Thus commenced a death stare match.
We glared into one another’s eyes, neither refusing to give in, and then suddenly, memories of arguments ending in kisses flared behind my eyes.
I knew the moment Jake remembered too because the air between us wasn’t angry anymore … it was sexual.
My skin flushed and I flexed my hands, trying to ignore the pulsing throb in my neck and the blood whooshing in my ears. It was hard to do when I recognized all too well the look in Jake’s eyes.
“I can cook it on my own,” Claudia announced loudly, shattering the moment. I jerked my head around to see her giving me a look that screamed, “What the hell are you doing?” before turning back to Beck. “It’s cool. We’ll get a bird and everything. I can handle it.”
At least one of us could handle something.
For once the kitchen didn’t seem so cold with eight of us crammed around the table. True to her word, Claudia had cooked Thanksgiving dinner and to our surprise, Lowe had helped. Maggie, Gemma, and Laura had left us to our traditions, as had Rowena. That meant Jake, Claudia, Beck, Lowe, Melissa, Matt, Denver, and I were cozied together at the table.
We were tucking in, lots of “mmms” and “Claud, I love you” being thrown around the table. It was easy to forget everything else, to forget the very real awkwardness between Melissa and me for instance, when we were all just happy to have something to remind us of home.
Edinburgh was great, but I think we were all missing the States just a little bit.
“This is so much better than home,” Claudia announced, taking a sip of her wine as she proved me wrong.
“It is?” Melissa frowned.
Claudia nodded, her eyes wide as she replied, “God, yes. Well, it was.” She threw me a grin. “I spend it with Charley’s crazy family now, but pre-Charley … right about now, I’d be curled up on the couch by myself in a house that’s way too big for three people while my parents either f**k other people in Cabo or each other in Switzerland. No phone calls home to wish me Happy Thanksgiving, nothing, nada. They pay their cook Consuela to make and serve me Thanksgiving dinner every year, and every year I give her a couple of days off without telling them. That would kill them,” Claudia smirked. “My parents hate paying for anything when they don’t have to. I’m saving it up for the right moment. Who knows … it might piss my mother off so much, she may actually manage to make an expression through the Botox.”
Beck, Lowe, and I laughed, which relaxed everyone else who, by the uncomfortable expressions on their faces, clearly felt weird by Claudia’s oversharing.
Lowe shrugged. “I don’t mind Thanksgiving. Mom passed a while ago, so it’s just me, my older brother, and my dad. My dad is a litigator and always working. So Josh and I just get takeout and sit back, have a beer, and watch the game.”
I hadn’t known that about Lowe. Although he’d spoken casually about his mom, there was a definite tightness in his tone. Since he was sitting beside me, I felt the tension in his body. So no one would notice, I put down my cutlery, lifted my wine glass with one hand, and gently squeezed Lowe’s knee under the table with the other.
Two seconds later I felt his warm hand cover mine and he gave me a squeeze back. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and saw he was giving me a small, grateful smile. His muscles relaxed and I let go of him as Beck started sharing.
“My mom and stepdad always go on vacation at Thanksgiving because Mom hates the cold. That leaves me either stuck in the house by myself, much like Claud, or if my dad’s coherent, I’ll drop by his place with some food.”
I wondered what the comment about his dad meant and as I looked around the room, I knew only two other people understood exactly what it meant—Jake and Claudia had hard looks in their eyes, the kind of look a person gets when someone they care about is mistreated.
Shit. Beck didn’t have it great at home. It didn’t surprise me that Jake knew … but Claudia? I was beginning to think she and Beck were a lot closer than any of us realized.
“Well,” Matt smiled, breaking the tension, “Thanksgiving at home is awesome for me. I live with my aunt and uncle because my parents died when I was little, which isn’t awesome obviously, but my aunt and uncle are cool and my aunt can cook the shit out of anything. Seriously, our table is, like, immense. We’ve got three different types of bird, three different types of potato, gravy that I think I’d kill for, chocolate pie, and pumpkin pie. Neighbors try to get an invite every year, it’s that good. There’s always so much food, my aunt invites a different couple of people every year. I swear it’s like they’ve won the lottery when she chooses one of them. And she’s got to be careful she doesn’t show someone too much favor because that drama lasts a whole f**king year.”
We smiled at him, imagining a table piled with food and neighbors clamoring to get to it.
“Thanksgiving is good for me too,” Melissa smiled contemplatively, leaning closer into Jake. He smiled at her and put his arm around her chair. The turkey in my mouth turned to ash. “It’s usually just me and my dad, my stepmom, and two stepsisters. My stepmom isn’t the greatest cook, but she always insists on doing it. I go behind her, fixing her mistakes, and she doesn’t have a clue,” Melissa laughed. “She’s sweet. So are my sisters.” She shrugged. “We just laugh a lot.”
“It sounds nice,” Claudia smiled. “It sounds really nice.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come to Thanksgiving at my house next year,” Melissa offered kindly. I wanted to stick my fork in her eye. She had my ex-boyfriend. She was not getting my best friend.
Claud looked ready to burst into laughter, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Thanks, Mel, but I’ve forced myself onto Charley’s family and I’d feel rude if I stopped doing that.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “She has not forced her way in. I swear to God, my parents like her more than they like me.”
“Do you have a nice Thanksgiving, Charley?” Lowe asked quietly.
I nodded at him. “Me, my mom, my dad, my big sister Andie. My grandmother sometimes too, and now Claud. I’m the only female in my family who can’t cook, so I get to sit and watch the game while they all cluck in the kitchen.”
“Cluck?” Claudia asked, clearly offended.
“Like a hen.” I nodded. “Who’s mashing the potatoes? They all answer at once—cluck, cluck, cluck. Who checked the bird last? Cluck, cluck, cluck. We’ve all brought our best pie dish, which one should we use? Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.”