Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“Avery, can you carry the potatoes to the table? Hunter, can you grab the napkins and silverware?”
Mom wipes her hands on her apron and picks up the turkey with oven mitts, carrying it to the dining room table with a sense of urgency, even though there are a grand total of three of us in attendance for this year’s Thanksgiving dinner.
“Sure, Mom. Everything smells amazing, by the way!” The pep in my voice feels forced, but I keep my smile pinned in place.
Hunter has already cried multiple times in the past week over our dad staying in Australia instead of being home for the holiday weekend like he originally said he would.
And even though our mom has been carrying on like normal, I can see the stress lining her eyes and weighing her down.
As I set down the potatoes on the floral tablecloth and take my seat, I can’t help but resent my father a little.
Up until the past couple of years, I would have considered myself very close to him, closer than I was with my mom.
While my mom finished her residency and started her medical career, my dad had been my primary caregiver for years.
Instead of Mom being at every school event and award ceremony, it had always been him.
After Hunter started full-time school, everything seemed to change.
With his schedule more free, he’d taken on more and more film projects.
Then came the bickering and fighting between my parents.
Then, he decided to start taking jobs overseas.
I reach over and ruffle Hunter’s hair good-naturedly as he places a napkin and silverware at my spot. “Give me a couple extra napkins, bud. I plan to hit this dinner hard.”
Hunter gives me a small smile and drops two more napkins next to me. “Are you sure you don’t need a bib?”
I place my hand on my chest dramatically while my jaw drops. “Hunter James! A bib? What am I, a toddler? Next you’ll be suggesting a sippy cup.”
He shrugs nonchalantly as he sits and scootches in his chair, but the grin he's fighting gives him away. “I think we still have some old ones in the cabinet. I can grab you one.”
Before I can respond, Mom eases into her chair and sighs heavily.
Her gaze turns to each of us and she smiles, but I can see the sadness lying beneath it all.
She’s been wearing the same invisible weight for weeks.
I can't help but remember the night before Dad called to tell us he wasn't coming home.
Mom's voice behind her bedroom door—whispered but harsh, the kind of whisper that isn't really trying to be quiet.
“Well, I for one cannot believe it’s already Thanksgiving!
What a year. Should we go around and say what we’re thankful for?
I’ll go first. I’m thankful for my two wonderful children,” she pauses while she gives us each a teasing cheek pinch, “and for getting Thanksgiving off from work this year.” After finishing, she glances at Hunter, encouraging him to share next.
Hunter’s brows furrow for a moment. “What about Dad? Aren’t you thankful for Dad? You didn’t mention him.”
My heart pinches and I glance at Mom quickly, noting the way her cheeks flush with emotion and her gaze drops to the tablecloth.
Hunter’s only eight and I know he can feel some tension in the house regarding our dad, but there’s no way to explain the nuances of a strained marriage, nor is this the time and place.
So I jump in and do what I’m good at: I distract.
“Hunter’s thankful for the vegemite Dad promised to bring home from Australia.”
He reacts exactly the way I expect. His face contorts in confusion and then he makes a “blech” expression. “No way! I thought it was chocolate flavored until we watched that YouTube video about it. It looks and sounds so gross!”
I tap my cheek like I’m thinking of something else he might be thankful for, then snap my fingers. “Oh! You’re thankful your big sis is going to be captain of the swim team this year.”
Maybe. Hopefully. Coach Kim called out sick the day of our scheduled meeting to discuss the issue, and we won’t be able to touch base until after the holiday weekend. Seems like it’s a done deal, though.
This time he laughs incredulously, but my heart lifts at his levity. My mom’s expression seems to loosen as well. “Why would I care about that? No. I’m thankful for Jake. I had a blast trick-or-treating with him this year and he’s so fun when he comes over.”
Mom’s eyebrows rise in question. “...when he comes over?”
“For calculus, remember?” I say as I wave my hand dismissively. The last thing I need is my mom thinking any sort of way about that. Plus, Braden! She knows about Braden and she loves him. “Sometimes he plays video games with Hunter when we’re done with homework.”
“Anyway, I’m thankful for Braden, of course,” I pause briefly as I consider the fact that he seems MIA this weekend after previously stating he’d definitely be flying home.
Maybe his flight was delayed? I’m positive there’s an explanation and that he’ll be knocking on my door later.
“And I’m thankful for meeting my goals on my vision board, like being made swim captain. ”
My mom smiles. “I’m proud of you, Av. I probably don’t say that enough.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
With our Thanksgiving ritual complete, we start piling our plates with turkey, potatoes, gravy, green beans and buns.
I play a holiday playlist on my phone, which we occasionally sing along to.
Later, as we’re packing leftovers into containers and loading the dishwasher, Mom reminds me of her work schedule the next day.
“Are you going to the Taylors’ tomorrow, Avery? If so, don’t forget you need to bring Hunter with you as I’m working.”
I slide another plate in the dishwasher. “Why would I go see Jake?”
My mom gives me a funny look as she hands me another plate to load. “I meant to see Jenna. You two usually spend time together every time there’s a school holiday.”
I blink. “Oh, right. Um, I think she’s busy.”
Busy… aka, I have no idea what she’s doing because I’ve been avoiding her like the plague.
After she called me out on skipping her game when I was watching the movie with Analiese, I just kept avoiding her.
I ate lunch in the library at school and walked new routes to my classes to dodge her the last couple days of school before Thanksgiving.
It feels like there are so many things on my mind that I don’t feel like I can talk to her about: my parents, Braden, college, Analiese.
So… I ran. I hid. I didn’t answer her texts or calls.
I guess Analiese was right about me after all. I’m a coward.
“Well, maybe you should hang out with Jake then.”
My head snaps up to meet my mom’s teasing smile.
“You know,” she continues, “I always thought Jake had a little crush on you.”
“What?!” I scoff as I drop a handful of dirty silverware into the dishwasher basket. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I remember watching him braid your hair and he was so gentle about not wanting to hurt you, even as a little boy. Plus, remember when he used to pick flowers from the garden for you? I mean, most of the time it was just weeds, but it was sweet.”
I feel my face scrunch up and denials gather in my throat. No way! Jake was just Jake. He followed me and Jenna around because he was bored. Period.
“Mom, Jake would do that for anyone because he’s a nice guy. Plus that was a million years ago.”
“And now he’s helping you with calculus.”
“Yes! Again, because he’s nice and we know each other.”
She shrugs. “Ok.”
I know what that shrug means—she’s placating me. The desire to strike back overwhelms me, so I glance over my shoulder to make sure Hunter is engrossed in the movie he started before I speak.
“So what’s the real reason Dad didn’t come home for Thanksgiving?”
Her hand freezes mid-air as she is about to hand me another dish to stack in the dishwasher. “He said he explained it to you when you spoke on the phone.”
“As if it’s normal for middle-aged men to abandon their families during the holiday to pursue their career across the world and also pose with young Hollywood starlets on Instagram like he’s reliving his youth?”
“Avery.”
“What? Am I wrong? This isn’t normal.”
“No,” she says, pursing her lips for a moment. “I suppose not.”
An awkward note lingers in the air, the gentle clink of dishes filling the kitchen as we finish putting the last of the mess inside the dishwasher and start it. I wait for her to give me more, but silence hangs between us. She gazes at me for a moment, then pulls me into a hug.
“Want to finish the movie with Hunter?” she asks.
“Nah, I have some things to work on.”
“Course you do,” she sighs. “Goodnight.” She kisses me lightly on the head then makes her way to the couch next to Hunter.
I pull my phone from my pocket as I walk up the stairs and check my texts: nothing from Braden, nothing from Jenna.
With a flick of my wrists, I fling my curtains open and stare intently at Braden’s house, just barely visible in the night sky.
The only illumination outlining the houses comes from the glow of the windows and the vague hazy light that always tends to hover above the densely populated suburb we call home.
Not Braden’s house, though. It’s pitch black.
I pick up my phone and call Braden, my eyes still trained on his house.
My hand nearly drops the phone when I hear his voice.
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Braden! Where are you?”
“Not home.”
“I know that. I thought you were flying home for Thanksgiving? What changed?”
I hear shuffling around like he closed a door; the ambient, indistinct background noise fades away, like he entered another room.
“School was just too busy, you know, being the first year at MIT. My parents decided to come here instead. You know, do some sightseeing in Boston and all that.”