Chapter 22 #2
Naturally, Nikki would never be welcome if they knew the true nature of our relationship, and given my parents’ disapproving comments about her appearance today, I have absolutely no intention of bringing her anywhere near them.
So, who does that leave? Oliver? No way, I couldn’t do that to him.
“Nope,” I finally answer. “It’ll just be me this year.”
My mother frowns. “Well, if you change your mind, let us know. Your Aunt Lisa and Uncle David’s family are also coming.”
I stifle a groan. Jesus Christ, that’s going to make it huge. “So does that include Austin and Taylor’s kids, too?”
Mom nods. “Sure does! I think I counted twenty-one people total, including you. If you bring someone, it’ll round it up to an even twenty-two!”
Or if I don’t come at all, you can round it down to an even nicer twenty, I think. Instead, I say, “Cool.”
“It’s probably the most people we’ve ever had in this house,” Dad adds.
Mom beams. “It’s going to be wonderful!”
My stomach churns with dread. Holidays with my immediate family have always been awkward enough, but adding my maternal aunt’s family to the mix doubles the discomfort.
Mom and Aunt Lisa have been close all their lives, and they married and had kids around the same time, ensuring we would all stay close as we grew up together.
Unsurprisingly, Mom and Lisa’s kids also married and had kids around the same age, except, of course, for me.
As always, I’m completely out of place, stuck between generations—too young for the adults’ table and too old for the kids’ table.
Thanksgiving is going to be miserable.
“Oh, and I know Megan will mention this, but we’d love for you to make that pumpkin pie you made for us last year again! Liam requested it specifically.”
That actually makes me smile. Liam’s a good kid. I think he’s eleven now? It’s a shame he’s stuck with my shitty brother as a father. “Aww,” I say. “Okay, I will.”
“You’ll just have to double the recipe,” Dad remarks. “Maybe even triple it.”
“Well, wait for Megan’s group chat before you go and buy the ingredients,” Mom says. “Your cousin Ashlynn loves to bake, too, so I don’t want to step on any toes.”
“Okay.” I have no plans to buy any recipe ingredients until I’m sure it isn’t possible to get out of going to Thanksgiving altogether, but I don’t mention that.
“You’re always welcome to bring Celeste again,” Mom adds after a few moments. “I’m sure Cody will have his hands full with the kids and won’t have time to get into–”
I shake my head. “That’s okay, Mom.”
She sighs. “I just…I know it can be a little awkward when you’re on your own. With the age differences and everything.”
I’m genuinely surprised she is even aware of my discomfort. “It’s fine. I’ve been making it work for nineteen years. What’s one more?”
“That’s my girl,” Dad says, giving me a wink.
With effort, I force a smile in return.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Mom exclaims. “Did we tell you who we saw at church a few weeks back?”
Mom spends the next several minutes rambling about local gossip, and I struggle to pay attention.
We finish our meals, and Dad pays the check.
Before we leave, I slip a few extra dollars onto the table, confident that my father’s tip is nowhere near sufficient.
It’s a habit I developed years ago, after learning just how awful the older generation is about tipping, when Celeste started waiting tables the summer before senior year.
Unsurprisingly, my dad was no exception.
We step outside into the mild October air, and I take a deep breath, in and out. The weather has finally started to cool, even if only slightly.
“Do you ever miss having long hair?” Dad asks.
I blink, taken aback by his random question, then habitually run my fingers through my hair. “Not even a little bit,” I reply truthfully. “Do you ever want to grow yours out?”
Dad chuckles. “Absolutely not.”
“Exactly.”
Mom huffs. “He has such a double standard about that. He’s perfectly fine with my hair being this length, and yet he complains about yours being too short.”
“It’s different,” Dad insists. “When ladies are young, they should grow their hair long. It just makes sense.”
Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a lady, I want to say. Instead, I force a smile. “I prefer my hair this length. It’s much easier to take care of, and I get compliments all the time.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Dad replies. “As long as you don’t start piercing your face and covering yourself with tattoos like so many other girls your age.”
“Bill, stop it,” Mom interjects. “Once you have your own money, you can do whatever you want, DEADNAME.”
The threat in her words is clear, and it burrows beneath my skin, irritatingly. You may be an adult, but that’s our money you’re using. Don’t push your luck.
“Anyway,” Mom continues when I don’t reply. “It was so good to see you, sweetheart!” She opens her arms for a hug, and I return the embrace.
“Good to see you, too. Thank you for lunch.”
Dad gives me a stiff hug next. “Make good choices.”
“I will.”
Once I’ve escaped to my car, out of my parents’ sight, I ball up my jacket, press it to my face, and scream into it.