18. Gus
18
GUS
“You remembered to take the bird out, right?” Anton asks, gesturing at Hux with his entire hand, almost as if he’s going offer to shake, but more pointed.
“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”
“Just confirm the bird is defrosting.”
Anton leans over the large boardroom table, the rest of the family still trickling in for Munch, his eyes trained on our middle brother as if this were a life-and-death situation. Actually, given what happened a few years ago, it might just be. Although that wasn’t Hux’s doing. It was Jace’s. Hence why Hux is now, and forever, in charge.
“Do I look like a man who would forget to defrost the turkey?”
Anton shrugs. “Can’t be too careful. You put some people in charge…”
“It was one time!” Jace shouts from across the room, arms held wide, his full plate of food almost toppling over.
“Watch it!” Willa hollers, shoving him as he almost hits her in the process. “And frankly, Mr. Personal Safety, there should have been no times . If there was ever anybody in this family who should have known better, it’s you.”
“I thought it was thawed all the way. I made a mistake,” Jace continues to defend. He really should shut up. Quit while he’s ahead. But he won’t.
“Yeah, and almost burned the house down,” Hux retorts. “Your one saving grace is that this one is uptight enough that he makes sure we’re a hundred feet away from the house.”
Hux throws his thumb in my direction, and while I’d normally take offense to being called uptight, I can’t argue in this case. I am absolutely, one hundred percent, without question, over-the-top, uptight when it comes to the distance between the house and the deep fryer every Thanksgiving.
It’s not that I don’t trust my brothers. I do. To an extent. That said, it’s also my name on the mortgage and the insurance. And I know exactly how many of those deep-fried turkeys end up as household accidents. Jace does too—since it’s his department that puts out information on it every year.
Making it that much more ironic that the year he was in charge of the turkey, he didn’t double-check that it was fully thawed before putting it into the deep fryer, and kaboom…
“I’m never living this down, am I?” Jace mutters as he sits down at the table.
I laugh, taking a bite of my chicken salad sandwich, reveling in the comfort that comes only with being around family. It doesn’t hurt that this is one of my favorite weeks of the year. A fact that I would bet would surprise most of my brothers, since it’s a short work week. But that has nothing to do with why I love this week so much.
No, this week is about tradition.
There’s great debate about which generation of Hayes and Kellers actually started Friendsgiving—although they called it “generational gatherings” prior to the new trendy term—but best we can tell it started during World War II when the Hayes, Keller, Noble, Forde, and Phillips families gathered parents in one house, kids in another prior to a number of the young men heading back overseas. Every year since, our families have followed suit, spending this holiday with siblings and friends rather than our immediate family unit. The makeup has changed over the years—even now Willa and her crew have split off from the rest of us Hayes siblings—but the tradition lives on.
“Son, you’re lucky they don’t use it as a what-not-to-do instructional video,” Auggie jokes, clapping him on the shoulder.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” I say. “Although we’re not using our house for the reenactment.”
We can find some other place for that. Some place that if it goes wrong, I’m not the one whose monthly payment goes up. Or house burns down.
“You’d really sell me out like that?”
“All day, every day,” Milo quips.
“And twice on Sunday,” Anton throws in for good measure.
The whole group bursts into laughter, even Jace, unable to ignore the levity in the moment. Or maybe that’s just me.
Because I can’t deny that I feel about as light as a balloon at the moment. And much like that balloon, if I wasn’t tied to a string to hold me down, I might just float away. Where exactly, I’m not sure. Wherever one flies off to when they’re on the verge of falling in love. That sweet teeter-totter hovering, ready to topple over at any minute.
“What’s the final head count?” Hux asks. “There’s you two, Dolly and me, Jeff’s a maybe…” He grumbles something under his breath that I can’t make out, but I know enough to know it’s not kind. “Anton, Cary and Tizzy?—”
“Nope,” Anton cuts him off.
“No?” I ask .
“They’re headed down to Florida. Tizzy’s grandfather isn’t doing well, so they wanted to spend the holiday with him in case it’s…”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t need to. We all know where he’s going with it.
“Let us know if they need anything,” Auggie says. Anton nods a silent thanks.
“Pierce and Rose, the rest of the girls, so Em and Alice,” Hux continues. “Jace and Ewan.”
“Brenna, Brandt, and I will be there,” Milo adds.
“So if Douche Baggins shows, we’re at fifteen. Damn…” He starts to mutter silently, his mouth moving with no sound coming out, eyes shifting back and forth. “We might need a second bird.”
“With all the food Dolly usually makes? Doubt it,” Anton comments.
“Brenna’s makin’ a bunch of stuff as well,” Milo says.
“But meat?” Hux questions, as if that’s the only food that matters.
A preposterous statement if there ever was one. Because we all know what this holiday is about. The sides. And plenty of them. Most importantly, Dolly McLain’s sides. Because no one on this planet makes Southern side dishes like Dolly McLain.
That said, after a weekend of Cajun food whipped up by one Margeaux Finnegan, she might have a rival in the kitchen.
“Margeaux’s making boudin and jambalaya, so I wouldn’t go gettin’ another bird. I think we’re gonna have more than enough,” I tell him.
Hux nods, accepting my answer. The worry is still there, the two lines between his eyes visible even from across the table, but it’s starting to ease.
“Please tell me she’s making some of that veggie stuff that was in the fridge over the weekend,” Jace says. “The stuff with the corn and the peppers. That was killer.”
I laugh. “The maque choux?” He’s right, it was killer. I easily could have eaten my weight in it. In fact, I think Jace tried. “I can ask her to.”
“What now?” Auggie asks.
“Oh, Margeaux made this killer veggie?—”
“Margeaux? As in the new associate in legal?”
The room comes to a complete halt. The record scratches, time stopping as we all freeze, the question hanging in the air. I can’t tell if Jace stopped himself, realizing what he said, or if Auggie cut him off, but it doesn’t matter. Because the nerve gas is settling around us, asphyxiating the moment.
“Yes.”
My answer is simple. Straightforward. Borderline curt. There’s no use lying about it. Time to own up to it and take whatever is coming to me like a man.
Auggie nods. Single, solemn movement of his head, his features stony. It’s an expression I know well. That’s his I’m trying to compose myself face. It’s not an expression we saw often as children. It’s one we see even less of as adults. Memorable, nonetheless.
“Everyone out,” he commands.
Wordlessly, all seven of us push to our feet, grabbing our things to make our way to the door.
“Not you, August.”
Oh, shit…
I swallow hard, sitting my ass back down. The quiet shuffling around me feels like it takes forever, the spotlight on me, even though I know that everyone is doing their best not to look at me. It’s another long moment before Willa closes the door behind her, the catch of the latch the loudest thing I’ve heard in a long time. And that includes the sound of my heart clamoring in my chest right now, trying to escape .
I am in deep, deep shit.
My father doesn’t use my full name otherwise.
Inhaling deeply, Auggie places both palms face down on the table. For a second I wonder what he’s going to do—if he has some secret Jedi trick up his sleeve and is going to make the table levitate or split in two just by using the force radiating out of him. But then he looks up.
And I see it.
Staring back at me, in those deep brown eyes, is disappointment.
I think I’d rather he be angry…
“Care to explain what Margeaux was doing at your place?”
The knot forming in my stomach doubles up, then triples, furiously looping upon itself until it’s a mess that would rival some of those yarn baskets at Sew it Seams. I have to be honest. I know I do. I not only owe that to my father, to our business and empire, but to Margeaux. To the woman I love.
Because I do love her.
“She came over to cook dinner.” Auggie lifts an eyebrow, silently telling me he knows that’s not the whole story and that I should keep talking. So I do. “And then spent the weekend.”
“I take it this was not the first of such…encounters?” His thick Georgia accent and old-school Southern manners make the question sound like something out of Gone with the Wind , rather than a modern-day relationship.
It also makes it sound a lot more scandalous than it is. As if Margeaux and I have been carrying on some kind of clandestine affair. Sneaking around town and—oh wait. Well, shit. I suppose that’s exactly what we’ve been doing.
“It was the first time she’d been to the cottage, but no, it was not the first…occasion, we’ve spent together,” I answer, trying to match his wording. It’s harder than it seems, and I ha ve to give him credit for the ease in which he busts it out. “Some smaller town events where we could disguise our presence together as part of a group, and then she joined Jace and me in Savannah for the expo.”
Auggie sucks in a harsh breath. “I told you to wait.”
“I know you did. And I had every intention…but it just kinda happened.”
“It can’t just happen!” Auggie shouts, pushing up from the table and starting to pace. “Not when she reports to you.”
“I cleared it with Carl in HR and?—”
“That was before she was a direct report.” He continues to pace, his frustration visible. “Do you understand the trouble this could cause?”
The question is rhetorical, and I know better than to answer. So I don’t. Silence thickens arounds us as Auggie continues to pace, his hands flexing—his signature sign of irritation. In my four decades on this earth, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen my father hit anything. Those hands though? I’ve seen them flex enough that I’m surprised their muscle mass doesn’t rival all of the Hulk.
Turning back to me, he levels me with a look that makes me feel like I’m four years old, not forty.
“I told you to wait. It was a few weeks, Gus. A few weeks . I really never took you for one who couldn’t keep it in your pants for a few weeks.”
Ouch…
“Auggie…”
“If this comes out…” He shakes his head, lips pressed firm into a straight line. “I can’t defend you, son. You know that, right? I can’t be in your corner. You’ve lost me as your backup. Do you realize what could happen if this goes south? Everything that you could lose? And I do mean everything. Because that’s what it’ll be—everything. All that you’ve worked for. ”
“It won’t,” I insist.
“You don’t know that.”
But I do…
I look up at him, his formidable form as still as a statue, staring back at me. Waiting on a response.
“What if I do?”
The change is slight. Barely there. Almost imperceptible. A flicker of something that doesn’t have a name. A feeling that is only understood by those closest to you.
“What are you saying?”
His tone isn’t accusatory or harsh. All that’s faded into something else. Something…inquisitive.
A simple question. One without a simple answer. At least, I don’t have a simple answer. Hell, I’m not sure I have an answer at all.
Shit…
Pushing to my feet quickly, my chair rolling behind me with enough force that it bangs against the wall, I spin on my heel, following my father’s lead and starting to pace. I run my hand down my face, trying to find the words I know I don’t have. There’s so much whirring around in my head and my heart, and yet, none of it can be articulated.
And even if it could be, I should maybe say it to Margeaux first.
“I…I don’t know…” I turn back to look at him, hold my arms out, feeling ready to surrender. “Just…just that it’s not going pear-shaped.”
Auggie nods, a smug smile taking over. “Because you know.”
“Yes.”
Wait…what?!
Auggie starts to chuckle, leaving me even more confused. What the hell is going on here ?
“Does she know?” he asks, leaning against the chair in front of him, smug smile still firmly in place.
“Know what?”
“Does she know?” he repeats, as if it were obvious the first time. Which it was not. “Or know that you know?”
I blink, trying to figure out how we went from him halfway berating me to speaking in riddles. Did my father hit his head along the way and I miss it?
Shaking his head, he chuckles more, pulling the chair out and sliding into it. “August, what am I going to do with you?”
“You could start by explaining why you’re laughing.”
“First day of my freshman year of high school, I was sitting in homeroom with my three best friends, and the most gorgeous creature I have ever seen sauntered right on in that classroom,” he says.
I nod, not sure where he’s taking this. I’ve heard the story a million times. The story of my parents’ romance is Hickory Hills legend. Auggie spins the story in a way you can’t help but be enthralled, as our Mama stands by blushing, recounting how he was head over heels for her from the second he saw her. The new girl in town, she immediately took up with the girls he’d been friends with since childhood, so he and his buddies devised a plan to try and catch the pageant queen’s eye. Sure enough, a month later, Auggie Hayes had hired Belle Huxley to be the face of a new ad campaign.
The campaign was bogus—which Belle figured out pretty quickly when it was Auggie who was acting as photographer—but she forgave him just as quickly. A few years, a Miss Georgia title, and a great big wedding later, Belle Huxley became Belle Hayes.
“Prettier than a peach,” Auggie recites, pointing to the framed ad campaign on the wall, my mother’s smiling face beaming back at us. “Your grandfather spit nails for a week when he found out what I did. And he didn’t let me live it down ’til the day he died. Told me all the damn time it was a good thing she agreed to marry me and gave me a line of heirs to the Hayes name, and another Miss Georgia. But I knew the second I saw your mama that there was something different about her. Something special. And I knew after that afternoon with her out in the groves that she was worth whatever came my way.”
I slide back into a chair, taking in his words. They settle in my chest, making perfect sense. Also helping to make sense of this jumble of emotions that I’m feeling. That I have been feeling since Margeaux walked back into my life. And especially since that moment on the couch on Friday.
I know what I feel. I know what I want. I might not be able to say the words. But I know.
And Margeaux Finnegan is my girl. Without a doubt. Worth whatever comes my way.
“So I ask again,” he pushes. “Does she know?”
I shrug and nod at the same time, a weird combination of movements that I know leaves him perplexed. “More or less. We’re on the same page. One hundred percent. It’s been complicated given everything—the airport, finding each other again, then the temporary reassignment. But I don’t doubt her feelings for me.”
A long heavy sigh, followed by a slow, solemn nod is all I get for a moment, leaving me unsure where we stand. If he’s going to accept this answer. Or if I’m about to be disowned. The latter seems extreme, but truthfully, right now it feels like it could go either way.
“That’s that then.”
Sir, that’s not an answer…
Sitting back, I wait for him to continue. For him to say something. Anything. Fuck, at this point he could scream “ you’re fired!” like they do on that TV show—at least then I would get the message.
“You couldn’t have faked an ad campaign?” he laughs.
“We were Jace’s self-defense demo dummies,” I mutter.
“The black eye. Well, then you got what you deserved. Maybe karma is lookin’ out.”
Can’t argue there…
“Percy will be back Monday. I expect that you will bring him up to speed, on everything , immediately. And then you two will create a plan with Carl on how to reveal yourselves.”
I snicker, unable to help myself when he says, “reveal yourselves.” Because despite the dressing down I just got, the twelve-year-old in me is still alive and well.
“Not what I meant; head out of the gutter.”
“You said it!”
Rolling his eyes, Auggie chooses to ignore my point. “And I expect that Miss Belle and I will be properly introduced to Margeaux, in her soon to be revealed capacity, at the tree lighting on Thursday,” he says, emphasizing his word choice just to make me laugh again. “And for God’s sake, bring her to Sunday dinner so your mama can lose her damn mind and have something to tell her girlfriends?”
“They don’t have enough with Willa and all them pairing off?” I counter.
The glare he tosses at me tells me not to test, and my hands fly up in surrender faster than the roadrunner across a Saturday morning cartoon screen. Point made.
“Now,” he continues, reaching for his sandwich again. “Tell me all about her.”