-toe Chanel and a stiff, Botoxed smile. Her blonde hair is blown out to perfection, and her ‘natural’ makeup probably took her an hour to apply.
Her eyes sweep over me first, then they land on Haven.
“Darling! You came!”
I expect her to dismiss my girlfriend. I cleaned up for this. My hair is slicked back into a man bun, dark slacks and a navy blue shirt—the same outfit I wore to The Railyard earlier this week—but I might as well be invisible.
What I don’t expect is the gleam that springs into my mother’s eyes when she sees Haven.
She looks…happy?
Which is fucking impossible, but even the well-practiced Sharon Jordan can’t fake her way into such a genuine expression.
She pulls me into a hug that reeks of Chanel No. 5 and hairspray. I stand there like a mannequin, arms at my sides, until she releases me and turns to Haven.
“And who is this lovely creature?” Mom’s voice drips with sweetness. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing a friend, Kai!”
Haven’s smile is tight with confusion. “It’s me, Mrs. Jordan. Haven.”
“Oh, please, call me Sharon.” Mom waves a manicured hand, the massive diamond on her finger catching the light. “Mrs. Jordan makes me sound ancient!”
“Our trailer was right next to yours,” my girlfriend says.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition.
“What a lovely name!” She titters as she ushers us inside.
Haven throws a wide-eyed look my way, but all I can do is shrug.
I can’t explain my mother’s behavior. She knows who Haven is. Sure, the last time Sharon saw her, Haven was just a kid, but surely…
Maybe the Uber went through a wormhole and we’re in an alternate reality.
That would explain this.
The smell of lemon polish, fresh flowers, and roasting turkey can’t quite mask the faint undertone of my father’s cigars.
If there’s one thing I can give my mother credit for, it’s that she always kept our homes spotless.
Even when we lived in the trailer park, our single-wide was the best-kept rig around.
“You have a beautiful home,” Haven says carefully, throwing me a quizzical look over her shoulder.
Home.
None of the houses we lived in could be called a home. But at least this prison’s got crown molding and a three-car garage.
“Aw, this old thing?” Mom laughs, gesturing at the sweeping staircase, the crystal chandelier, the oil paintings. “It’s terribly outdated. I keep telling Richie we need to renovate, but you know how stubborn men can be.”
I snort to myself, and Haven elbows me in the ribs.
As if that hadn’t been directed straight at me. It’s my mother’s favorite word for me. Stubborn. Mulish. Pig-headed.
But her personal favorite? Difficult.
“Come, come! Dinner’s almost ready.” She herds us toward the dining room, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “I hope you don’t mind helping me with a few things, Hayley. The staff have the evening off, so we’ll have to serve dinner ourselves.”
“It’s Haven,” she corrects stiffly, and I don’t fucking blame her. Looks like Mom’s pregame has reached god tier levels in my absence.
My mom doesn’t seem to hear her, adjusting one of the place settings on the massive oak table.
One of six settings. Six chairs. Six cloth napkins folded into elaborate swans.
Haven notices too. Her hand finds mine, squeezing.
Six. Not three.
I pull out my phone to re-read my mother’s text. She explicitly told me Ezra wasn’t invited and Dad was busy. Suddenly, those texts seem ambiguous as fuck.
“Ezra’s not coming, is he?” I ask uneasily.
“Of course, silly,” Mom says, glancing up to smile at me. “He’ll be downstairs in a minute. Hayley, darling, do you prefer red or white?”
My stomach drops.
I get that my brother needed a place to recover after I put him in the hospital, but why the fuck would he come back here? That’s like choosing to shack up in a pit of vipers.
Haven squeezes my hand harder.
“It’s Haven,” she says again. “And red is fine.”
Mom disappears into the adjacent kitchen, humming under her breath.
“We should go.” Haven’s voice is low, urgent. She pulls out her phone. “I’m getting an Uber.”
I wrap my hand around her fingers, stopping her. “No.”
“No?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“I can’t leave, Heavenly,” I murmur, my eyes drifting to the six place settings. “She needs to know about us.”
“She doesn’t even know who I am,” she hisses. “She keeps calling me Hayley.”
“I know, and that’s…” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “That’s fucking weird. But I need to do this.”
Haven’s expression softens, but the worry doesn’t leave her eyes. “You sure? I’ve got a really bad feeling about this…”
“Should have stayed back at the Airbnb.” I have to force the words past clenched teeth. “It’s gonna be a fucking shitshow today, but I’m tired of always running at the first sign of trouble.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she steps closer, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my jaw.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “We’ll stay a little longer. But if stuff gets murder-y…”
“Then we’ll get the fuck out of here. I promise.”
My smile is strained, but it’s there. Haven smiles back and gives me another peck on the lips before following me into the kitchen.
Mom is standing by the waterfall granite island, two glasses of red wine in her hands, both filled nearly to the brim.
“Here we are!” She presses a glass into Haven’s hand, then keeps the other for herself.
When she sees my raised eyebrow, she titters and waves toward the fridge hidden behind cabinetry that matches the rest of the cupboards.
“I don’t know what you want to drink! Go grab something from the fridge.
You know Richie has a hundred different beers in there. ”
She blows out a breath, shooting Haven a look like she can’t believe her own son expects her to wait on him.
There she is.
Took a while, but the monster under all the plastic surgery and overpriced cosmetics finally reared its hideous head.
But when I look at Haven, she’s smirking like she agrees with my mom.
“Men,” Haven says, shaking her head with mock exasperation.
Mom giggles—actually fucking giggles—and clinks her glass against Haven’s. “You get it. Come, let’s dish up while Kai figures out how to open the refrigerator.”
They disappear back into the dining room, leaving me stranded in the kitchen, wondering what parallel universe I’ve woken up in.
The turkey is dry, which is surprising.
Mom used to love cooking back when we had nothing, but somewhere between the trailer park and this mansion, she forgot how to do anything for herself.
Sharon doesn’t seem to notice the state of the turkey. She carves razor-thin slices with an electric knife and lays them on our plates, waving around the table at the various side dishes for us to help ourselves.
Lumpy mashed potatoes. Stuffing that’s somehow both burned and undercooked. Green bean casserole with a suspicious gray tinge.
Yum.
When the second bite of turkey gets stuck in my throat, I have to force it down with a swig of beer or risk choking.
“Is there gravy?” I ask.
“Darn it, I knew I was forgetting something.” Mom swallows her titter with a sip of wine. “Too fattening anyway, right, Hayley?”
Haven’s eyes narrow, and her hand pauses en route to her mouth with her nearly empty glass of wine. She’s drinking as fast as my mother, but I’d be a hypocrite to call her out on it. I’m on my second beer, and we’ve only been here an hour.
“It’s Haven.”
My mom ignores her.
I focus on forcing down another bite, but my attention keeps snagging on the empty place settings with their swan napkins and gleaming silverware.
Ezra, and…?
“Who else is coming?” I say carefully, setting down my fork.
Sharon looks up, and her expression flickering into confusion before settling into that dreamy, unfocused look I’ve been seeing all evening.
“Tyler, of course.”
“That a friend of yours?” I ask, right on top of Haven’s curious, “Tyler?”
“Stop being difficult, Kai,” Mom says through a sigh. She checks her watch, tutting softly. “Richie was meant to pick him up from school. Practice must have run late.”
“There’s no practice on Thanksgiving.” My jaw clenches. “And you told me Dad wasn’t busy.”
Mom smiles at the empty chair like someone’s sitting there. “Did Tyler tell you they made him team captain?”
“Who the fuck’s Tyler?” I grit out.
Haven’s hand finds my knee under the table, squeezing hard. She must have noticed my face draining of color.
“Jesus Christ, is she doing the Tyler thing again?” says someone from the doorway.