Only Mostly Devastated

by Sophie Gonzales

  “Why aren’t you eating, Mama?” Crista asked through a mouthful of peanut butter and chocolate.

  Aunt Linda lifted her head off the pillow. It looked like it weighed fifty pounds. “I ate earlier, honey. I didn’t know we were all doing lunch. Now I’m jealous!”

  I didn’t think for a second that she’d eaten earlier. But she looked a little green, so I didn’t push it.

  As far as Thanksgiving meals went, it was modest, but still nice. No one complained, in any case. Mom, Dad, and Uncle Roy talked and joked like normal. Even if Aunt Linda was too tired to join in, she smiled the whole time. She barely took her eyes off Crista and Dylan, though.

  After we finished eating, my parents decided to take the kids for another walk. They were bounding around like fleas riding pogo sticks in a jumping castle. My bad. I forgot about the downside to sugar indulgences.

  We were plunged into an eerie silence as the kids’ voices faded down the hallway. Linda closed her eyes, and I assumed she was angling for another nap. Then I realized with a shock she was crying.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, as Uncle Roy jumped to grab her hand.

  “What hurts, baby?” he asked, but she flapped him away.

  “Nothing. Nothing, I’m sorry. It’s just … I just …” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and sucked in a breath. “This is the oldest I’m ever going to see them. I’m never going to see Dyl grow bigger than a baby. And Crissy in her dress … she’ll have a prom dress one day. And I’ll never see it. I won’t be there. It’ll happen without me.”

  Uncle Roy looked stricken. I desperately wished I’d gone with Mom and Dad. This felt like a private moment. But there was no way for me to excuse myself now without looking like a massive dick.

  “Not necessarily, baby. There’s a chance—”

  She scoffed. “Roy, don’t.”

  “There is.”

  “Four percent isn’t a chance. It’s a sentence.” Her eyes welled up again, and then she shook her head like a dog drying itself. Like she could shake off her tears. “I need you to promise me something. Promise me you won’t let anyone tell them they aren’t beautiful. You, too, Ollie.”

  I nodded mutely.

  Her voice choked. “I was told I wasn’t beautiful when I was little. But they’re the most beautiful children in the world. They’re smart, and funny, and creative. I won’t be here to remind them, so you have to. Both of you. Daily. Okay?”

  We nodded. Uncle Roy kept squeezing her hand, like if he let go of it something terrible might happen. He looked more than a bit emotional himself.

  Before long, my parents returned with a worn-out Crista, and Dylan out cold in Dad’s arms. They settled both kids on the couch to nap, and gathered single chairs from around the room.

  “You don’t all need to be here,” Aunt Linda said finally. “Really. I’m fine, and I just want to sleep.”

  “You can sleep,” Uncle Roy said. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “No, honestly. If you go now you can do at least part of dinner. Maybe not a turkey, but the rest? And you could bring some sweet potato pie for me tomorrow?”

  She had the same kind of look I’m pretty sure I get when I’m aiming for a long shot, like leftover pizza for breakfast or an advance in my pocket money. Earnestly hopeful, but weirdly resigned at the same time.

  “Not happening.”

  “Roy, the kids.”

  “They don’t know the difference.”

  “They’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

  “We can do a makeup when you’re home.”

  “I’ll be too tired to cook, you know I will—”

  “I’ll cook.”

  “You can’t cook. You don’t even know what paprika is! Catherine needs to do it. Cathy, sweetie, will you—”

  “No, Catherine isn’t doing it, because the kids and I are staying right the hell here. It’s Thanksgiving. They should be with their family.”

  “They’ve been here all day, Roy. They’ve been with me. When they’re here I feel like I have to smile, and be energetic, and make sure they don’t worry, and I’ve been doing it all day. I am tired. I just want to nap, and watch a bad movie, and complain and moan without ruining their day. It’s a special day for them. Please.”

  Uncle Roy hesitated. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Cathy?”

  Mom looked at Aunt Linda, then me, then Dad, then the kids. “I … Linda, I don’t think I can. If I wasn’t here, I’d just be worried and distracted. I feel better here.”

  Three … two … one. On cue, the adults all turned to me.

  I didn’t really want to leave the hospital, either, but I had the least right to be selfish out of everyone here. “I … Look, if it helps, I’m more than happy to take the kids to McDonald’s. Then I can bring them back here, or we can go home and play some games or something.”

  Aunt Linda broke into her first full-faced smile of the day. “Ollie, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll give you some money, and you let them eat whatever they want, okay? Whatever. I don’t care if they want a Big Mac with hot fudge sauce, they can have it. No rules today.”

  Goddamn, kids get excited about McDonald’s. Got to give that clown one thing, he knows how to target a vulnerable audience. Any other middle-aged man wearing a clown costume and luring kids in with toys and music and sugar would be arrested, but not good old Ronald.

  As we pulled into the parking lot, Crista and Dylan were literally bouncing out of their seats. Well, Crista was anyway, because she knew how to unlatch her seat belt.

  I noticed my phone flashing as I switched off the ignition. At first I figured it was Mom or Aunt Linda but— but! It was Will! Finally, finally, finally. How are the Brussels sprouts?

  I checked the time stamp. The message came through fifteen minutes ago. It was a reasonable time lapse. I took a quick snap of the McDonald’s sign and sent it to him, along with the text, Wouldn’t know :(

  Before I’d even gotten to the back door to let Dylan out, my phone started buzzing.

  “Where are you?” Will asked as soon as I answered.

  “Uh, McDonald’s. Nice family restaurant. Have you never heard of it?”

  “Why are you at McDonald’s? Did your house burn down or something?”

  “Ooh, close. Actually, we had a bit of an incident with Aunt Linda. Everyone’s at the hospital.”

  “Shit. Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, for now. Just we’ve been there since the crack of dawn, and the kids were hungry, so … we ditched for food.”

  There was a brief pause, then: “Come here.”

  “What do you mean? Where are you?” The first, wild thought that came into my head was that Will was also at McDonald’s somehow.

  “My house. Seriously, it’s overflowing here, all my cousins came up. We’ve had to move things outside with, like, three tables. But our back porch is enclosed, and we’ve got heaters, so you wouldn’t even be cold. Kane would love to see Crista. I told him she lives nearby and he’s always asking to see her. We have so much food, just so much, it’s ridiculous, you have no … am I babbling?”

  I grinned to myself and leaned against the car door. From the inside, Crista banged against the window with a closed fist. “Kind of.”

  “Yeah, I thought I might be. I’m a bit nervous. Because I’m not sure if you still hate me a little.” He laughed. “But if you don’t … seriously. Please don’t say you’re busy now that I’ve asked you to come over, because that’d be really embarrassing for me. Sorry to put you on the spot, but, for real.”

  There was no way this was real. Never in a million years had I expected this. I tipped my head back and let it hit the car. I wanted to say yes. So badly. “The kids really wanted McDonald’s.”

  “So tell them you forgot it’s illegal to eat McDonald’s on Thanksgiving. You’d barely be lying. It should be illegal.”

  Eurgh. He was making it so easy. Way too easy. “Don’t
you live out of town?”

  “Twenty minutes, max. I’ll text you the address.”

  “I’d have to check with their parents.”

  “They remember me, don’t they? It’s not like I’m a stranger.”

  “Still.”

  “Yeah, still. Look, ask them, then if you’re out of excuses send me a text to give me an E.T.A., okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “It sounds like you’re smiling.”

  “I’m not.” I smiled.

  “I’ll see you soon, then.”

  He hung up on me before I had time to change my mind. I looked inside the car. Crista shrugged up at me, splaying her hands out like a sassy thirteen-year-old. Dylan was still wriggling in his car seat, tapping his hands on his knees.

  Maybe if I bribed them with an order of fries to share and the promise of seeing Will, they’d be down.

  My chances seemed good.

  14

  “Ollie, why aren’t we driving anymore?”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t die. That last one was particularly important. Don’t die.

  “Ollie?”

  “Yeah, uh. We’re here, that’s why.”

  “Oh. Why aren’t you getting out, then?”

  Excellent question, Crista. Kids were full of excellent questions. How could I explain to a seven-and three-year-old that I was afraid to get out into this too-dark street, walk up that too-long driveway, and ring the too-loud doorbell?

  Maybe I could put it in a way that was accessible to them? Like, this is the cortisol that’s flooding the blood, that flows in the veins, that leads to the heart, that’s pumping too fast in the chest of the guy, who’s too scared to knock on the door of the house where Will lives.

  I only had three options. Option one, turn back and drive all the way home with two cranky, hungry kids rightfully complaining in the backseat. Ruin their night, let Aunt Linda down, but avoid having to knock on Will’s door. Pros, cons.

  Option two, get out and knock on Will’s door.

  Option three, sit here for a while longer, and explain calmly to Crista and Dylan all about the cortisol that’s flooding the blood that flows in the—

  Okay, fine. Fine. I’d do it.

  Dylan, who was still squirming in his car seat, reached up as I unbuckled him and hoisted him out. Crista had no such issues, unclipping herself and quite literally leaping around on the road. Part of me wondered if she’d smuggled some of the leftover vending machine loot into her pockets and eaten it on the drive. I’d seen her do craftier things in my time—she was capable.

  Will’s house was pretty much a clone of the houses in Collinswood, with a large, green front lawn that met stairs leading up to a spacious front porch. The house was two stories (of course), and covered in navy weatherboards, with white trimming on the Victorian-style arch windows.

  He’d said everyone was outside eating. What if they’d already started? They might not hear a doorbell or knock. Then how would I know how long to wait before trying again? What if Will hadn’t asked permission for us to come, and his parents answered the door and sent us away? Or, worse, what if Will decided he didn’t want us there after all?

  I stopped under a streetlight and placed Dylan down to stand. “Let’s wait here,” I said. “I’ll just send Will a text, then he’ll come to get us.”

  At least, I hoped he would. If he was allowed his phone at the dinner table, that was. I sent a quick plea to the Great, Ethereal Being that he’d see the message quickly. It was freaking freezing, even for late November, and our breath was opaque enough to reflect the streetlight. By my knee, Dylan started grumbling before I’d even finished the text.

  Apparently frigid air was a good prayer conductor, because Will flew open the front door and trotted down the steps within seconds. “What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked. “Come on. It’s ridiculously cold.”

  Will looked even colder than I felt, actually. Even in a hoodie and a denim jacket he had his bare hands tucked under his armpits. Dylan grabbed my hand as we started toward the house, but Crista planted herself by Will’s side. She was as determined to claim him as ever.

  “Ollie said we have to eat outside,” Crista hiss-whispered to Will.

  “Well, he’s right, but we have heaters in the backyard. You’ll be toasty, I promise.”

  As soon as we entered Will’s house we were hit by a wave of heat, accompanied by the tantalizing smell of meat and spices, and upbeat Latin music playing at about a billion decibels.

  The rooms were buzzing with people ferrying plates and trays from the kitchen to the backyard. Will hadn’t been kidding about the turnout—altogether there had to be about fifty people here, what with aunts and uncles and grandparents, along with kids running around between it all, clutching fist-sized snacks they’d managed to swipe from the kitchen. Among the din, I could make out an even mixture of Spanish and English.

  Mrs. Tavares, a tall woman who had Will’s freckles and large brown eyes, burst out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a hunk of delicious-looking slow-cooked meat on it, bopping from side to side in time with the music. “Ollie,” she cried, lifting the tray up a little to greet me. “It’s so good to see you again! Thank you so much for coming by tonight.”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’m so sorry we didn’t bring anything, it was kind of short notice.”

  “Ah, I think we’re going to be okay,” she said, nodding at the platter in her hands. “We could feed half the neighborhood with just the side dishes.”

  “Should we go help bring stuff out?” I asked Will.

  “Under no circumstances. It’s mayhem in there, honestly. We just try not to get in anyone’s way for the next five minutes. You got here at the perfect time, it’s almost dinner.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t eaten yet.”

  Will pursed his lips together in a silent laugh. “We don’t eat ’til late. The first few hours of Thanksgiving are for dancing, ponche crema, and explaining to thirteen great-aunts why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Ponche crema?”

  “It’s kind of like a Venezuelan eggnog, but it’s way better.”

  “Alcohol?”

  Will rolled his eyes at me. “I’m not drunk. I only had a little bit.”

  “My parents would literally kill me if I drank.”

  Will led me outside, Crista and Dylan in tow. “I’ve been having wine at dinner since I was a kid. It’s normal.”

  Outside, several tables were lined up on the porch, with chairs squeezed in wherever possible. Straightaway, I saw what Will meant about the cold. The sides of the porch were enclosed by detachable clear vinyl sheeting, so while some frigid air blew through under the gap at the bottom, for the most part we were protected from the wind and chill.

  A whole bunch of the seats were taken already—mostly by men—with other seats saved with half-drunk glasses of wine, or a white liquid I guessed was the fabled ponche crema, or a well-placed handbag. Fairy lights twinkled above us, glittering and snaking around the rafters and poles, and the standing outdoor heaters gave off a welcome blast of heat to counteract the frozen air that did sneak in. A bunch of the people sitting at the table had a Will-like vibe to them. Whether they shared his well-defined lips, or the delicate shape of his jaw, or his long fingers, you could tell they were blood relatives.

  It was like a peek into the future, in an oh-God-Ollie-it’s-too-early-to-think-about-the-future-please-stop kind of way.

  Will squatted down to meet Crista and Dylan at eye level. “So, at my house we have a special table for the kids. Kane will be sitting there, and some of my little cousins, too. Do you feel comfortable sitting with Kane?”

  Crista gave a shy nod, and Dylan copied her.

  “Excellent. Come on, I’ll get you set up. Would you like a drink?”

  While Will looked after the kids, I hung back, giving an awkward smile to the people sitting at the table. Were they wondering who the hell these random people s
trolling into their family dinner were? Should I introduce myself? Should I wait for Will to do that for me?

  Will reappeared beside me. “So, the bad news is, there are only single seats left. How would you feel about getting to know some of my family?” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he scoffed. “You know what I mean.”

  To be honest, the thought made my heart drum nervously until it reverberated in my throat. My appetite almost disappeared. “For sure,” I forced out, casual, casual, casual. “Whatever works.”

  The tables were quickly filling up with piles and piles of food, some familiar, some I’d never seen in my life. On one end of the table was a fat turkey, and on the other end, a plate held an enormous chunk of some type of meat that looked sticky and crispy on top—likely slow roasted, from the way the meat was falling off the bone. Mashed potatoes, rice with peas and olives, glazed yams, little parcels wrapped in plantain leaves, plates of beans, cranberry sauce, salsa, and dozens of salads.

  I was starting to form a mental game plan—one bite of everything until I figured out my favorites, and then concentrating on that—when Mrs. Tavares rolled up one of the plastic sheets to provide a clear view into the yard, then stepped out onto the lawn with Kane and two young girls. This seemed to be a sign that things were getting serious, because there was a quick flurry of movement while everyone found their seats.

  “We have an announcement,” Mrs. Tavares said, hugging herself to protect against the night’s chill. “Tonight, in their first ever performance as a group, Kane, Camila, and Nayeli will be demonstrating a new cheerleading routine for our entertainment.”

  I shot Will an amused look across the table as a Taylor Swift song started blaring through the speakers. The family cheered and whistled as the kids launched into a basic-but-adorable cheerleading routine that was composed of mostly box steps, low kicks, and running around in circles. But, in their defense, it was all highly coordinated.

  “Kane’s having more fun than the girls are,” one of the men said in a low voice to Mr. Tavares. From the passive-aggressive tone of his voice, it seemed like a dig. “Maybe he should start spending more time with his brother? On the right side of the court?”