Chapter 23 Alexander Thursday #2
“Bruce. What did we agree to?” She slams the napkin down on the table. The coldness in her voice matches his, matched with a stare that could bury him twelve feet under.
“We didn’t agree to anything, Carla.” He pushes his chair back from the table to stand up. “You decided it was best to sit down and tell the boys once everything was finalized. Once we’d worked out who would be living where.”
His fist slams down on the table, making us all jump, and he storms out of the room. I reach for the back of my neck and pull at the collar of the sweater, its tightness constricting my throat. My mind races to try and make sense of everything.
Is it because of what I said about David on the live stream?
Does Harrison moving out mean there’s nothing left to keep them together?
Are one, or both of them, having an affair?
My mom gets up and heads outside while Harrison digs into the food.
So much for a nice family Thanksgiving.
Friday
Christopher runs his fingers through my hair as I lay in his arms. The rain from the morning storm hits my bedroom window, but the warmth of his body helps soothe away the coldness I faced from my family yesterday.
The battle to convince my dad not to drive home, as he was in no fit state to drive.
My mom locking herself away in the spare room.
Putting my dad up in a hotel room to avoid further arguments.
Him blaming me for mom filing for divorce.
Harrison had done nothing, leaving me to deal with the whole mess.
“It’s not your fault. Your dad was just angry,” Christopher says.
“How can you be so sure?” I say, pushing myself up against the headrest.
My dad had all but said outright that my live stream had set the wheels in motion for their divorce.
It had almost caused me to relapse after dropping him off at the hotel.
But I pulled up at Pavilions and Pink’s Sober had come onto the radio.
A sign if ever there was one. Lee is going to have a field day in our session later.
“He probably said it in the drunken heat of the moment. I’m sure he’ll apologize later when you pick him up.”
He reaches down to lock his fingers with mine, his thumb rubbing the side of my hand.
Right now, I don’t want to leave this room. To face my mom or brother, or to have to deal with my dad. I’d rather stay here in bed with Christopher, but I can’t avoid them forever. Especially when two of the three are still in my house.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that. It’s not how I hoped Thanksgiving dinner would go.” I shake my head at how disastrous it was. How all that food went to waste.
Christopher lifts his hand, still interlocked with mine, and kisses it.
“Don’t be sorry. That’s how families are. Messy. Stitched together by stories and scars. Tangled like old Christmas lights—but still glowing in all the right places when you need them the most.”
I squeeze his fingers tightly as my gaze is drawn up from our hands to his hazel eyes, and I think of how many stories and scars our journey together has had so far.
Will Christopher continue to be a glowing light in my life? Or will something come along to pull the plug, like my mom did on her marriage to dad? I shake away the thought, not wanting to lose the moment, this closeness, between us.
“Thank you,” I say, leaning over to kiss his forehead before pulling the covers back.
“Do you know what the worst part about all this is?” I ask.
Christopher shrugs.
“All the food that’s gone to waste. You know, twelve years ago, we could only dream of a dinner like yesterday’s.”
Christopher flings the duvet away from his side and swings his legs round to stand up as I reach for my phone.
“What do you mean dream?” His face is full of confusion.
“This,” I say, waving my hand around the room, “is a far cry from the coupon-cutting household I grew up in. We weren’t just poor, we were poor.
” My voice adopts a Southern twang on the second poor.
“That’s why I want to take everything down to the food bank, and to stop off and pick up some extra bits at Costco.
No one should go hungry, especially at this time of the year. ”
Christopher’s head tilts as he studies me.
“Just when I think I’m starting to figure you out, you go and surprise me again.”
A smile rises on his face as he slides on his T-shirt.
“I hope that’s a good surprise.”
I make my way over and stand toe-to-toe with him. His breath tickles my skin.
“It’s the good kind. The kind that makes me want to stick around to find out what other surprises like that you have in there.” His finger digs into my chest as his lips meet mine.
My hands drift down to his boxers, and I start to slide them off when his phone rings.
He unlocks his lips from mine, and I pull him back toward me.
“Ignore it,” I say.
“I can’t, what if it’s…” His head is already turning to the bedside table.
He stretches over and picks up the phone.
“Jason, what’s up?” he says.
Jason? Who’s Jason? I don’t recall him mentioning a Jason.
“Okay, okay. I’m twenty minutes away, I’ll be right there,” Christopher says, and hangs up. His gaze darts round the room.
“What is it?”
I grab both sides of Christopher’s head with my hands to steady him.
“It’s Andrew. He’s awake.”