Chapter 27
THE LIVING ROOM view of the ocean is stunning. Inside, everything turns out to be exactly what I imagined a beach house to be. The two white sofas are dressed with throw pillows in an array of blues. A low, white coffee table sits at the centre of the seating area.
And the room is packed with people standing around chatting, while others have found themselves a seat on the couches.
Rudy introduces me to everyone, but there are so many names that I’ve forgotten half of them by the time we make our way around the room to settle in next to each other on the sofa.
With his dark hair and green-brown eyes, Rudy’s father is basically just an older version of Rudy with a sliiightly different clothing style.
Where Rudy’s usually dressed in ripped jeans, a T-shirt, and laced boots, his dad is neatly clad in a shirt and dress pants.
I was just informed that he’s a cardiologist, which I suppose explains the ginormous house.
I’m so sad Grandpa can’t be here this year, Lauren shares with me quietly, letting her gaze drift around the room. He loved Thanksgiving, even though it’s an American tradition.
Why couldn’t he come? I wonder, my tone curious.
Grandpa Rudolph passed away in September, she clarifies.
He lived in England, but he would always come visit us in November and stay through Thanksgiving.
She lets out a heavy sigh. His funeral was in London, with a really lovely service.
The two of us even performed Sympathy for the Devil at the church—that was his favourite song.
I’d say the priest was less impressed, though, she chuckles.
Holy crap, he really gave us hell for that one, right, Rudy?
Gave us hell? he laughs, shaking his head. He said we’d burn in hell. Lauren told him she’d bring the marshmallows and that’s when he fully lost his shit.
Right! Lauren cackles. I forgot about that!
The rest of the service was so nice, though, Rudy concedes, sounding more serious now. I’m sure Grandpa would have had a good laugh about the whole thing. He had a pretty dark sense of humour.
I’m still wildly jealous that you got his guitar, Lauren pouts. That thing is beautiful.
But you’re a drummer, I say with surprise.
So? I can still appreciate a gorgeous instrument when I see one. It does make sense that it went to you, though. She gives her brother a tender glance. You learned how to play on that guitar.
Sure did, he says.
I notice how a melancholy look sweeps over his face.
Dammit, I really miss that guy. He was such a natural talent, way better than I’ll ever be.
He stares down at his boots. And to think they almost didn’t let me bring his guitar back with me because it wouldn’t fit with the regular luggage.
I had to rebook my flight, which is how I ended up sitting next to you.
He shoots me a warm smile as he gently elbows me in the side.
Who would have thought we’d end up here, huh?
He chuckles, wrapping an arm around me. Not one of my finest moments.
I let my mind drift back to our flight to New York, to Rudy’s deeply rude behaviour, and now I can understand why. He was mourning the loss of his grandfather and not at all in the mood for my silly little problems.
I’ve long forgiven you for being such a grouch, I say, laying my head on his shoulder.
Uncle Rudy! It’s the same screechy little voice I heard coming from inside the turkey, but now it’s calling out from the doorway.
Looking up, I see a little boy, about seven years old, running directly at Rudy.
His blonde hair is greasy and when he squishes his little butt in-between me and Rudy, I catch a whiff of garlic and rosemary.
I guess the turkey had already been marinated.
Rudy looks at his nephew’s cute little face—now that it’s been freed from a certain place where the sun don’t shine.
I see the turkey has given birth to a healthy boy, he jokes. Nana got you all sorted out, then?
Elliot gives him an emphatic nod. The turkey’s all wrecked, but Nana’s going to put the pieces in the oven, he explains. And I didn’t sneeze! he proudly adds.
Thank goodness. A new voice has entered the room.
We look up, straight into another pair of hazel eyes. Rudy and Lauren’s brother Conor joins us on the armrest of the couch.
You and I are gonna have a big conversation when we get home, bud he adds, giving his son a stern look.
Elliot’s eyes go wide, projecting complete innocence. Why?
Because you can’t just shove your head inside a dead animal. It’s disrespectful and unhygienic.
But . . . it was just a joke! Elliot splutters. He stubbornly crosses his arms, glaring straight ahead in anger.
Ah, cheer up, Elliot, Joey says. I thought it was super funny. He’s sitting much closer to Lauren than strictly necessary. I notice her pluck at a loose little thread sticking out of one of the pillows as her other hand grips onto the edge of the sofa.
Elliot glowers at Joey. It wasn’t supposed to be funny. It was supposed to be scary.
It was pretty scary when you thought you were going to sneeze, Rudy says in a serious voice. I was scared we wouldn’t get to have any turkey this year.
Ugh, that’s not what I mean! Elliot lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh. His crystal blue eyes are shooting daggers at Rudy. And now Dad won’t let me play anymore. He’s worried I’m going to flush the sweet potatoes down the toilet.
You did this to yourself, El, Connor says, shaking his head. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. What if Santa decides to bring you socks for Christmas instead of a PlayStation?
Elliot’s head whips up. He wouldn’t do that, right?! he squeaks in a panic.
Connor shrugs, feigning ignorance. You never know. I probably wouldn’t pull any more risky stunts this year if I were you.
Elliot gives his dad a serious nod before sinking back into the couch, a touch of overwhelm written all over his face.
Here’s an idea, Elliot, Rudy says, clearly starting to feel sorry for the little guy. How about we head to the beach for a bit before dinner?
Elliot’s face lights up as he gives his father a hopeful stare. Can we, Dad?
Connor looks at his brother with a chuckle. Okay, fine. But you stay close to Uncle Rudy. And if you see any dead animals on the beach, don’t touch ‘em.
I have my scarf wrapped tightly around my neck while a blustery autumn wind blasts me in the face.
Big waves come crashing onto the beach, creating a trail of foam in the surf.
A short distance ahead of us, Elliot’s looking for shells in the sand.
Every time he comes running to show off his latest discovery, Rudy goes into wildly impressed mode.
It’s endearing to see him interact with his nephew like this.
It’s beautiful here, I say, gazing all around us.
It feels incredible to be removed from the commotion of the city, to hear the rush of the ocean instead of honking cabs, howling sirens, and people ranting on the phone about how they just got fired.
Rudy wraps an arm around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Yeah, I always love being here. I love New York, obviously, but I’m really glad my parents live out this way. This is where I write my best songs, if I do say so myself. He gives me a cocky grin.
Did you grow up here? I ask curiously.
Yep. My dad was pretty disappointed in me when I went through my rebellious phase—bleached hair, nose piercing, the whole deal.
I started smoking too, and didn’t give a crap about my grades at school.
He had always pictured me becoming a surgeon.
Good thing Connor came through on that front, ‘cause Lauren wasn’t exactly into Dad’s plans for the future either.
Nose piercing? I ask, as I meticulously hunt for a pin-prick scar on his nose.
Absolutely. I ditched it when I moved to the city, though. Along with the cigarettes and the hair dye. Hey, maybe we should head back. It’s getting pretty cold.
Elliot prances around us the whole way back and by the time we make it onto the veranda, he’s already run inside the house to join the gaggle of kids still using the staircase as a jungle gym.
The wind has done a real number on my hair and turned it into a big blonde cotton candy tangle.
My lips are so dry, I’m desperate for a glass of water.
I ask Rudy to come with me to the kitchen—I don’t quite feel like I’ve reached a help yourself level of comfort here yet.
As he leads the way, we hear a clatter of pots, pans, and dishes crashing to the ground.
Oh shit, he mutters under his breath. I hope that’s not Mom dropping the turkey after that whole rescue effort.
He swings open the kitchen door. Mom, are you o— He doesn’t finish his question, just stands frozen in the doorway.
I let out a soft hmph as I collide with his warm back. Rudy? I ask in surprise, shoving him gently in an effort to unpause him. What’s wrong?
When he won’t budge, I manage to peek around him and I’m stunned to discover Lauren sitting on the counter—and she’s not alone.
Her legs are wrapped around Joey’s waist while he’s lavishly kissing her neck, drawing her body closer and closer to his.
Her fingers are gripping his short, bleached blonde hair.
They’re so lost in each other, that neither of them has any idea they’re no longer alone.
Thank goodness they’re still fully clothed or this situation could have gotten really out of hand.
Some pots and pans, which I assume were on the counter a moment ago, are all over the floor. The shards of a white plate are scattered around Joey’s sneakers. Looks like he decided to have dessert first today.
I poke Rudy in the back, trying to get him out of the kitchen, but I might as well be trying to return the Leaning Tower of Pisa to a perfect ninety degree angle. I squeeze in next to him and peek up at his face. His nostrils are flared and his mouth is wide open in shock.