The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,28
since seeing each other.
When I need a big brother, he’s always there.
When I need a surrogate father around, because ours is somewhat lacking in that arena, Ross steps in to fill that role, too.
No clue how he does it, but he always manages to know which one I need him to be in any given situation.
The Major has had a closed-door policy on emotions ever since we started having them. I’ve never been able to talk to him about anything meaningful in my life, same with Mom. She’ll open up to a point, but once things start getting deep, she balks. There are no mushy gushy, “love is free and abounding” vibes in our family. No kumbaya around the campfire. No sharing is caring.
In fact, I can sum up our father’s parental guidance with one painful incident. When I was eight, our eleven-year-old German Shephard died from bone cancer. He’d been our family dog since I was born, and as a little girl, I was understandably devastated when he had to be put down. The Major’s words to me as I sobbed over my dinner that night were, “Pain and loss build character, Gretchen. They make you stronger. The longer you hold on to a pet you can’t bring back, the weaker you’ll become.”
Needless to say, he didn’t get a lot of “Best Daddy Ever” coffee mugs for Christmas.
Part of me resents it.
The other part of me is grateful for it.
Learning how not to be ruled by my emotions has taught me to be a more independent, self-possessed individual. Sloane says it’s turned me into a Feelings Nazi.
Can’t change your raisin’.
“What do you need help with?” I ask Mom, pushing up the sleeves of my sweater.
Standing next to her, I feel like a giant because she’s so petite. In fact, I think the one thing I actually inherited from her was my dark chestnut hair color. My skin tone, eye color, height and general build, and wavy hair are all thanks to those Greek genetics from the Major.
“Um.” She looks up from her sweet potatoes to glance around the kitchen. “You got the green bean casserole?”
“It’s my jam.”
Thirty minutes later, everything is out of the oven, off the stove, and pulled off the grill. As always, Mom and I stick to the safe topics of discussion: our jobs, friends, and the weather. She’s a receptionist at a veterinary clinic a few miles away. As long as I can remember, she’s worked desk jobs like that, never too far from home. What I’ve never been able to figure out is why she turned down a music scholarship to follow the Major around everywhere. According to Grandma, Mom was a very gifted violinist in her youth. And when she turned down that scholarship, their relationship was never the same again.
The one thing Grandma couldn’t tell me was why Mom did it.
“Gretchen,” the Major greets me, gruff and monotone.
Aaaaand that’s all the intimacy I’m going to get.
My father is a big man. If you didn’t know him, you might assume he retired from a long career in the WWE. Tall, bulky, square jawline that’s always free of facial hair, and a buzz cut. When I was a kid, I used to think he looked like an action figure. Especially since his face is always frozen in the same stoic, smile-less expression. When people tell me I look like him, I’m not sure how to take it. His Greek ancestors passed along the dark skin gene to me, sure. Same with the dark chestnut hair.
But do I always look that surly?
The four of us sit down at a table that has far too much food, with a steaming turkey as the mouthwatering centerpiece. Despite the disconnection I feel around my parents, I have no trouble tucking into the homemade meal. Plus, Ross and I are used to breaking up the stifling monotony with sarcastic jokes and incessant sibling ribbing. Our parents have become content to just let the two of us lead the conversation—or carry it entirely—as they sit back and listen.
“How’s the promotion going, Gretch?” Ross asks just before shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.
We talk all the time, so he’s already well aware of how things are going at TCG. Except for that small issue where my boss has been shoving innuendo down my throat and coming at me like he could devour me in one bite. He’s only asking for our parents’ benefit.