Chapter 26 #2
“No, no… you don’t have to do that.” He held up the bird. “Show me to your basement.”
Mrs. Price led him downstairs, where he slid the turkey into the fridge while she chatted about the weather, the holiday, and how her eldest son—which Jude hadn’t known existed—and his family weren’t going to be joining them for their feast, to their disappointment.
After they resurfaced on the first floor, Mr. Price smiled.
“Thank you for bringing that by. It was mighty kind of you. I know I wouldn’t have had it in me to lift it this year.”
“All a part of the service we provide. I know people can go get their meats at the grocery store, but they’re nowhere as good and they won’t deliver your Thanksgiving turkey straight to your fridge,” Jude said with a grin. “I hope you folks have a lovely holiday.”
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with something to eat? I’ve got a pot pie in the oven.”
“I’m sorely tempted, Mrs. P, especially if that’s what smells so good in here, but I really should get home.”
“Please, call me Adeline.”
Jude grinned. “Sure thing, Mrs. P.”
“If you must go, I can send you with a plate home.”
“Don’t go to all that trouble for me, please.”
“It’s no trouble, I assure you,” Mrs. Price said, walking over to the oven. She pulled out the casserole before he could refuse again.
He hung beside the back door, waiting for her to fill a plate for him. Reaching for a box of foil on the counter, she looked over at him. “Sure you don’t want to sit down and eat it here?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He didn’t want to tell them he was wearing stinky work clothes covered in specks of blood from the cutting room. No way was he sitting down at her table like that, not without a shower and a change of clothes.
“I understand,” Mrs. Price said before covering his plate with foil and handing it over..
“Thank you,” Jude said before lifting the plate closer to his nose. “That is what I was smelling.”
Mrs. Price smiled. “You’re very welcome. I appreciate you going out of your way to help with the turkey.”
“Not out of my way, I assure you.”
Mrs. Price placed a hand on his arm as he reached for the knob. “I was wondering what your plans were for the holiday?”
“I’m usually pretty wiped out after the chaos at the shop. You saw those lines. They’ll be even longer tomorrow, and we stay open later, too. I’ll probably order myself some Chinese and crash.”
“Well, sleep late Thursday morning because you’re invited here in the afternoon.”
Jude eyed her. “I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ll be pretty tired. I doubt I’ll be great company.”
“I doubt you could be bad company, Jude.” She smiled up at him.
“I promise, we’ll handle everything. All the cooking and the clean-up.
You just bring yourself.” She moved a bit closer.
“I owe it to Gabriel and Rosalie to make sure their boy has a place at our table for Thanksgiving. I should’ve asked last year, but I…
” Tears shone in her eyes. “I should’ve asked but I didn’t. I’m not going to miss another year.”
“I didn’t know you knew my parents.” He’d been kidding earlier at the shop when he’d called her an old family friend. It had only been meant to put her at ease for cutting the line.
“Oh, we were very close friends years back,” Foster’s mother said. “Long, long ago.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“Well, it was before you and Foster were born,” she said.
“We… well, we kind of drifted apart. Life is funny like that sometimes. You live in the same town, yet the world takes you into two different directions and suddenly, you don’t know people you wholeheartedly adored anymore. It’s sad, really.”
Jude sensed there was a deeper story there, but a little voice told him he wasn’t ready to hear it.
Foster’s mother took his hand. “Let’s just say, I know how much they wanted a child in their lives and how overjoyed they were to finally have you. You were cherished.”
Jude fought a tickle at the backs of his eyes. His parents had given him nothing but love and he missed them terribly, especially when the holidays came round. With them both being only children, he was the last Margulies in their family line.
Given his sexuality, there would likely be no more, either.
She smiled. “You’re coming to dinner. I insist.”
Jude met her stare, noting a bit of challenge in it. Instinct had him ready to refuse, but agreeing would mean he’d get to see Foster. He still wasn’t sure if Foster wanted to see him, though.
I guess there’s one way to find out.
“How could I possibly say no?”
“You can’t,” Mrs. Price said, grinning. “Dinner’s usually around four but you can come earlier and watch football with the boys if you want.”
He suddenly remembered the twenty-five pounder he’d just shoved in her fridge. That meant a big gathering. Foster was one thing, but if he had to deal with a houseful of strangers? He wasn’t quite so sure. “How many people are you feeding?”
“Oh, about twenty or so.”
Jude inwardly cringed.
“Oh, don’t you worry. It’ll only be the four of us at dinner.
“Where’s the other sixteen?”
“I make up plates for the Eastfield firefighters who work Thanksgiving and deliver them after supper’s over. There are two stations, and they usually have about six folks covering each one. I send a couple of extra plates to each just in case my numbers are off.”
“That’s really sweet. I wish I’d known. I’d have donated the bird.”
“Maybe next year,” Mrs. Price said with a wink. She patted his hand. “You’re a sweet boy.”
Jude opened the door to head out.
“Four o’clock. Don’t forget.”
Jude smiled over his shoulder. “I won’t forget.”
Foster was utterly exhausted. The previous week had been relatively busy, in preparation for the holiday.
Now that it was around the corner, he’d taken the train in three hours early the last two mornings and had arrived home almost as late—just to ensure his desk was absolutely clear.
Spears and Walker not only took the day before, of, and after Thanksgiving off—but the whole following week, too.
The team there was abuzz, accustomed to the bonus holiday time.
Many had made extensive travel plans to foreign destinations, taking full advantage.
It left him feeling nervous.
Foster had offered to be the point person since he had no plans—most brokerages had one for holidays to monitor the markets for danger—but he’d been told it was covered.
By whom, he did not know. He was used to a plan being in place.
There didn’t seem to be one, and that made him incredibly antsy.
The NYSE was closed on Thanksgiving, but only the single day—and foreign markets didn’t close at all.
They’d all be open the following week when Spears and Walker was closed.
A brokerage closing for an entire week during active trading was unheard of.
Foster was only a sell-side analyst, not an active trader for the company, but if he was, he’d be losing his mind at the thought of a week without checking in.
Not that team, though. They had visions of the Bahamas, Ibiza, and St. Kitt’s dancing in their heads.
The laid-back nature of the company—the virtual work, the relaxed atmosphere, and the interesting corporate culture—had all contributed to his desire to work there.
Brokerages were high-stress, high-tension atmospheres, and he’d wanted something different.
Spears and Walker had been that something different, and he absolutely loved it there.
But closing for a full week without a solid plan in place and no idea who was watching the henhouse was leaving him frustrated.
There was laid-back, and then there was irresponsible.
Bash had assured him that their investments would be fine.
The man had decades of successes under his belt, so perhaps Foster shouldn’t worry so much.
He suspected he was going to work from home for most of the time off—even if it was just checking in a few times a day to ensure catastrophe hadn’t set in.
Bash had already warned him not to, but he was finally back in the swing of things and feeling confident again.
No way was he going to lose an entire week and return to work feeling lost.
Foster could feel the tension in every muscle.
His bones were weary. As he walked home from the train station, his fatigue made the trip feel twice as long.
He turned the corner for home and noticed a big, refrigerated truck pulling out of their driveway, emblazoned with the logo: Gabriel’s Meats.
He sped up, sure it was Jude behind the wheel.
Before he could get close to the house, the truck was already at the opposite end of his street.
Fuck!
He marched inside. “Mom! Dad!”
“In the kitchen, hon,” his mom called.
“What was that truck that just pulled out?” Foster asked.
“Jude delivered our Thanksgiving turkey. He didn’t want me taking it earlier today because it was so heavy and he knew you were at work and couldn’t carry it in for me. He’s such a sweetheart.”
“And I missed him,” Foster mumbled to himself, shaking his head.
“What’s that?” his mom asked.
“Nothing,” Foster said. He yawned. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head up and go straight to bed.”
“Have you eaten? We held dinner late. It’s staying warm in the oven.”
“I told you that you didn’t have to wait,” Foster said.
“Well, we did,” his mother said. She walked over to the oven. “It’s just a pot pie casserole. I wanted to make something easy since we’ll be so busy the next couple of days.” She pulled it out, and his stomach grumbled. “I’ll fix you a plate to take up with you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Foster said. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Where’s Dad?”
“Over here.”
He found his father seated at the kitchen table, which was hidden by a bunch of baking implements his mother had stacked on the counter. He was snipping green beans into a massive bowl. “Hey, Dad. Mom’s put you to work, hmm?”
“Somebody’s got to,” his dad said, smiling as he snipped away.
Foster took the plate piled high from his mom. “Did Jude leave a message for me?”
She frowned. “No. He didn’t even want me to mention he was here, in fact.”
“Oh,” Foster said, his shoulders sagging.
“I thought the two of you were friends?” his mother asked.
“We were,” Foster replied, his stomach twisting at the word were.
“Oh,” his mom said, concern creeping into the lines on her face.
“I’m glad he delivered the turkey for you. That was nice of him.” Foster forced a smile. “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. Can we start a bit later so I can sleep in a little? Like ten?”
“Ten sounds good. Rest up, kiddo.”
“I’ll be ready. I promise. Night.”
“Night,” his parents said in unison before the back door shut.
As Foster walked up the apartment stairs, he reached for his phone and typed out a quick message.
Foster
Thanks for helping my parents with the turkey. It’s appreciated.
He hit Send before he lost his nerve.
Before he opened his door, he got a reply. Not much of one, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He’d hoped for a backdoor way into a conversation, though.
Jude wasn’t giving him a way in.
Jude
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