Chapter 11
eleven
Tate
Idon’t even know why we’re heading home.” Fletcher flips on the windshield wipers to help remove some of the snow gently falling on top of our car.
“Maybe because your moms miss you.” I pull my foot up onto my seat and start painting my toes, leaving my other foot to rest on the ground to dry.
“You realize you’re wearing boots.”
“So?”
“So, no one’s going to see your painted toes. There’s literally no reason to be doing them. Just like there’s no reason to be driving home for two days.”
“First of all, you love being home for Thanksgiving. Secondly, even if nobody sees my feet while we’re there, I’ll know if my toes are painted or not. That’s what matters.”
“I just have so much to do. We have a couple of hard games coming up this week, and I just want to get as much practice as possible and—”
“Fletch,” I rest my hand on his shoulder, “you don’t need to be Jere.
No one expects you to work ten times harder because he’s out right now.
Fuck, you guys already put in so much work to make this team function; I don’t want you to burn yourself out because you’re worried that people will blame you if the team loses. ”
“We were on a winning streak with Jere.”
“And our team has continued to kick ass without him. It’s not all on you, okay? So, let's enjoy these couple of days with your family, and then you can worry about the games once we’re back.”
“Fine.” He lets out an anguished breath. “But if we lose this game—”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s on me. Whatever.” I move my attention back to painting my toes as Fletcher flips through the radio.
“I can’t believe your folks aren’t going to be home for Thanksgiving.” His eyes stay on the road, and I know this is something he’s been dying to bring up, but he didn’t know when the right time would be to do so.
“Yeah, well, they never take any time off and were both forced into taking a week-long vacation. Rather than spending it with me for Thanksgiving or coming down to campus next week to watch me perform, they chose to take a cruise.”
“And they didn’t even ask if you’d want to go?”
“I wouldn’t have been able to, but no, they didn’t. They didn’t even tell me they were going until I was on my way to Friendsgiving.”
He glances toward me.
“They told you this week they wouldn’t be home for Thanksgiving?”
“Fletch, have you met my parents? I’m lucky they told me before I showed up at our house, and no one was home.”
“I thought your dad would’ve at least given you a heads up, like a decent one.”
“Once I moved away for school, they stopped caring about giving me a heads up. Honestly, I’m surprised they still pay for my apartment.”
“They paid for Naomi’s housing when she was in school.” Fletcher taps the steering wheel. “Doesn’t it make sense they’d still be paying for yours?”
“Naomi was going to school for something they actually deem worthy.” I drop my foot to the floor, adjusting the air so it’s full blast on both our legs and faces, hoping it’ll dry the nail polish faster.
“I think they’re missing out. You’re really talented, T.”
“I know.” I grin.
“Is Naomi at least gonna be around for Thanksgiving?” he asks. “You know my parents are always open to more guests. The more the merrier.”
“No, she’s spending the holiday working and with her fiancé’s family at their condo in Manhattan.”
“Wait.” He turns to me as we come to a stop at the red light off the highway. “Your sister’s engaged? Since when?”
“Beats me.” I shrug. “Another piece of information I found out when my dad called me to tell me they wouldn’t be home this week.”
“Fuck, Tate. I can’t believe it wasn’t even her who told you. Is it still that dude from her firm? The really loaded one?”
He makes a left turn and then a right at the next light. I’ve been home several times since I left for school, but more often than not, it was to visit Fletcher’s house. Then I’d just sleep in my old bedroom and see my parents whenever they were around, so this won’t feel too different.
“Same guy. Or at least I think it is. I know they celebrated their sixth anniversary not long before Christmas last year. It was the first time I met the guy. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Your family is so weird.” He parks his car in my driveway since his own driveway is filled to the brim with cars, some of which even spill out onto the street. “I know your sister is like twelve years older than you, but I see my siblings at least six times a year, and our gap is—”
“My family isn’t like yours, Fletch. I spent more time with your siblings than I did with my own sister. That’s just how things were in our house.”
“Well,” he turns off the car and turns toward me, “even though you won’t be spending Thanksgiving with your parents, I know a house full of people who are excited they get to spend it with you.”
He gives me a quick wink and then gets out of the car, grabs our bags from the trunk, and then opens my door.
“Ready?”
“For your family?” My eyes narrow. “Always.”