by Kate, Jiffy
“Oh” is the only response she gives me. I hate that I’m hurting her but I just can’t be where Brant is.
Trying to keep the lump in my throat down, I try to reassure her. “I’ll come home soon, I promise. And I’ll see you and Daddy at Christmas, okay? You know, y’all can come down here, too. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”
“I just don’t know if we could leave the farm for that long, Avery. Look, dear, we’ll talk more later. I need to get these groceries home. I love you.”
“Love you, Mama,” I say before hanging up.
I’m flooded with emotions as I curl up on CeCe’s couch—sad that I won’t be seeing my family tomorrow and terribly guilty for hurting my mama’s feelings.
I don’t know why I hadn’t considered the possibility of Brant going home for Thanksgiving.
I should’ve prepared for this. I should’ve known he’d be there. Any other year, he’d have things to do—client meetings or a cruise to the Bahamas. But no, this year, he’s already been in Honey Springs for a day.
Of fucking course.
Taking my frustrations out on one of CeCe’s eclectic throw pillows, I punch it and then cram my face down into it and scream. If I don’t, I’ll cry and I can’t let Brant have another tear. He doesn’t deserve it.
Honestly, I’m more pissed off at myself for allowing him to have any kind of control over me and my actions, whether he knows it or not. I should be able to live my life without worrying about running into him but it’s just easier to avoid him for the time being. I’ll have to face him sooner or later, I know that, but I’m not ready for that yet.
The excitement and hope I felt just a few moments ago have been replaced with annoyance and disappointment, leaving me feeling crappy and lonely.
Sighing, I look around the small space, needing something to distract me and make me feel better. I can’t control Brant, but I can control myself and how I respond to my given situation. I could go hang out downstairs and let CeCe teach me a few things about the coffee making process, but I’m not really in the right frame of mind for that. The only thing that sounds appealing is something I haven’t had the chance to do in a long time—baking.
When life hands you shitty ex-boyfriends, you bake.
Hopping off the couch, I head for the door. I need ingredients and CeCe’s approval to christen her kitchen. And since it looks like I’ll be making a surprise arrival at the O’Sullivan Thanksgiving Dinner tomorrow, I know the perfect thing to make.
As I head out to the bar, I start worrying that I won’t be welcome, but quickly shake that feeling and push it to the back of my mind. Sarah told me the other day that I was welcome if plans changed.
At the time, I didn’t expect them to, but then Brant went and ruined everything.
Typical.
The nerves are still buzzing beneath my skin as I approach the sidewalk leading to the bar and cooking school. Regardless of the pep talk I gave myself, they persist. I guess it’s a good thing I’m bringing two pans of blondies with me. No one can turn away a girl who comes bearing sweets, right?
CeCe invited me to join her at Blue Bayou, a hotel around the corner. Her friend owns it and apparently that’s where she spends most holidays. I considered taking her up on it, but deep down, as much as I wanted to go home, I also wanted to spend Thanksgiving with Shaw and Sarah and everyone from the bar. So, even though I’m sad about not being in Oklahoma, this is definitely the next best thing.
Walking up to the door, I hesitate for a minute, but then the door opens up and a surprised Sarah smiles at me. “Avery!”
The welcoming tone in her voice immediately sets me at ease and I return her smile. “Hi, I’m...well, I didn’t go home, so—”
“Come in here,” she says, cutting off my awkward rambling. “What’s this?”
I look down at the foil covered baking dishes in my hands. “Oh, I baked brownies...well, blondies. I wasn’t sure what to bring, but I thought a little more dessert wouldn’t go to waste.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” she gently scolds as she leads me inside, taking the dishes from me. “But we certainly will not turn down baked goods.”
“No, we will not turn down baked goods,” a familiar, deep voice says from the direction of the kitchen in the back. When Shaw steps into the main part of the cooking school—which has been transformed into a large dining space with enough chairs to seat what looks like two dozen people—he stops in mid-stride and his face changes from the semi-smile he was wearing to one of indifference.
Or at least fake indifference.
Clearing his throat, he adds, letting his features soften a little. “Turning away baked goods on Thanksgiving would just be sacrilegious.”
“Take these and put them with the rest of the desserts,” Sarah orders, handing Shaw the dishes. When he goes to lift the foil, she swats his hand.
A small, mischievous smile plays on his lips as he turns and walks away with the blondies in hand, and I relax a little.
“Let me introduce you to everyone. Most of the men are over at the bar, but there are plenty of people to meet in the kitchen.” Sarah places an arm around my shoulder and guides me to the back of the kitchen.
When we step inside everyone turns and smiles, awaiting an introduction.
“Everyone, this is Avery. She works at the bar and she’s originally from Oklahoma...and she’s just an all-around lovely person.” I glance over at Sarah and see her smiling at me and it warms me from the inside out—her expression and her words.
When everyone says “hello” in unison, I laugh lightly and wave. “Hello.”
“Avery,” Sarah begins, pointing to a lady with dark hair and dark eyes, looking every bit like she could be a sibling, but I know she’s not because Sarah is the only sister. “This is Amy, she’s married to Shane, who you’ll meet later, and this is their little one, Brady.”
The adorable little boy gives me a wide toothy grin, making his eyes turn into slivers. “Hi,” he says with a wave.
“Brady is three,” Sarah continues.
“And he’s working on giving me all the gray hairs,” Amy adds, offering me her hand across the counter where it looks like she’s putting the finishing touches on a green bean casserole. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery. So glad you could make it.”
“Thank you,” I tell her before turning my smile to Brady. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“This,” Sarah continues, “is Emily and she’s married to Shannon. They have two boys who are also married and are spending the holidays with the in-laws.” The way Sarah says in-laws lets me know this has already been a topic of conversation and everyone laughs or gives an eye roll with that statement. I’m gathering this is probably a new thing and change isn’t well received, as it is with most tight-knit families, which makes me think of my own and a sharp pain pokes me in my chest.
Ignoring the guilt, I smile apologetically and say, “Sorry, I guess.” The laugh I get takes away a little of the ache and instead of a handshake, Emily reaches over and gives me a hug.
“Glad you’re here, Avery.” She smells good and her honey-blonde hair smells amazing. I think about telling her that, but refrain.
“Thank you,” I tell her, admiring the beautiful necklace she’s wearing. Now that I get a closer look at her, I can tell she’s probably the age of my mother. There are faint aging lines around her eyes and mouth from years of expressing herself. She’s beautiful. And motherly. I’m instantly drawn to her.
“This is Cynthia and she’s married to Sean. And these are her girls, Molly and Riley.” Two girls who look like they’re about my age smile and wave along with their mother, who they look just like, except for the jet black hair, which I assume they got from their father if he looks anything like Shaw.
Once I’ve met the wives and kids, Sarah walks me next door to meet the brothers and a spike of nervousness hits. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I want their approval? That thought has me questioning my
own sanity because what does it matter if they like me or not?
It doesn’t.
This will more than likely be the only time I ever see them, right?
So, no harm, no foul.
Thankfully, when we walk inside, the brothers are all just as welcoming as their wives. They all smile and wave, letting Sarah make the introductions. Sure enough, they all look so much alike, give or take a few years. It’s obvious in so many ways that Shaw is the baby. Like Sarah, Sean, the oldest of the O’Sullivans, is more like a parental figure than a sibling. When Shannon and Shane, the middle brothers start arguing over a call on one of the three football games playing on the televisions above the bar, Sean is the one to step in and remind them that there will be no brawling on Thanksgiving.
“Next thing you know, you’re gonna be telling us to take it outside,” Shaw scoffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a pull from his beer, immediately drawing my attention to his lips...and neck and forearms that are on display.
Stop it, Avery.
Get it together.
This is a family get together.
“Yeah, and then he’ll make us stand outside until we hug it out,” Shannon teases, pushing Shane’s shoulder.
“I swear,” Sarah whispers. “When they’re all together, they act more like they’re five instead of fifty-something.”
“Speak for yourself,” Shane calls out. “And don’t think I can’t hear ya. Just because I’m older, doesn’t mean I’m deaf.”
Sarah laughs, shaking her head, “Come on, Avery, let’s go back to the land of the civilized.”
Paulie, Jeremy, Kevin, and Charlie are all hanging out at the bar, kicked back with beers of their own and enjoying not waiting on customers. I give them all waves and smile as I’m led back next door.
About fifteen minutes later, a spread worthy of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine is laid out on the long table and Sarah calls everyone over. With no specific places to sit, everyone kind of migrates to their spouse, leaving me and the rest of the crew to fill in the other spots.
I end up sitting between Sarah and Jeremy, with Paulie and Shaw sitting across from me. When I realize who I’ll be staring at for the entire meal, I consider changing spots with someone, but everyone else is settled, so I guess I can endure Shaw’s stares and glares for some turkey and dressing.
Because, oh, my God, does everything look and smell amazing.
It smells like home.
And holidays.
And family.
And everything good in life all rolled into one meal.
“Sean’s saying grace,” Sarah, announces, doing the sign of the cross and bowing her head. I don’t do the sign of the cross, because I’m afraid I would mess it up, but I do bow my head, as does everyone around me. A split second before Sean begins his prayer, I take a peek at Shaw, expecting to see his head down, but find him watching me.
It’s no use pretending.
He knows I was looking up to see him.
But I caught him looking at me.
So, we’re even.
“Dear Lord,” Sean begins and I break my gaze away from Shaw and focus on the table, still feeling his stare on me. “We’re so thankful for the family who’s here today, those we were given through blood, those we were given through marriage, and those we were given through fate. Bless the hands that made the food and bless those who are about to eat it. Be with all the less fortunate and give us opportunities to show them kindness. Amen.”
All the O’Sullivans finish the prayer with the sign of the cross, as does Paulie, before the chatter erupts and plates begin being passed around the table. It’s like an organized circus, beautiful chaos, and I’m suddenly filled with so much love...for everyone here who I’ve met today and for finding this place, along with this family.
Shaw is difficult, but he’s also one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
When I think of Shaw, I think of something my daddy once told me: integrity isn’t about what you do when people are looking, it’s about what you do when they’re not.
Shaw is the picture of integrity. He’s good and trustworthy. And seeing him here today, surrounded by his family, small pieces of his puzzle start to fall into place. However, I’m also left wondering, not for the first time, what happened in his life to change his trajectory? How did he go from being the fun-loving little brother of this big, welcoming family to the Shaw I met a few months ago—brooding, moody, and guarded?
Chapter 18
Shaw
“Since when did you start hiring women to work at your bar?” Shannon asks when we’re all back over in said bar, catching a few more football games.
“Since I hired Avery,” I deadpan, hoping he’ll let it go. I really don’t want to get into a hundred questions about Avery because I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep up the ruse of indifference I try to maintain when she’s around.
Thankfully, we left the women, and my brother Shane, next door to gush over the Black Friday sales ads in the newspapers. For whatever fucking reason, he gets a hard-on for cheap electronics.
Once we got all the food put away and take out containers filled to the brim for everyone to take home, the papers came out and we made our exit. It looks like a hurricane hit over there and I want no part of it.
Paulie excused himself a few minutes ago, claiming he had a nap calling his name. Jeremy and Kevin took off right after dinner with a few boxes of food for Charity House, and Charlie slipped out right after them. He’s a quiet one, but I like him.
The only people left are my family...and Avery, who has fit in well.
I could barely keep my eyes off her at dinner. She looks beautiful, no more than every other day, but she curled her hair today and her eyes stand out more. Her mouth is fuller and painted a light shade of pink. When I caught her looking at me earlier, I wanted so badly to reach across the table, pull her to me, and kiss her, which is completely insane and out of the question.
But I wanted to just the same.
“She’s what? About Riley’s age?” Sean’s question is benign enough, but it puts my hackles up and feels like a bucket of cold water just got poured on my dick.
I clear my throat and shift on the barstool, taking a much needed drink of my beer. Shrugging, I place the bottle back down in front of me and pick at the label.
“She’s cute,” Shannon adds, bringing those hackles to full attention.
“A real pretty girl,” Sean comments in his fatherly tone.
I know he probably looks at Avery like a kid, due to her age and the fact he has two daughters in their early twenties, but I still don’t like it and I want to change the fucking subject.
“Where’d you say she’s from?” Shannon asks, earning a groan from me, but I try to curtail it. I don’t want to give him any reason to think she’s off-limits because that will only make this harder.
“Oklahoma.”
“And she moved here all by herself?” he continues.
“She’s a grown ass woman. I guess she can move where she damn well pleases.”
“You’re such a fucking grumpy ass in your old age,” Shannon prods, trying to get a rise out of me, but he’s not going to get it.
“But she is by herself, huh?”
I swear, he’s like an old grandma—nosey as shit and needs to know everyone’s fucking business. I don’t know how Emily has put up with him all these years. We’ve always gone back and forth with each other. He was thirteen when I was born and I basically rained on his parade. The hilarious turn of events is that he and Emily weren’t planning on having kids, so about five years ago he got the snip. A year later, boom. Pregnant. He named Brady after me, giving the kid my middle name, because we’re both ‘oops babies’.
I love the kid. Not just because we share a name, but he came along at a time when everything felt dark and depressing. You can’t be around Brady and not smile. It’s impossible.
“Yeah, she’s by herself,” I finally answer. “She wa
s actually living in Houston with her asshole ex-boyfriend before she moved here. He beat her up. She wanted a change of pace and a fresh start. I don’t blame her, do you?”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath before tipping back his beer.
“What a bastard,” Sean chimes in. “Hope he gets what’s comin’ to him.”
“I gave him what I could when he showed his face up here.” Just the thought has me wishing he’d show up again so I could finish the job.
“I’m glad,” my oldest brother says, patting me on the back, sounding exactly like our father.
“She’s a good person,” I add, for no other reason than needing to tell someone. “She definitely doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
She deserves only the best things in life, I want to add, but I don’t. I stop myself before I show all my cards.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Molly calls out from the direction of the backdoor. “Aunt Sarah told me to tell y’all we’re digging in.”
After dinner, none of us could even think about pie or cake or brownies, but now that I’ve had time to let my food settle, I could go for something sweet. And to get away from my brother, the detective.
Maybe if he fills his pie hole with some actual pie, he won’t have a chance to grill me about Avery or anything else.
When we all walk into the kitchen, the women are still gathered around the large, stainless steel countertop talking animatedly about various topics. My eye catches Avery’s and she doesn’t miss a beat, listening to something Sarah and Emily are telling her, but her attention is now split.
Sean, Shannon, and I make our way over to where all of the desserts are spread out like a fucking smorgasbord of deliciousness. I don’t indulge in many sweets, outside of the donuts Sarah and the crew bring to the bar in the mornings. Oh, and those dainty, girlie pastries Avery brings every once in a while.
I never told her, but after she walked away that first day, I snuck one and it was amazing.
