54. Brad
54
brAD
T he week before Thanksgiving, I asked if it would be okay if I brought Dylan to family dinner, because I wasn’t sure what Dylan was planning on. He’d told his dad he wouldn’t be home, and he meant it. So once I told him they accepted, he begrudgingly went along with it.
It was Wednesday, which in our house meant most of the cooking would be happening. Mom always said that she did it to make it easier on herself for Thursday, but then Thanksgiving came and Mom decided on three more dishes she just had to add to the dinner menu.
“Do you cook much, Dylan?” Mom smiled at him around her cup of coffee. I knew that look in her eye. She was plotting.
“Uh, sometimes. I mean, I don’t really at school but at home, yeah. Maybe not the best cook, but I manage.” Dylan scratched the back of his neck.
I was still getting used to this version of him. The one that was well mannered and trying to still get my family to like him. It was cute. I liked every version of Dylan. Especially any version that I could hold close.
There was something strange about having Dylan in my home life. We were together on vacation, together at school and at the frat. Here at home was uncharted territory.
Even so, every time I thought about it, I realized just how lucky I was. My family all got along, and even if we didn’t, we quickly forgave each other and got over whatever it was. We had the problem of talking too much.
“Well then, you can help me, hm? Brad and his dad are useless in the kitchen. Maybe you and Kyle can be my little helpers.” She smiled. “Brad’s aunt Sheila is coming over tomorrow to help some more, too, so we’ll have a nice work force this year.” Her eyes sparkled now that she had extra hands to help her.
I shook my head. “Cold, Mom.”
“Well, if you want to be on potato peeling duty, be my guest. I’m not letting you anywhere near the seasoning, though.” She pointed her fork at me dangerously, waving it over her pancakes.
“I over seasoned like…one time,” I protested, holding my hands up in surrender.
“And burned things how many times?” Kyle chimed in, giving me a withering stare as he stabbed his own stack.
“It could happen to anyone!” I laughed anyway.
Dylan had a smile on his face, just a hint of one stretched on his pretty lips. Like he was enjoying watching us bicker over the kitchen. Knowing what I did about his family, it didn’t feel like much of a wonder why. Did his dad talk to him about anything ? It didn’t seem likely. If it was more than one or two words, it wasn’t happening.
Dad snorted, raising his mug of coffee in cheers. “That’s called being smart, son. You mess it up just once and you get out of it for the rest of your life.”
Mom shook her head disapprovingly.
“I don’t mind…being in the kitchen is nice.” Dylan shifted his weight on the chair.
“See? Not everyone hates it as much as you do, honey.”
We all laughed. The pancakes and bacon dwindled, and the realization was hitting us: we’d have to either get up and start helping or make ourselves scarce. Part of me wanted to run for cover as suggested, wanted to excuse myself to go hang out with my dad and leave my mom and Dylan to it, but what the hell were they going to talk about while the rest of us were out of earshot?
It made a shiver run down my spine to think that they had one common topic: me. Would Mom suddenly take an interest in asking him every single detail of life in college? See what I was hiding from her? Even worse, would she want to know every detail of Dylan’s life? I could only imagine her reaction to hearing about his time in the skate park and getting stoned all the time. She’d love that.
I’d take my chances dealing with potato and dish duty.
It turned out I had nothing to worry about. I peeled, Kyle chopped, Dylan stirred, and Mom seasoned. Mostly, we talked about the food and Mom kept telling us who was going to show up tomorrow. We were all taking bets on whether my uncle Craig was going to arrive with his latest girlfriend half his age or if he’d try to maintain some modicum of decency, like he didn’t dump my aunt for her. It was nothing against the girlfriend. She seemed nice enough from the one time we met her, but everything to do with how he’d treated my aunt and that the girlfriend was so young.
Dylan asked every once in a while who someone was, and Mom was only too happy to fill in the details of their life — way more than anyone could ever retain. Dylan just nodded along, though, and there was this faint smile on his lips whenever my mom told another story.
He caught my eye, and the faint expression turned into a full smile, eyes sparkling in the light streaming in from the windows. I returned the smile and turned back to my carrots.