by Pike, Leslie
The words are delivered as if she’s making a joke, but everyone here knows the message. It’s the same one that’s been passed between them for forty-three years. She crosses to Aargon and kisses him on the cheek.
“Um, Mom? I think that ship has sailed. Dad’s pretty clear about liking the casual look,” Aragon says chuckling.
“Besides, we’re at the beach! Shorts and the whole relaxed thing works,” I say.
My father grins and shoots his wife a self-satisfied look.
“Thank you, children. Your old dad appreciates your support.”
My mother takes it like she always has. It’s what they do. She protests about something he does, he doesn’t listen. I believe it’s their dance. She’s charmed by her man. And he by her. It’s kinda awesome to watch. I think her logical, scientific way of looking at things was thrown out the window when they met in France all those years ago. I pretty much believe she found him irresistible.
“By the way Aurora, you look very sexy this morning.”
“Thank you, darling,” she says moving to his side.
They embrace and kiss good morning in a familiar move. It always looks as if it’s going to lead further. But thankfully to their children, it doesn’t.
With that, Aargon looks at me and pinches his lips together in protest. I start laughing.
“I feel like we’re back on Franklin Street getting ready for school,” I say.
“Morning, everyone. Coffee, give me coffee.”
Nobel walks in still half asleep, green eyes at half-mast. His thick head of chocolate hair is sticking up as usual. He’s still wearing pajama bottoms with a wrinkled hoodie.
“Morning darling boy,” my mother says taking his face in her hands and kissing his cheek.
“Teddy still sleeping?” my father says, pulling up a barstool at the island.
Aargon takes the seat next to him. “Yeah. Your grandson would sleep till noon every day if I’d let him.”
Taking the huge turkey out of the refrigerator I get it to the counter and weigh in. “He and Sam haven’t seen each other in such a long time. You two weren’t here for Thanksgiving last year, right?”
In a flash I see the expressions shift. We’re thinking of past holidays and the fact it was Kristen’s favorite. The one she hosted every year.
My mother’s eyes fill with tears. When my dad notices he gets up and takes her against him. It’s a wordless comfort and all that can be done. We’ve said and offered every show of sympathy and empathy. We’ve soothed each other’s souls as much as humanly possible. Still, we’re raw.
This is the first of the many holidays and celebrations we’ll have to go through without the one we love.
Thankfully Van shows up to stop our train of thought. He reads the room and heads for the coffee without a word.
“Van, pull up your pants! Otherwise your pee pee’s going to escape,” my mother says.
Okay we needed that. It makes all of us laugh except for Van, who looks down at his loose pajama bottoms.
“Is it still necessary to use pee pee?” Nobel says lifting an eyebrow. “We’re almost forty years old.”
“Quit looking, Mom! What the hell?” Van says. “And speak for yourself, Nobel. I’m thirty-six.”
Here we go.
“It’s pretty hard to miss when your child is going to lose his pants. There’s ladies here, you know,” Mom says.
“It’s just Scarlett. Crap.”
“And your mother. I saw enough of it when you were a kid,” she says.
The fact Van used to run naked through the house at the drop of a hat when he was little doesn’t escape any of us. Nothing he does surprises us, even now.
“Pull them up,” my father says.
Van finds the whole exchange funny. But he tugs up his pants and tightens the cord.
“Okay, if we’re finished talking about Van’s dick, let’s get this started. I’ve got her recipes right here, and I need all the help I can get,” I say trying with all my might to permanently change our mood.
“Aargon, you get the two boxes in the garage marked Thanksgiving. Let’s put up the decorations for Sam,” my mother says.
I’ve been overruled about the decorations. After the first misstep of removing the familiar things in the house.
More than one of us sighs at the thought of a Thanksgiving without our Kristen.
This is going to be tough.
* * *
Uncomfortable. That’s the word I’d use to describe what’s happening here. And false. Every person here’s trying to fake a happy holiday. Well, all except Sam. He’s letting it show on his face, which makes us all feel helpless.
A minute ago I saw Teddy offer his cousin the prized last turkey wing. Sam just shook his head no. They fought over them in years past. It’s almost tradition. It made me want to cry to see the helpless look on Teddy’s face.
My father’s handiwork is evident on the beautifully laid table. Kristen’s ceramic turkey collection stretches down the center, just like always. The tablecloth and napkins her favorites. Traditional holiday plates were used. The glass bowl filled with Sam’s sea glass collection is in the center. My sister loved that touch.
Thanks to my mother and father, the recipes were followed to the letter. I can’t imagine what would have become of the meal if I had to wing it. But everything tasted different. And even the conversations have been stilted. Missing is the free flow of words and laughs, the teasing. The Lyon meals were where the best memories were made. Is it gone now? Will we ever be unaware of our great loss?
“So Sam, how’s your friend Father Campbell?” my dad says attempting to divert the conversation. “Is he still taking the kids fishing?”
“I don’t know,” Sam replies.
What? Who’s he talking about? I’ve never heard Sam talking about him.
“Haven’t you seen him at church?” Mom says.
Oh shit. Church. I completely forgot they’d all go to church on Sundays.
“Sam, you never said anything. I’m sorry I forgot,” I say.
Everyone looks at me. But with empathy. No one’s judging. Except maybe Sam.
“Would you like to start going again? I could take you, no problem.”
He just shakes his head. Shit, fuck. Tears well in his eyes. Then in all our eyes.
The doorbell saves us. Three people rise from their chairs at once, trying to be the lucky one who gets to leave the table.
“I got it,” Van says, beating his father and brother.
In my heart of hearts I’m hoping it’s Parish. He’s practically the only one it could be. Maybe he’s had a change of heart. He’ll be the perfect distraction.
When the door squeaks open a familiar voice calls out.
“Surprise!”
Harry’s call sounds through to the dining room and by the looks on my family’s faces they think I’m pleased, even though they’re not. Crap.
“Look who the turkey dragged in,” Van says leading the way back into the room. A beaming Harry throws his arms open at the sight of the holiday spread. He’s got his favorite wool coat on with the scarf he told me make his blue eyes look really good.
“Hi, everyone! The party’s here!”
Clearly this man is awful at reading the room.
Annoying. That’s the only word I can think of right now. What the fuck? There’s no choice but to get up and greet the interloper.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you.” I say it like I’m pleasantly shocked. In reality I’m not in the mood for his perkiness. It’s wildly inappropriate today.
He leans in for a kiss. I turn my head and it lands awkwardly half on my lips and half at the edge of my chin.
I know he must be questioning my move, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to look in his eyes. And I’m not going to kiss lips that don’t belong to my neighbor. Surprising even me, that’s my new code of conduct.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he says narrowing his eyes
. “The ski trip fell through. You sounded lonely when we talked a few weeks ago. I knew you were disappointed.”
I want to tell him I solved that problem. Surprise.
“Grab that chair and pull it up here,” my dad says motioning to the space he’s creating between us.
“Help yourself to the feast, Harry,” my mother says.
I know she’s picked up my mood and if I had to bet I’d say my brothers have too. But none of them have figured out why.
“No, no. I was hungry and picked up something at the airport. I ate in the Uber. Got to keep my figure.”
He chuckles at his lame joke and pats his tight abs.
Van pushes his chair back and tosses his napkin to the table. “How long are you here for?”
“Just a few days. I’ve got to be back on Saturday.”
Harry hasn’t acknowledged Sam. Hasn’t asked how he’s doing. It’s like he isn’t sitting at the table. I don’t like that.
“I’m going for a walk on the beach,” Sam says.
“No pie?” Dad asks.
“No. I’m done.”
“Wait. I’ll go with you,” Aargon says scraping his chair back.
Mom stands. “Hold on, I’ll get my coat.”
“I’m in,” I say looking to Harry.
He nods. “Yeah sure, let’s do it.”
There’s strength in numbers. My hope is if Parish is looking out his window he won’t be able to tell Harry isn’t part of the family. I’m going to leave my hands in my pocket and do a lot of talking. There’ll be no PDA with my visitor.
Not going to happen.
Chapter 9
Parish
Cold wind sweeps over my face and cools my temperature as I jog along the shore. The ocean is especially beautiful today. Wild and loud. My nose is running, and everything hurts. It feels great. I chuckle at the illogical, contradictory thought.
I’m conscious of the stiffness in my knees and back. There’s no ignoring the aches. My legs are weaker than before. No mystery. A man can’t spend five years sitting on his ass and not have it affect ability and strength. Being forty-three plays into the mix as well. How much I’m not sure. Is this what old feels like? Have I already arrived?
Memories of another day argues the point. Earlier in the week I was proving youth. I fucked like a twenty-year-old with an additional twenty-three years’ experience. Turned out to be a killer combo. Although it would be wrong to take credit. It was all Scarlett’s doing.
Wonder if she’s like that with other men? I don’t want to believe it. What we did seemed organic and a result of the moment. I think it came from what we are together. Not from habit or personal styles. Scarlett and I created what happened in that bed. End of story.
Bed. God, the woman can move. That thing she did on top. I twitch with the memory of her pussy lips gliding along my dick. I’ll be requesting a repeat of that scene. Next time. I hope it’s a given, because to think having her in my bed was a one-time event is unacceptable.
What took place triggered a change in me. I’m not acting like myself, but I’m more me than I’ve ever been. I’m lighter in a way I don’t recognize. Not completely rid of the cold thoughts, but better. Maybe I forgot how peaceful it is to not be in a dark emotional state every fucking minute of the day.
Up to now I haven’t been able to find my way out. Even self-medicating with whiskey didn’t erase the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly in the heart. Alcohol was only a dulling of the knife’s blade.
Is it coincidence after being with Scarlett my drinking has slowed? Even more than it had since we met. For the last few days I’m down to three beers at night. And I’ve started running again. I don’t want to put too fine a point on it, because it’s only a few days behavior. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
There is one undeniable truth. What happened when we were together. The feeling I had of being swept away. It’s more powerful than my urges to hide or cry or bury myself in the grief. Nothing has done that before.
Careful. I’m always just one bad day or drunken stupor away from old habits. I can’t ignore the truth and confuse feeling better for being permanently changed. Everything I’ve observed about other drinkers has proved that. The fact I want to think I’m different is actually just one more red flag.
I forcefully push a sigh out. It’s all that self-reflection crowding my mind. Enough.
Up ahead, coming over the dune, I spot a crowd of people walking my way. What’s this? I’ve never seen this many people on our beach. Is that Scarlett? Oh God, it’s gotta be her entire family. They’ve spotted me because I see Sam running my way.
Shit. I’m not good at small talk with strangers. Well, with the recent exception of my new neighbors.
There’s another kid running behind Sam, but he catches up to him quickly.
I slow the pace and bring my heart rate to a lower level as the boys get close.
“Hi,” Sam calls when he’s within shouting distance.
I lift a hand in their direction acknowledging the approach.
The two red-faced boys join me in my cool down.
“Hey,” I manage to get out between breaths.
“You’re running again. I saw you out here yesterday,” Sam says.
I nod my agreement.
“Who’s this?” I say, eyes on the taller, thinner, but I think younger boy.
Sam turns to look at the face of the kid. “My cousin, Teddy.”
“Hi, Ted,” I say.
The kid’s face lights up when he hears the shortened version of his name. Maybe he’s over the Teddy moniker.
“Did you have Thanksgiving dinner already?” Sam asks.
“Nah. I’m going to make a sandwich after I shower. Did you?”
Ted picks a rock up and tries to skim it across a wave. It’s swallowed by crest of foam.
“Yeah. We just finished. Well, almost. Aunt Scarlett’s boyfriend showed up and interrupted dessert. But I didn’t want anything anyway.”
What’s this?
My heart starts beating as if I’ve resumed running.
“Boyfriend? I thought she said she didn’t have one.”
Sam’s watching my face, gaging my reaction. But I’m finding it hard to play cool.
“You said you didn’t like him much. Did she change her mind and invite him for the holiday?”
I say it like it’s an off-the-cuff comment. But Sam sees right through me.
Shit.
I don’t get an answer because the group is approaching and Sam quiets. Good looking family. The bear of a man with long hair is probably the father. I could pick out her brothers easily. They all look like the mother, whose body language is telling me she’s still into her husband. And he into her. Their arms are linked and her palm’s on his chest.
The one figure sticking out like a sore thumb is the guy on Scarlett’s left. Mr. Preppy with the scarf tied too purposely. I bet he took his time making it lay just so. Dick. Just doesn’t blend in. He’s tall and okay looking and in fairly good shape, but there’s something about him I don’t like.
“Parish! Hi. Happy Thanksgiving,” says Scarlett.
“Hi. Yeah, it’s turkey day.”
Okay, that sounded idiotic.
“I want to introduce my family. This is my mother, Aurora, and my dad, Gaston,” she says pointing to the parents.
“Hello, nice to meet you both,” I say shaking her father’s hand. It’s rough and strong, but his smile’s warm like his daughter’s.
“Sam tells us you’re the cool writer who lives in the house next door,” Aurora says.
“I don’t know about cool, but yeah I’m a writer.”
I’m pretty sure I saw Mr. Preppy roll his eyes. Fuck you, asshole.
Scarlett takes the arm of the tallest guy.
“These are my brothers. This is Aargon. Next to him is Van and that’s Nobel.”
We all do the minimum required. We’re friendly but I don’t think any of us are the types to glad han
d or have an extended conversation with someone we’ve just met. My kind of guys.
“And this is Harry.”
Harry extends his hand and when I go to shake it he squeezes a little too long and hard. Really guy? Are you that unsure of yourself? I return the greeting, grasping his palm and holding tight till I see his shoulder dip. He lets go just in time. My grip’s throbbing.
“Good to meet you, Harry.” I say it with a grin. You little cockroach. The thought this guy was with Scarlett just pisses me off in general. I know I have no reason to play the jilted lover, but it’s hard not looking out for her. He’s not good enough. That’s just my sense of things.
“You too, man.” He puffs out the words along with his chest.
On the spot I decide to hear the truth. I don’t want to think about this all night.
“So, are you a cousin?” I say.
Harry smirks and delivers his blow. “No, I’m not. I guess I’m the boyfriend.”
He puts an arm around Scarlett’s shoulders. She looks uncomfortable.
“If you have to guess I’d say you might be mistaken,” I say with a chuckle.
Van lets loose one loud laugh, Sam and Teddy are frozen in their places and Harry’s face is turning a nice shade of red. Scarlett’s mouth is half open. Looks like she’s holding her breath. In fact everyone does, with the exception of horrible Harry.
“Okay, it was nice meeting Scarlett’s family and friend,” I say without looking at the pissed off guy to my right.” I’m going to head back. Hey Sam, I got that book for you if you want to pick it up later. Or tomorrow. Either one.”
“It was good meeting you, Parish. I’m sure we’ll see you again,” Aurora says.
“You too. Bye, guys.”
Seven goodbyes come my way. One is conspicuously absent. I turn and jog away slowly, knowing at least two sets of eyes are on me.
* * *
A shower did nothing to erase the memory of another man touching Scarlett. As a result, I could spend the entire day standing at the slider looking at the ocean. The urge to have a drink rears its ugly head. That shows me how tenuous my newfound semi-sobriety is.
