11. Sophie #2
He smiles harmlessly, but I can see the little crease forming at the corner of his mouth.
He’s testing her, nudging, circling, and she’s staying immaculately composed.
I have to admit there’s something impressive about her poise.
But I also notice the slight tightening of her jaw, the way her hands hover too long over her wine glass.
June finally picks at her food, tiny bites, eyes flicking between Meredith and Richard like she’s measuring the distance before an eruption. She doesn’t say a word.
“I’m sure we’re all very grateful that you parted on such amicable terms,” Richard leans back, apparently satisfied with his little verbal prods.
For a fleeting second, I wish he weren’t here: that we might have a normal Thanksgiving, just family and mashed potatoes.
Like his absence might somehow cure all the other things that linger between us.
But I’m not one for deluding myself. As awful as Richard can be, there’s no glossing over the rest of it.
It doesn’t stop me from gripping my fork a little harder as Meredith dutifully ignores him.
But Richard can’t help himself. Of course, he can’t. He’s been circling Meredith since she walked through the door, but when that doesn’t get him the reaction he wants, he turns his sights on June.
“So,” he says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin he doesn’t need. “How does it feel, June, being the wronged woman? Must have been quite the shock, keeping up with Ashton’s… jet-setting lifestyle. Paris, wasn’t it? Quite the honeymoon spot.”
June’s head snaps up. Her eyes are sharp for the first time since she arrived. The air at the table tightens impossibly; even Trent seems to sense it, his mutterings to Mom drawing to a close.
She smiles then, but it’s the wrong kind of smile, stretching too far up her face.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, Richard,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You should try it sometime. If you don’t have to bribe your way onto a plane, that is. I hear that’s your style these days.”
Richard chuckles, delighted he’s struck gold and forced a reaction out of one of us. “And yet only one of us has ended up before a federal judge.”
“You want to let me into your office? See if I can’t find something that will up your chances?”
His eyes flash dangerously in Meredith’s direction before landing back on June. “And here I was thinking you’d learned your lesson about messing about with people you don’t know.”
June’s jaw ticks. She wavers. Wavers.
That’s never happened before. Not with Richard, the man she’s been going toe-to-toe with since I was a teenager.
Before I even think about it, the words are out of my mouth. “That’s enough, Richard.”
The table stills. Everyone stares. Even I’m surprised at the steel in my voice.
“You don’t get to sit here and needle her like that. Not when you’ve made your mistakes too. We all know it. So, if you fancy projecting your anger onto someone, I suggest you do so elsewhere,” I swallow hard. “It’s Thanksgiving, for God’s sake.”
Richard raises his brows, amused, leaning back in his chair like a king surveying his court. “Well. The Holloway sisters, circling the wagons once again. How quaint.”
“Aiden used to love this cranberry sauce.”
Eleanor’s soft words fizzle out the fight before any of us can retaliate. She smiles softly, as if suddenly drifting into her own orbit. Unphased by our raised voices and the antagonism, nor the worried looks we all throw her way.
“I used to make so much of it for him, and every year he’d try his best to eat it all,” she chuckles to herself. “I never told him. I used to use the leftovers for the pie the next day. Couldn’t bear to throw it out.”
“We can do that tomorrow, if you like,” Trent says as he reaches for her hand. I watch as he squeezes it lightly, fondness and pride blooming where fire raged only moments before.
The silence that follows shifts the mood entirely. And I feel it, the unspoken weight pressing on all of us.
We’re all tired. We’re all carrying too much.
Meredith trying to hold us together, June with her trial, me with Trent and the Shack. Eleanor is drifting further away every day. Even Richard, though I hate to admit it, looks worn down under his smugness. All animals backed into a corner, lashing out at the things that move closest.
I find myself watching June again, feeling the exhaustion seep straight into my bones. The resentment I felt toward her melts away under the weight of our combined hurt.
“I actually have some news,” Meredith says steadily, but I can see her hand tightening slightly on the stem of her wine glass. “While I was in Boston, Mark told me Ashton’s trial has a date.”
The words drop like a stone in water. A ripple spreads instantly across the table. Affecting everyone except June, who seems to turn to stone.
“With like, a jury and stuff?” I find myself asking, suddenly very self-conscious about how little I know about the process.
Meredith nods, but like the rest of us, turns to watch how June takes the news.
Then she smiles politely. Pointedly ignoring the worried looks.
“Well. I suppose I’ll need to extend my leave of absence from the Shack.”
Trent frowns. “Leave? But you just got back, and?—”
“Trent.” My voice cuts sharper than I mean, but he quiets, chewing instead of pressing further.
Meredith looks like she’s about to reach for her hand, but June pushes her chair back before she has the chance. The sound of wood scraping against the floor puts my teeth on edge.
“Thank you for dinner,” June says, addressing Eleanor, though our mother is staring dreamily at the chandelier above the table. “It was… lovely.”
No one stops her. Maybe we’re not sure if we even should.
A thousand questions suddenly come to mind, all the things that have been driving me insane these last few months. Not knowing what’s going on in her head, only how much she’s clearly suffering for it.
Never have I felt more selfish. Never have I wanted to eat my words more.
Yet I stay seated. My chest begins to ache again as the front door clicks shut behind her.