12. Joel
12
JOEL
Thanksgiving mornings have always been hectic, but this one has a strange, comforting rhythm to it. The house smells like cinnamon, nutmeg, and turkey already roasting in the oven. Lucy’s in the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy as she orchestrates side dishes, her mom’s famous pecan pie, and something that looks like an elaborate cranberry sauce. She’s singing. Well, more humming and occasionally belting out a random verse to a playlist I didn’t even know we had. It’s infectious, her happiness buzzing through the air, impossible to ignore.
"Joel, can you grab me the nutmeg?" she asks, her voice light but commanding.
I scan the spice rack, more cluttered than usual, thanks to this culinary operation. "Where is it?"
"Top shelf, behind the vanilla," she says, not even turning to look. She’s wielding a whisk like a weapon, furiously beating a mixture that’s some shade of orange.
"Got it," I say, handing it over. She brushes her fingers against mine as she takes it, a tiny, insignificant touch that somehow feels like a spark. I’m halfway through trying to analyze that when she interrupts.
"Joel, you’re in the way."
"I’m helping."
"You’re hovering. There’s a difference," she teases, her lips curving into a grin. "If you really want to help, peel those potatoes."
I glance at the pile on the counter. "That’s like a hundred potatoes."
"Twelve," she corrects. "I’ve counted."
I grab the peeler and settle in beside her, grumbling playfully under my breath. "Slave labor."
"Oh, please," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she moves to the stove. "You’re lucky I’m letting you in the kitchen at all."
"Letting me? I’m the one who’s been roasting the turkey since eight this morning."
"Which is why I’m giving you credit—but don’t let it go to your head."
It’s easy, this back-and-forth. Too easy. Every time she laughs, it’s like a tether pulling me closer, grounding me in this moment. I’m not used to this kind of connection—lighthearted, playful, free of the pressure I’m usually carrying.
"Joel!" Lucy shrieks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look down, realizing too late that I’ve peeled half the potato straight into the cranberry sauce bowl.
"Oops."
She smacks my arm, laughing so hard she has to lean against the counter. "You’re a disaster."
"I’m efficient," I argue, though the evidence says otherwise.
Lucy’s mom enters, saving me from further ridicule. "What’s going on in here? It sounds like you two are having too much fun."
Lucy turns, her face flushed from laughing. "Just trying to keep Joel in line."
"Good luck with that," her mom says with a knowing smile. "He was always a handful, even back when he and Aiden were in school together."
I glance at Lucy, who’s suddenly very interested in stirring the mashed potatoes. Her mom’s words hang in the air, charged with something I can’t quite place.
"It’s true," Lucy’s mom continues, her tone casual. "Remember how Lucy used to follow Joel around like a puppy dog whenever he came around."
"Mom," Lucy groans, shooting her a look. "That was forever ago."
"You were adorable," her mom insists, unfazed. "And you, Joel, were too oblivious to notice."
"I…" I start, but the words fizzle out. I glance at Lucy, who’s avoiding my gaze like it’s the plague. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, and for some reason, it’s all I can focus on. It’s a memory trying to surface, Lucy in middle school, all wide eyes and a quick laugh, always ready with some clever remark to keep up with Aiden and me. And then there were the moments I’d catch her watching me, her gaze lingering just a second too long. I’d chalked it up to pre-teen awkwardness, never giving it much thought. Then, when we came home from college and Lucy was in high school, I remember noticing that she was no longer a little girl, but still off-limits.
Her mom shrugs and pats my shoulder. "Well, it’s all water under the bridge now. Let’s get back to work, shall we?"
But instead of dispersing, her words leave an impression. "Lucy tried to hide it but she had the biggest crush on you." It’s meant to be lighthearted, but now it feels like a spotlight on something I’ve been too cautious to name. I glance at Lucy again, wondering what she’s thinking, but she’s already moved on, chattering with her mom about gravy consistency.
As I grab a dish towel to clean up the counter, I catch snippets of their conversation.
"You’re going to burn that," Lucy’s mom says, pointing at the gravy bubbling a little too enthusiastically on the stove.
"I’ve got it," Lucy insists, but there’s a hint of distraction in her voice. Her mom doesn’t let it go.
"Lucy, honey," she says softly, leaning closer, "you’ve been blushing since I walked in here. Are you sure there’s nothing going on with you and Joel?"
Lucy sputters, her cheeks now a deeper shade of pink. "Mom! Seriously, we’re just… friends."
Her mom gives a knowing smile, not buying it for a second. "Alright, if you say so. But friends don’t usually look at each other the way you two do."
I’m not sure if I should stay or leave, but before I can decide, Lucy shoots me a warning glance. "Joel, do not say a word."
"Wasn’t planning on it," I reply, raising my hands in mock surrender. But even as I return to peeling potatoes, her mom’s words stick with me. Friends don’t usually look at each other the way you two do. What does that mean? And more importantly, what am I supposed to do about it?
Lucy’s mom shifts the conversation to safer ground, commenting on the music playing in the background. But the air feels different now, charged with an undercurrent of questions neither Lucy nor I seem ready to answer. As the playlist switches to a cheery holiday tune, I can’t help but think about it.
By the time dinner’s ready, the house is filled with the kind of warmth that only comes from too many people crammed into one space. The dining table is overflowing with dishes, each more delicious looking than the last. Joel carves the turkey while Miles and Finn fight over who gets the first roll. Lucy’s mom doles out plates with practiced efficiency, like she’s been running Thanksgiving dinners for decades.
It’s noisy, chaotic, and perfect.
"This stuffing is amazing," Aiden says, his mouth full. "Who made it?"
"I did," Lucy replies, looking smug. "Joel helped… kind of."
"Hey," I protest, "those potatoes didn’t peel themselves."
"First, there are no potatoes in the stuffing and second, you mean the potatoes you almost ruined by adding them to the cranberries?" Lucy teases, and the table bursts into laughter.
As the meal winds down and we start in on the pumpkin pie, the conversation shifts to other topics: holiday traditions, childhood memories, and Lucy’s mom’s ongoing campaign to convince Aiden to finally settle down.
"Aiden, sweetheart," her mom says, waving a fork for emphasis, "it’s time you stopped playing bachelor and found someone. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’d like some grandchildren from you too."
"Mom," Aiden groans, rubbing his temples. "You’ve got Lucy for that."
"Oh, Lucy’s on her own timetable," her mom retorts. "And besides, she’s already given me hope by bringing Joel into the mix."
"What?" Lucy’s fork clatters to her plate as she looks up, wide-eyed. "Joel’s not… he’s not in the mix!"
"Yet," her mom says smoothly, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "But I’m a patient woman."
The table bursts into laughter, even Aiden chuckling despite his earlier protests. I catch Lucy glancing at me occasionally, her expression unreadable but soft. There’s a vulnerability there that feels rare, even in moments like this.
"Alright, alright," Aiden says, raising his hands. "Enough about me. Let’s talk about something else."
"Fine," Lucy’s mom says, clearly not ready to let him off the hook but willing to change the subject. "How about holiday traditions? Joel, do you have any with the boys?"
I clear my throat, grateful for the deflection. "We keep it pretty simple. Gingerbread houses, a lot of Christmas movies, and decorating the tree. Miles insists on putting the star on top every year, even though Finn’s always trying to talk him into trading."
"Classic sibling politics," Lucy says, her laughter light. "It sounds perfect."
"It is," I admit, glancing at her. "Though it’s about to get even more chaotic with someone like you around."
She grins, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes, something that feels like it’s meant just for me. The moment stretches between us, quiet and meaningful, until Lucy’s mom interrupts.
"Joel," she says, her tone shifting to something more serious, "you’ve been doing an incredible job with those boys. I just want you to know that."
I nod, the weight of her words settling over me. "Thank you. That means a lot."
The conversation drifts again, back to holiday anecdotes and stories of childhood mischief. But even as the laughter flows, I can’t stop myself from glancing at Lucy. Her mom’s earlier comment about me being "in the mix" is still echoing in my head.
After dinner, everyone gravitates to their usual corners. Aiden and I end up in the living room, watching football while Lucy, her mom, and the boys dive into a Monopoly game in the den. It’s the kind of chaos that only a six-year-old who doesn’t understand money can bring. Every so often, Lucy’s laughter rings out, blending with the boys’ squeals of delight.
"You’ve got a good thing going here," Aiden says suddenly, pulling my attention away from the screen.
"What do you mean?"
He nods toward the den. "This. The boys, Lucy. It feels… solid."
I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t. Instead, I take a sip of my beer and wait for him to continue.
"You’re serious about her, aren’t you?" he asks after a beat.
"Aiden…"
"Don’t Aiden me. Just answer the question."
I sigh, setting the bottle down. "I don’t know. It’s complicated."
"Complicated how? Because she’s my sister?"
"Partly," I admit. "And partly because I… I don’t want to mess this up. She’s important to me, Aiden. And the boys love her."
He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the game playing out on the TV. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. "I just don’t want her to get hurt."
"Neither do I," I say firmly. "That’s the last thing I want."
He studies me, his expression unreadable, before nodding. "Alright. But if you screw this up, I’ll kill you."
I smirk. "Fair enough."
By the time everyone heads home or to their respective guest rooms, the house is quiet again. Lucy’s cleaning up in the kitchen, and I find myself lingering in the doorway, watching her. She moves with an easy grace, singing under her breath as she loads the dishwasher.
"Need help?" I ask.
She glances over her shoulder, smiling. "I’ve got it. But thanks."
I don’t leave, though. Instead, I step closer, leaning against the counter. "You did good today."
"So did you," she says, her voice soft. There’s a moment of silence, and then she looks at me, her eyes searching mine. "Joel… can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What did you and Aiden talk about? After dinner?"
I hesitate, not sure how much to say. "Just… you."
Her eyebrows lift. "Me?"
I shake my head. "He’s protective. But he’s coming around."
She studies me for a moment, and then her lips curve into a small, knowing smile. "Good."
I lean in and plant a gentle kiss on her sweet lips.