29. Winona
Winona
We should just be thankful for being together.
~ A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving
Dad’s at the window of my childhood home counting like he’s a vampire muppet on Sesame Street. “One … Two … Three … Four … Five … Six!”
He turns and shouts. “There’s six of them, Shelby!”
“Okay,” Mom calmly responds from her post in the kitchen. “We’ve got plenty.”
Cass steps up next to Dad to peer out the window and they stand there like a couple of creepers.
“Marcus Delaney. The QB?” She turns to me. “You didn’t tell me the quarterback was coming.”
“I said Declan and his friends.” I pause from setting the table to look her in the eyes. “Got your stats brushed up?”
“That’s so low, Win. And … yes.”
“Jaxon Pierce,” she says. “Jaxon is here. And he’s carrying a casserole dish.”
I laugh. “You two are worse than the Sunday halftime report.”
“And Brady Keller,” Dad says, his tone almost as starstruck as my sister’s. Then he says Brady’s name even more slowly as if he’s savoring it. “Bray … deee … Kell … er.”
“Mom!” I shout into the kitchen.
“What?”
“Promise you’ll be normal!”
“Of course. I don’t know any of these boys or what they do with that ball. I’m just making double everything so we can feed them.”
“Hear that?” I say to my sister and my dad.
It’s obvious what side of the family tree I dropped from.
Cass and Dad don’t answer from their spot at the window.
“That’s the rookie,” Cass says. “Dante Brown.”
“Cornerback,” Dad says. “Great addition to the team. Is that Treyvon Harris?” He practically fans himself.
“Normalcy!” I shout just before one of the players knocks on the door with a force that says I weigh three hundred pounds and I’m here to eat.
In a very quiet, but firm voice, I give my final pep talk before turning the handle. “They’re just men. Act normal.” I look at my dad and then Cass.
They nod.
I take a breath and open the door.
“Hey, guys! Come on in.”
Declan’s standing back behind Treyvon and Brady.
“Winona!” Treyvon says, bending to hug me. “Thanks so much for hosting us. This beats cold turkey.”
“Save it, Harris,” Marcus says.
The guys all snicker and the three men standing behind Declan start making gobble-gobble noises. Marcus shoots them a warning glance.
I smile, loving that I know the story behind the inside joke.
The guys file in behind Trey, all greeting me with a hug and a shout of my name. Dad and Cass stand off to the side, slack-jawed.
Declan makes his way to me. “Happy Thanksgiving.” He leans in and places a kiss on my cheek.
Our parents’ house isn’t small. It’s an average Tennessee four-bedroom with two bathrooms. With six NFL players in the front room, it feels like a dollhouse.
“Dad,” I say.
“Huh?”
Oh dear. He’s almost in a trance, glancing from player to player. I switch tactics.
“Guys, this is my dad, James Carter. Please introduce yourselves and make yourselves at home. My sister, Cass. Jaxon, you met Cass.”
“Memorable first impression,” he says with a smile. “How are you, Cass?”
She smiles. “Good, Jaxon. Good to see you again.”
“Dad,” I say, stepping up next to Declan. “This is Declan … my boyfriend.”
Dad extends his hand and Declan shakes it. “Nice to meet you, sir. Thanks for having us.”
Dad stares at Declan. “Now, I saw you play in high school a few times. Then I watched your college games when they were broadcast locally. And when you got drafted for the Thunder I was thrilled. And here you are with Winona. You know, she didn’t know a thing about football before dating you.”
“Oh, I know,” Declan says with a smile in my direction.
All eyes are on the scene of my dad meeting Declan for the first time, so I turn to Jaxon. “Here, let me take that into the kitchen for you.”
He hands me the casserole. Declan follows me, walking in the boot without crutches.
“Mom?” I say when I enter.
“Well, hello,” she says, sizing Declan up. “I don’t know who any of those other boys are, but I did look you up.”
Declan smiles at Mom.
“You’re Conrad O’Connell’s son.”
I think Declan thought the same thing I did—that mom looked up his football stats. Nope. She looked him up.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
Mom crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing Declan like she can assess his character by scanning him with her laser mom-vision.
In an uncharacteristic burst of mama-bearishness, she surprises me by saying, “Winona is the tenderhearted twin. That’s why we figure Cass came out first. She’s the one you’ll answer to if you break my daughter’s heart.”
“Mom!” I step between Declan and her. “Please.”
She smiles. “I’m kidding.” Then she looks at Declan and points her wooden spoon at him. “Sort of kidding.”
He laughs. “I have no intention of breaking Winona’s heart, Mrs. Carter. I see protecting her heart as my full-time job. Your daughter means the world to me.”
Mom beams and says, “Well then, welcome to Thanksgiving.”
The guys offer to help carry things to the dining area from the kitchen, and it’s a comedy of errors watching them try to fit their large frames past one another through the hallway between the two rooms. Bowls are lifted overhead as two giants turn sideways, barely squeezing past each other.
Boots knock the baseboards. Shoulders press against the walls.
The men almost have to duck to pass through our doorways.
Marcus takes over, giving orders.
At first he’s helpful, saying things like, “Guys, could someone grab another chair?" and “Can somebody take the gravy from Mrs. Carter?"
Over the course of a few minutes, he starts raising his voice and getting more commanding.
“I need someone on rolls!”
“Dante! Put the caramelized onions on a trivet!”
“Declan! …” Marcus looks at Declan, who’s sitting down because he’s still on injured reserves. “Never mind. Pierce! Grab the sweet potato casserole, will you?”
Mom’s eyes go wide. She raised two girls. When we had boys over they were our bookish or musical friends, understated and average size. I’m not sure she knows quite what to do with six overgrown men with booming voices.
Cass cradles a bowl of cranberry sauce. She’s heading toward the hallway when Marcus raises his flat palm to stop her, and in a voice that means business, says, “Hold up. I think Dante's coming back through.”
Cass narrows her eyes at Marcus. She’s still smiling, but her tone says, Oh, no you didn’t.
“Hey, QB?”
“What?” he asks.
“I’ve been navigating this hallway since I could walk. And my mom has hosted Thanksgiving in this house for thirty years.”
Marcus sizes Cass up and says, “The guys are used to my direction. And I’m used to giving it.”
Declan and I exchange a look.
“Well, as much as we appreciate y’all pitching in, maybe save the drills for the field,” Cass suggests, squeezing past Marcus and Dante without dropping even a dollop of cranberry sauce.
“Told you, QB,” Treyvon says. “We’ve got this.”
“You can call Delaney Cold Turkey,” Jaxon says with a wink in Cass’s direction. “He loves that nickname.”
When we’re all seated with all the dishes spread out, Dad says a blessing. Declan’s next to me, holding my hand, and Treyvon’s holding the other. My sister’s across from me, flanked by Jaxon and Marcus.
While everyone bows their heads, Cass and I exchange a silent conversation. I glance not-so-subtly at Marcus. She shrugs. I smile. She rolls her eyes. Then I raise my brows. And she shakes her head.
Dad says, “... and for these blessings we are infinitely grateful,” and the table becomes a flurry of grabbing dishes, passing them around and loud chatter.
“We’re so glad you boys could join us,” Mom says, as if she’s hosting a group of stragglers Cass and I brought home over a break from college, not half the Thunder starting lineup.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carter,” Jaxon says. “We’re just glad we’re not eating leftovers in some hotel.”
“Is that what you normally do?” Mom asks.
“Pretty much,” Treyvon says. “Most years.”
“Well now, isn’t that a shame.”
The basket of bread and rolls is already empty, so I stand to get more, lifting the basket from the center of the table. “Can I get anyone anything while I’m up? I’m going to fill this back up.”
“I could use more iced tea,” Dante says.
Marcus looks at Dante and says, “Don’t make her serve you.”
Cass pivots and looks Marcus in the eyes. “She offered.”
“I did offer. Here, give me your glass, Dante.”
Dante glances between Marcus and me. So I extend my hand and Dante gives me the glass.
As I’m walking to the kitchen, I hear my sister ask Marcus, “Do you have them all under some sort of spell?”
Jaxon cuts through the tension. “You should hear her rattle off stats. It’s impressive.”
“Really?” Marcus says.
There’s a note of taunting in his voice. Basically, that’s like catnip to my sister.
“I know some of your stats,” she says.
Some? She’s purposely underselling herself. It’s like J.K. Rowling saying she might be able to write a story of some sort. These men have no idea what they’ve just unleashed. Jaxon does. And he’s probably enjoying this whole exchange immensely since he set it up.
My sister addresses Marcus. “Let’s talk about your security blanket over here, Treyvon Harris.”
Security blanket? No. She. Didn’t. I laugh to myself.
I step back into the dining room and set the basket of rolls and bread down. The guys descend upon it like a flock of seagulls. Then I hand Dante his tea and take my seat in time to watch my sister pivot and stare directly into Marcus’s eyes.
“This season, in the past eleven games he started, Treyvon’s had an incredible seventy-eight receptions.
That’s nine hundred sixty-three receiving yards.
Eight receiving touchdowns. An average of over twelve yards per catch.
We’re talking fifty-one first downs. Only one drop all season.
And one has to ask themselves, was that drop on him or the guy who threw the ball?
“Not to mention his career highs: four games with over one hundred receiving yards, his whopping fourteen catches last year against the Falcons, and his longest single reception of seventy-one yards, which, yes, you threw, but he caught like a work of art.”
She takes a deep breath and then an even longer sip of her tea.
From next to me, Treyvon says, “Marry me.”
The whole table erupts in laughter while Marcus sits staring at my sister with his mouth partly open.
I lean over to Declan and whisper in his ear. “It’s the whole talking about football thing, isn’t it?”
He nods, but then he turns and whispers in my ear. “It’s impressive when she does it. It’s sexy when you do.”
“More mashed potatoes, anyone?” Cass asks sweetly.
“Dang, Winona,” Brady says. “You didn’t tell us about your sister.”
I just smile across the table at Cass. Declan gives my knee a squeeze under the table and I look at him. He’s smiling this contented, amused smile. I lay my hand over his and sit back, taking in the whole scene. If my heart were more full, it would burst.
After everyone insists on chipping in with the dishes, Treyvon offers Declan a ride home.
I say, “Oh. I was going to give him a ride.”
We haven’t been alone all day and his schedule is getting increasingly demanding.
Cass tells me, “Go, I’ll help Mom put everything away.”
“Are you sure?”
Jaxon says, “I’ll stay and help.”
Dad says, “Did you see that, people? Jaxon Pierce is cleaning up my Thanksgiving dinner.”
He actually fans himself and then he starts laughing.
Then Dad looks at me and says,“We’ve got this. You guys head on home.” He scans the faces of all the players and adds, “Unless you want to stay to watch the game?”
They all excuse themselves and Declan follows me out to my car. He closes his eyes on the drive to his place. As much as he wants to be back in action, days like today demand a lot of a body that’s still trying to heal.
When we reach his driveway, he opens his eyes. “Can you come in?”
“I was planning on it. I can’t stay late, though. We’re all going Black Friday shopping in Nashville tomorrow. All the girls. They get up before dawn. It’s brutal.”
Once we’re inside, Declan makes me a cup of warm cider.
He lights the fireplace and we sit on the couch together.
He turns on the pregame analysis, but mutes the volume.
I lean into him and he wraps his arm around me. “Thanks for having the guys over to your parents’ home.”
“I’m glad they could come.”
“Want to know what I’m thankful for?” Declan asks, searching my eyes with a soft smile on his face.
“Mm hmm. Tell me.”
He smooths his hand down my cheek. “I’m thankful for you.”
I smile at him. “I’m thankful for … Darlene.”
He laughs.
“She keeps this place spotless,” I say, still staring into his eyes. The air between us grows heavy as our laughter dies down. “No. I’m thankful for you, Declan. More than you know.”
He leans in and kisses me, slow and deep. I sink into his arms, into our kiss, into the feeling that nothing can spoil what we’ve found in one another.