Chapter 20
ASHER
My mother throws open the door, enveloping me in a huge hug before I have a chance to say hello. “Hi, Mom,” I laugh. “It smells delicious in here,” I add, sniffing the air.
Scents of turkey, seasoned vegetables, and pumpkin pie engulf the household.
I can tell she’s been up before the sun to get everything done for lunch.
Since I get the day off from work, I always promise to come over for what is supposed to be a laid-back Thanksgiving lunch.
Mom always spends more time cooking than she lets on, and Dad spends the day watching the parade—never football.
The whole ordeal usually lasts around two hours.
The holiday must have put my sister on my mother’s mind because the next words out of her mouth are, “I can’t believe Juliet wouldn’t even consider coming home for Thanksgiving.”
I hand my mom the bottle of wine I’d grabbed from the store this morning, and sigh. “Juliet doesn’t usually come to Thanksgiving.”
Mom sniffs. “I know that, but you’d think she’d come visit us at some point. Or at least let us come visit her!”
I have a feeling this will be a sore topic with our mother long after Juliet finally invites us to visit, but it’s especially bad now.
I can’t say I blame her. She hasn’t met her first grandchild, and Terra’s about to hit her third birthday.
I also know how hard it was for Mom when she missed out on all of Juliet’s pregnancy.
I have a feeling our parents wanted to be more involved in our adult lives than Juliet is allowing.
The worst of it is the not-knowing. Not knowing if something we did caused the rift between Juliet and us.
If she was mad at us. Or if she just wanted to go out on her own.
But if the latter were the case, why hadn’t she given us any sort of explanation?
She didn’t even want our parents to know what town she was in.
She swore me to secrecy before she told me, figuring our parents would show up unannounced if they knew exactly where to find her. She was probably right.
“Well,” I say with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “Your favorite child is here now, so what else could you ask for?”
She returns my smile with a small appreciative one of her own before beckoning me to follow her into the kitchen.
I trail after her, noticing that she keeps fiddling with her apron.
Her dark brown hair, streaked with grey, is pulled back from her face, and she wears no makeup.
A small, helpless pang echoes in my chest as I notice how frazzled she is.
The holidays used to be her favorite time of year.
She’s always loved hosting and being surrounded by family and friends.
Ever since Juliet left without a word, my parents had stopped inviting friends over, and the holidays were now just the three of us.
“Hey, Dad!” I wave at him as we pass.
He grunts in acknowledgment as he continues watching some sort of Broadway performance from the parade on the screen. My mother shakes her head, but a happy smile plays across her lips.
They have always had what I imagine is the perfect marriage.
They fight, sure, but they always resolve their issues and never yell at each other in front of Juliet or me.
They cook together and dance in the kitchen when no music is playing.
They watch each other’s favorite shows even when they don’t care about them themselves.
I had always grown up thinking that if a relationship didn’t make me as happy as my parents appeared to be, then it wasn’t true love.
Now I wasn’t sure what true love really was. Can you settle for contentment and still have a happy marriage? Do you need to be as disgustingly happy as my parents?
An image of Summer laughing as we played pool flits across my mind. There’s something about being with Summer that does make me feel happy. She’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long storm.
But Summer left before I’d even woken up.
She obviously thought the other night was a mistake—rightly so, as it shouldn’t have happened.
The rational part of me knows that, but the irrational part doesn’t regret a single moment of that night.
If I’m completely honest with myself, I want to have more nights like that with her.
Longer nights. Weekends together. I want to be able to take her out on a date.
Show her that I can, in fact, be a gentleman.
I can treat her right. Definitely better than I’ve been treating her.
Guilt pools in my stomach. I’ve been awful toward her. Pulling her in and then promptly pushing her away. The mixed signals alone were probably enough to make her head spin. I can only imagine the emotions she’s been experiencing over the past few weeks.
Or maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she hasn’t caught feelings as I have. Maybe she finds me physically attractive, but that’s as far as it goes. Maybe all of this is one-sided, and she’s just having fun, enjoying the attention.
The guilt turns to acid in my stomach, and I feel sick.
A selfish part of me hopes that none of that is true. I want her to feel the undeniable connection that I feel. I don’t want this to be one-sided.
But she left before we could talk about what happened. She never even responded to my text. She’s ignoring me. I can’t blame her, though. Maybe she feels like I’m playing with her.
I’ll at the very least make sure she knows that I didn’t invite her to my apartment with the intention of sleeping with her.
I’ll tell her I don’t regret what happened, but I understand if she doesn’t want to interact with me any more than she has to.
I’ll respect her decision and keep my distance even though I hate the idea of never being able to talk with her outside an academic setting again.
Maybe it’s something we can revisit once she graduates?
Now I’m spiraling.
“Need any help, Mom?” I ask, pulling myself out of the woe-is-me bullshit.
“Oh, no, that’s all right, dear,” she chirps. “Go watch TV with your father.”
I give her a quick peck on the cheek, and her smile brightens; all signs of our earlier conversation regarding my sister are gone. “Thanks for cooking,” I add before making my way into the living room to spend some time with my dad.
Since everyone should still be with their families, I decide it won’t hurt to enjoy my favorite bar while it’s empty.
I can call Elijah to see if he’s available.
I wouldn’t put it past him to be out in the city on Thanksgiving.
He doesn’t have much of a family and therefore rarely celebrates any holidays.
Or I can finish grading the midterms.
I drive to the bar, fully convinced that one beer can’t hurt.
Dave greets me as I enter and grabs a glass for my beer before I’ve fully reached the bar.
“What are you doing here on Thanksgiving?” I ask with a warm smile.
“Working,” he responds as he sets the beer in front of me. I hand him my card to open a tab—just in case I want just one more beer, of course—before he asks, “How are your parents?”
“Same old, same old,” I sigh, taking a sip of my beer.
“Your sister make it home for this one?” he questions, though I can tell by the sympathetic look in his eyes that he already knows the answer.
“I’ve told you too much information about my life over the years, haven’t I?”
He smirks. “It’s one of the many perks of being a bartender.” He leans across the counter, his grin sobering. “I take it she didn’t show?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I think she gave my parents some half-assed excuse, but I’m sure she’ll tell me later that she just wasn’t up for it.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, man,” he says. “You need a shot on the house to make you feel better?” The bright glint returns to his eyes, and it makes me smile in return.
“Nah,” I laugh. “I appreciate the offer, but drinking alone on Thanksgiving is already sad enough. I’ll just stick to beer.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs with a wink.
I nod at him before making my way to one of the many open booths and plopping down, taking another swig of my beer. I kick my feet up on the seat across from me and massage the back of my neck, letting my eyes close as I listen to the faint music Dave has playing in the bar.
Just a few more weeks with Summer in my class before I’ll be free of her and all the temptation she seems to bring with her.
Just a few more weeks of her sitting in my class with her distractingly short skirts.
Just a few more weeks of being consistently blown away by her assignments and how smart she is, and passionate about pursuing her career.
Summer hasn’t responded to my text, and I have too much pride to send her a second message. Our night together clearly means something different to her than what it does to me.
Now I just have to respect that and not try to talk to her about it when I see her in class after the break. It’s already taken everything in me not to send her a second text; I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be to see her multiple times a week without being able to ask what went wrong.
And then the door opens, and it has me considering changing my favorite holiday to Thanksgiving as Summer waltzes into the bar in the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen.
And suddenly, all my resolve to respect her not wanting to speak to me goes out the window.