Chapter 23 Alexander Thursday
Thursday
Why the hell did I ever agree to host Thanksgiving?
My parents and Harrison are a mere five minutes away and nothing is ready.
“Are you sure we have enough food?” I ask Valentina.
Her hand wipes at her brow as she opens the oven to check the turkey.
“Yes.” Valentina cuts me a sideward glance that says Enough already.
Usually, all I have to worry about is picking up a pumpkin pie and a few other sweet treats en route to Thanksgiving at my parents’ house.
Once I’m there, I help Harrison peel the potatoes and prepare the greens while our parents fight over how to roast the turkey and other trimmings.
But nope, I stupidly decided it would be a good idea to give them the year off after all I’ve put them through, which also allows Christopher to join us after he visits Andrew at the hospital.
His Friendsgiving plans were understandably canceled.
It's added more stress than I need right now, when I’m meant to be relaxing and unwinding, now that all my commitments are done for the year.
The cooking, the decorations, the bedroom issue.
I had to move out all of my stockpiled goods from the fourth bedroom to the garage just to accommodate everyone, since Christopher is still occupying one of the guest rooms. But at least I found the dozen cranberry and apple candles I’d stashed away. Small wins, I guess.
Right. The food is being prepared. The bedrooms are sorted. The table and decorations are set. I just need to change into my Christmas sweater and then I’m good to… Shit. The snacks. The goddamn snacks.
My stomach drops at the sight of an empty table in the lounge area.
“Valentina. Do we have chips and dip?” I frantically head toward the kitchen. How could I be so dumb as to forget the snacks and drinks for the NFL game before dinner?
“I don’t think so,” she says, walking to the pantry.
A quick check confirms her suspicions, and the doorbell sounds at the same time.
Great.
Now I’m down snacks, not fully dressed, and out of time. My cheeks burn with indignation.
“Valentina, could you get that while I change?”
I squeeze her shoulder and run through to my walk-in wardrobe, flinging my clothes on the floor as I desperately try to find that damn Christmas sweater.
I spot it up on a high shelf and reach up to get it.
My big toe hits the bottom of the wardrobe, forcing me to bite my lip to hold in the pain. Damn it.
My parents’ voices echo down the hall as I contort my body to get into the Rudolph sweater. I really should get the same one in a size up. My dad will never know.
Right. Just the snacks and we should be good to go. I fire off a text to Christopher, asking him to pick some up on his way back, and join my family back in the lounge.
“It smells divine in here.” My mom grabs me and pulls me into her.
Their overnight bags litter the floor by her feet. Valentina takes the pumpkin and key lime pie from Harrison to put on the kitchen counter, as Harrison and my dad head to the couch to fight over the remote without as much as a hello.
“What’s up bro? Can’t believe you’re wearing that,” Harrison says, smirking at me in his white Supreme T-shirt and shorts. His outfit is much more appropriate for the eighty degree weather than mine is.
Bitterness coats my mouth as I realize I’m the only one wearing the traditional Christmas sweater dad got us ten years ago. I push my frustration down. I’ve committed now.
My dad closes the blinds and the room goes dark.
“Why do you have so many remotes?” He reaches for another one, turning on the TV this time.
God, this is going to be a long day.
Valentina places empty bowls on the dining table. “Would anyone like something to drink?” she asks.
“I could murder a beer,” my dad says, already lost in the New York Giants vs. Dallas Cowboys game.
“Me too!” Harrison shouts. This is the first Thanksgiving he’s able to legally drink.
“Don’t you think we should skip alcohol this year?”
My mom’s head nods not-so-subtly at me when they both turn toward her. Ugh. I knew it wouldn’t be long before her smothering ways showed up. I know she means well, but it’s not always helpful. I just want things to be normal.
“I’m fine, Mom. Let them drink if they want.”
Valentina heads off to fetch them both a drink as my mom and I go to the outdoor kitchen to grab Sprites. We sit down on the two sun loungers by the pool.
“Did you catch any of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade before you left?”
“No. Your dad insisted leaving early because he was worried about traffic down the PCH. Even though I told him it’d be better to go down I-5. And what do you know, the traffic was bad and we ended up on the freeway.”
Typical dad. Always thinking he’s right.
“How is he?” I ask, opening my Sprite. I quickly hold it to my mouth when it fizzes.
My mom shuffles uncomfortably and plays with the hem of her red dress.
“You know your father.” She rolls her eyes.
I cast a look inside as he shouts at the screen.
“He’s not looking great.” His usual clean-shaven face has been replaced by patchy stubble and there’s dark circles underneath his eyes.
“He’s got a lot on his mind, son.”
My mom leaves her statement hanging in the air as she gets up and heads into the lounge to join the others.
What does she mean, A lot on his mind?
Christopher is still holding the bigger half of the wishbone I’d picked up a few days ago, waving it round like a prized possession. A gleeful look spreads across his face. It’s the same one Harrison has whenever he beats me at something, knowing how much I hate to lose.
The family are all sitting round the table, ready to start eating Thanksgiving dinner.
I put on a smile and fight back my true feelings.
I was robbed.
The spread looks incredible when I take it all in. The honey-glazed turkey. The four different types of stuffing. The collard greens, sweet potatoes, cornbread, and more, all smelling absolutely delectable.
“Uh-uh.” My mom waves her finger at Harrison, who’s already begun helping himself to the mashed potatoes. “Not before we each say what we’re grateful for. Christopher, why don’t you start us off?”
My mom’s gaze turns to him as Harrison puts the bowl down.
Christopher’s face is like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Erm. I’m. Erm,” Christopher stutters as he fiddles with his napkin. “I’m grateful to you all for having me here today, and to the doctors and nurses at the hospital for looking after Andrew.”
He quickly reaches for his drink and takes two big gulps.
I place my hand on his leg and squeeze it tightly.
It’s okay, you’re okay, I say with my eyes.
“I’m grateful for you all coming here to celebrate Thanksgiving. To Valentina for preparing this wonderful food. And to each of you for putting up with everything these past few months. And to you both for being the best parents a son could ever ask for.”
I reach for my glass and raise a toast as my parents share a brief uncomfortable look, their mouths both hard-set, before my mom turns to watch a butterfly flutter into the room.
What the hell is going on between those two?
The tension in the air could be cut with a bread knife.
“Harrison?” I ask, wanting to move things along quickly.
“I’m grateful to be moving to LA in January.” He smiles widely.
“No way. Did you get the job?” My response is a little too enthusiastic.
I already know the answer. I’d pulled in a favor with my agent to put in a good word with the production company Harrison had applied to. But I made sure there was no way my brother would find out I had a hand in it or that he’d be accused of nepotism.
“Yes, they let me know yesterday… I’m also grateful for a brother who’ll let me live with him when I move down here.” His brows arch.
“That sounds like a great way for you two to bond again,” my mom interjects as I start to speak.
Ugh.
Will she ever stop interfering in my personal business?
I swallow down my frustration, and when that doesn’t help, I reach for my drink and take a gulp, then another.
“Sure. Would be good to have you here,” I eventually respond.
The thought sends a shudder through me though, and I think of all the house rules I’ll need to ensure he follows so he doesn’t turn the place into a bachelor pad.
Christopher grabs my leg and squeezes tightly. Warmth lines the wrinkles of his eyes as he smiles.
“I’m grateful to see my two sons turning into men,” my mom chimes in. “Grateful you are both happy and healthy.” She reaches across the table to grab both of our hands.
“And I’m grateful to be alive.” My dad slurs his speech as he takes the last swig of beer from his bottle. It’s his seventh since arriving.
“Maybe you should lay off the beer and drink some water,” my mom says.
She release her grip on our hands to push the water jug toward him.
“And maybe you should quit telling me what to do.” He knocks the jug back toward her, sending it flying to the floor, and clenches his fists. His face is red and his eyes are bloodshot.
I need to deescalate this, to neutralize this war of words, but I can’t find the words.
“God, I’ve had it with you Bruce. I really have.”
My mom lifts the napkin from her lap and wipes the water from the table while I grab the jug, which thankfully had landed on the rug, preventing it from smashing.
“Well, thankfully you won’t have to put up with me for much longer, now that you’ve filed for divorce.” His words are no longer laced with fire, but with ice.
The jug drops from my hand back onto the rug.
Divorce? Did he just say divorce?
My mom sits frozen in place.
“You’re getting divorced?” Harrison directs his attention toward mom.
The expression on his face matches what must be written across mine.
Shock. Disbelief.
I sit back down and Christopher reaches for my leg again. He slowly rubs his thumb across it like a windscreen wiper.