16. Elijah
CHAPTER 16
Elijah
I stepped into the dining room, a mountain of mashed potatoes in the bowl I held. The tension hit me like a wall of heat from a burning building. Dad sat at the head of the table, his stern expression unyielding. Great. This was going to be about as fun as a root canal.
Carla had offered not to come. I probably should have said yes, but she was pulling away from me and I hated it. I wasn’t even sure why, but she’d been distant ever since my dad found us K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Something I hadn’t gotten the pleasure of repeating. An unfortunate situation I was desperate to remedy. Shamelessly, I’d used the boys to convince her to come to Thanksgiving dinner.
“Watch out, coming through with a dangerously buttery load of carbs,” I announced, trying to inject some levity into the atmosphere. The joke fell flatter than a pancake run over by a fire truck.
As I set down the bowl, my eyes darted to Carla. She gave me a small, encouraging smile that made my heart leap. Focus, Wells. I had a minefield to navigate.
I sank into the chair next to Carla, resisting the urge to touch her. The faint scent of her perfume – something floral begging me to lean closer and investigate further – mingled with the scent of garlic and rosemary at the table. “So, uh, who’s ready to dig in?” I asked, reaching for the serving spoon. “These mashed potatoes aren’t going to eat themselves.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Elijah, perhaps we should say grace first.” His voice was chilly and slightly exasperated, an unspoken commentary on my intelligence tangled in the tone.
Right. Of course. I’d forgotten prayer in my eagerness to break the ice.
As Dad began to pray, I snuck a glance at Carla. Our eyes met, and in that brief moment, a thousand emotions passed between us. The weight of our shared history, the lingering what-ifs, the forbidden nature of... whatever this was. It was all there, simmering just beneath the surface.
I bowed my head, but my mind was far from the prayer. How had I ended up here, torn between family loyalty and the undeniable pull I felt toward Carla? And more importantly, how was I going to make it through this meal without setting off the powder keg of tension that surrounded us?
“Amen,” Dad finished, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
“Amen,” we all echoed.
As the dishes began to circulate, Carla’s arm brushed against mine when she reached for the gravy boat. The brief contact sent a jolt through me, like touching a live wire.
“So, Carla,” my mother said, cordially, “how are things at the school? I heard you guys are putting on a play soon.”
Her eyes lit up, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest. Maybe this could work after all. “Oh, yes! The kids are so excited. We’re doing ‘The Wizard of Oz’ this year.”
“That’s great,” I replied, genuinely interested. “I bet you’re an amazing director. You always did have a knack for bossing people around.” Okay, I couldn’t resist a little teasing.
Carla laughed, the sound like music in the otherwise silent room. “I prefer to think of it as ‘gentle guidance,’” she retorted, her eyes twinkling.
I grinned, about to fire back with another quip, when I caught sight of my dad’s disapproving frown. Right. The feud. The reason Carla and I weren’t supposed to be within ten feet of each other, let alone exchanging playful banter at the dinner table.
The smile faded from my face as I turned my attention back to my plate, the weight of expectations settling once again on my shoulders. But as I risked one more glance at Carla, I knew that no matter how difficult things got, her presence made it all worthwhile. Now, if I could just figure out how to navigate this minefield without blowing everything up in the process.
The moment was short-lived. Dad cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention as he picked up the carving knife. “That’s enough chatter,” he said gruffly. “Time to serve the turkey.”
I watched as my father began carving, his movements precise and practiced. But I couldn’t help noticing how his eyes kept darting toward Carla, a hint of disdain in his gaze. My stomach churned, a mix of frustration and disappointment.
“You’ve outdone yourself this year, Mom,” I said, trying to keep things civil. “The turkey looks perfect.”
Dad grunted in response, barely acknowledging me as he continued carving. I felt torn, wanting to defend Carla but also desperate for even a scrap of approval from my father.
Dad placed a slice of turkey on Carla’s plate, his lips tightening into a thin line. I held my breath, silently willing him to be polite. But he said nothing, moving on to the next plate without a word.
I caught Carla’s eye again, seeing a flicker of hurt before she masked it with a polite smile. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to reach out and take her hand, to tell her that she didn’t deserve this treatment. But I knew that would only make things worse.
So instead, I turned to the kids, forcing a grin onto my face. “What are you thankful for this year, Alex?” I asked, desperate for any distraction from the growing tension.
As the children eagerly chimed in, I listened to their adorable perception of the past year, while acutely aware of the divide at our table – the innocence of the kids, the warmth of Carla, and the cold disapproval radiating from my father. And there I sat, caught in the middle, a firefighter who couldn’t figure out how to douse this particular flame.
The clinking of silverware against plates filled the air, punctuated by the occasional murmur of conversation. I stabbed at my mashed potatoes.
“So, how’re the boys at the fire station, Eli?” my mom asked, clearly grasping for a safe topic.
I swallowed a mouthful of turkey. “Pretty good. We’ve got a new trainee starting next week. Kid’s eager, but green as grass.”
Dad grunted. “Hope you’re not coddling him. A fireman needs to be tough.”
I bit back a sigh. Even my job wasn’t safe territory anymore. “We’ll whip him into shape, don’t worry.”
An awkward silence fell, broken only by Joey asking for more rolls. I caught Carla’s eye across the table, and something in her expression made my heart skip a beat. She took a deep breath, and I knew what was coming.
“Mr. Wells,” Carla said, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands, “I wanted to thank you for having me over. It means a lot, considering... well, everything.”
I held my breath, silently cheering her on. That’s my girl, I thought, before catching myself. She wasn’t mine, not really. But I couldn’t say I didn’t admire her courage.
Dad’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well,” he said gruffly, “it wasn’t like I was given a choice. And I suppose the boys do seem rather attached to you.” He wasn’t wrong. The boys had all circled around Carla since we arrived, asking her for help with their puzzles, buttering their roll, or simply pulling her through the house to show off their favorite parts about Mimi and Papa’s.
I winced internally. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it was something. I watched Carla’s face, seeing the mix of disappointment and determination there.
“I was hoping,” she pressed on, “that maybe we could talk about—“
“More turkey, anyone?” Dad interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
I felt a surge of frustration. “Dad,” I started, but he silenced me with a look.
The tension at the table ratcheted up another notch. I wanted to say something, anything, to ease it. But what could I say that wouldn’t make things worse? I was a firefighter, for crying out loud. I was supposed to be good at handling hot situations. But this? This felt like trying to put out a wildfire with a squirt gun.
As Dad busied himself with the turkey, pointedly ignoring Carla’s attempt at conversation, I caught her eye again. I tried to convey my admiration and support in that glance, hoping she could see how proud I was of her for trying. She gave me a small, sad smile in return, and I felt my heart twist.
I could love this woman, I realized with a jolt. The thought hit me like a bucket of ice water. And I was letting her slip away because I was too scared to stand up to my own father.
This feud had gone on long enough. It was time to put out this fire, once and for all. I just hoped I was up to the task.
I wanted nothing more than to reach out, to cover her hand with mine and offer some comfort. But I could feel my father’s eyes on me, watchful and disapproving. The weight of his expectations pressed down on me like a physical thing.
Oh, forget it, I thought. I was a firefighter. I ran into burning buildings for a living. Surely , I could handle holding a girl’s hand at dinner.
But as I shifted, ready to make my move, my elbow knocked into my water glass. It tipped, sending a small flood across the tablecloth.
“For Pete’s sake, Elijah,” my father grumbled as I scrambled for napkins.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
As I dabbed at the spreading water stain, a commotion erupted at the other end of the table. The kids were squabbling over the last dinner roll, their voices rising in pitch and volume.
“I saw it first!” Alex insisted, clutching the breadbasket protectively.
“Nu-uh!” Linc shot back, making a grab for it. “I called dibs!”
Joey, not to be outdone, piped up, “But I’m the littlest! I should get it!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, grateful for the distraction. “Alright, munchkins,” I said, adopting my best authoritative voice. “How about we split it three ways? Fair’s fair.”
The kids considered this for a moment, then nodded in agreement. As I divvied up the bread, I caught Carla’s eye. She was smiling, a real smile that reached her eyes and had my heart racing.
“Nice save,” she said, her voice warm with amusement.
I grinned back, feeling some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
For a second, it was like we were the only two people in the room. The laughter of the kids faded into the background, and I was struck by how right it felt to have Carla here, in my family’s home. Despite the awkwardness, despite my father’s disapproval, despite everything... she fit.
“What?” Carla asked, her eyebrows quirking up in that way they did when she was curious.
I realized I’d been staring. “Nothing,” I said quickly, then added, “Just thinking about how good you are with the kids.”
A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “They make it easy,” she said softly. “They don’t care about old feuds or family drama. They just... love.”
In that moment, I saw past the tough exterior Carla usually presented to the world. I saw the woman who cared deeply, who wanted a family of her own someday. And I realized, with a clarity that scared me a little, that I wanted to be that family.
“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice a little rough, “we could learn a thing or two from them, huh?”
Carla nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. There was understanding there, and something more.
Dad’s chair scraped horribly against the floor as he shoved away from the table, jolting me from the moment. His back was all I could see as he stormed into the kitchen.
Silence descended on the room, even the kids feeling the weight of his disapproval. A surge of determination rose within me. I couldn’t keep ignoring the elephant in the room – this feud that had torn our families apart for so long. Watching Carla interact with my nephews, seeing the warmth in her eyes and the easy way she fit into our chaotic family dynamic, I knew I had to do something.
“Dad,” I called out, my heart racing as I stacked plates and followed him into the kitchen. “Don’t be like this. Can’t you just try to see Carla the way I do?” The silence that followed was deafening. I could practically hear my dad’s jaw clenching from across the room. He pushed past me and back into the dining room. Stubborn as ever, I followed him, pleading my case.
“I told you to stay away from that family,” he finally snapped at me.
“For crying out loud, Dad!” I exploded, frustration boiling over. “This isn’t the Capulets and the Montagues! We’re talking about Carla, not some faceless enemy.”
Dad’s laugh was bitter. “You think that makes it better? That woman’s grandfather—“
“Her grandfather, Dad. Not her.” I ran a hand through my hair, exasperated. “Carla’s one of the kindest people I know. She volunteers at the animal shelter, tutors kids for free. She bakes cookies for your grandkids, for crying out loud!”
“Don’t you dare try to use those boys to justify this... this madness,” Dad growled. “You know how I feel.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I do. But, Dad, Carla’s not her family. She’s just... Carla. And I...” I swallowed hard, realizing I was about to say something I’d never said aloud before. “I think I might love her.”
His jaw clenched as he delivered the blow I’d been dreading. “You think you’re in love? You don’t know the first thing about commitment. You’re just chasing another thrill, like always. When are you going to grow up and stop embarrassing this family?”
His words hit me like a sucker punch, stealing the air from my lungs. My face flushed with anger and shame. My fists clenched at my sides as I fought to keep my voice steady. “That’s not fair, Dad. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to—“
“All you’ve done is undermine, disrespect me, and disappoint me.”
I reared back as though I’d been slapped. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Dad.” Judging by the pain in my chest, sarcasm sucked as a shield, but it was the only one I had.
Dad’s eyes widened, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might start yelling again. But then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a long, shaky breath. I watched as my father’s gaze drifted to the window, his eyes glazing over with memories I couldn’t see. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too warm.
“What happened between Grandpa and Kenny Putnam, Dad?” I asked softly. “There’s got to be more to this feud than just a business disagreement.”
Dad’s jaw clenched, and I saw a flicker of something raw and painful cross his face. “That man...” he started, then shook his head. “We were friends once, you know. Best friends. And then his...” His voice cracked, and I felt my chest tighten.
“Dad, you don’t have to—“
“No, you need to understand,” he insisted, meeting my eyes with an intensity that made me want to look away. “We were best friends. But sometimes things happen that can never be undone.”
I leaned back on my heels, processing this new information. “But, Dad, whatever happened was decades ago. Carla had nothing to do with—“
“You sound just like your mother,” he muttered.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Look, I get that you’re worried. But I’m not a kid anymore. I know what I feel for Carla is real.” I stood up, pacing the small kitchen. “She makes me want to be better, you know? Not just as a firefighter, but as a person.”
Dad scoffed walking back through to the dining room, but I pressed on, following him. “I know you’ve got your reasons for hating the Putnams. But Carla’s different. She’s kind and smart and she challenges me in ways no one else ever has.” I turned to face him, my heart pounding. “I’m not asking for your blessing, Dad. But I am asking you to try to understand.”
My father stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re stubborn as a bull, you know that?”
I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Gee, I wonder where I got that from…”
Dad’s eyes narrowed predictably, like they did every time my mouthy comebacks slipped out.
I kept talking. No one ever said I knew when to fold ‘em. “It’s been years. Don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet?”
“The only place I’d like to bury a hatchet is in Jim Putnam’s—“
“Harold!” my mom cut him off, shooting a pointed look at the kids.
I caught Carla’s eye, seeing a mix of gratitude and anxiety there. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that we’d figure this out together, but the words stuck in my throat.
Dad disappeared up the stairs, grumbling to himself.
I debated following him. He was so darn stubborn, he couldn’t even have a conversation about this stupid feud. I should stomp up the stairs after him and corner him until he saw reason. But I wouldn’t do that, because as much as I wanted to talk some sense into my dad, I also still wanted him to look at me with approval in his eyes for once, instead of disappointment.
Instead, I focused on clearing the table, my movements deliberate as I tried to sort through the mess in my head. How was I supposed to build a future with Carla if our families couldn’t even be in the same room? The challenge seemed insurmountable. I glanced at her again, helping my mom pack up leftovers.
“You know,” I said, sidling up to Carla at the sink, “I meant what I said. About getting our families past this stupid feud.”
She raised an eyebrow, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on making that happen, Eli the miracle worker?”
I grinned, feeling some of the tension ease. “I have my ways.” I just didn’t know what those ways might possibly be in this case yet.
Carla rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a real smile. “Well, if anyone can do it, I suppose it would be you. Just... be careful, okay? I don’t want to cause more problems for your family.”
“Hey,” I said softly, meeting her gaze, “you’re not causing problems. You’re worth fighting for.”
The vulnerability in her eyes nearly took my breath away. Did she not understand how special she was? I pulled her into my arms. It was the best way I knew to show her. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was heaven. For a moment, we just stood there, the rest of the world fading away.
“You shouldn’t give up so much for me, Eli.”
“I should have fought for you when I was seventeen, Carla. I’m not making that mistake again,” I promised. “It’s my dad’s own problem that he can’t see how amazing you are.”
She shook her head, obviously disagreeing with me. I held her tighter, vowing that I would tell her every day until she believed me.
Alex came barreling into the kitchen, breaking the spell. “Uncle Eli! The football game is about to start!”
I laughed, ruffling his hair. “Okay, buddy. I’ll be right in.”
I was nowhere near ready to let Carla out of my arms, but Thanksgiving wasn’t over yet. And I wasn’t going to let Harold Wells chase Carla out of the house. Let him stew upstairs all afternoon for all I cared. My family was celebrating the holiday. And from here on out, my family included Carla.