Page 7 of Beautiful Life
“What is in this?” My mouth is full, realizing Tony hasn’t let me go, and my bottom half is still plastered to his.
“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs but doesn’t move even an inch. “Paige is a pain in my ass but she’s a wizard in the kitchen. She’s been making these since she was a teenager.”
Something about the magical pumpkin cookie makes me relax a bit and I barely smile. “Now I see what all the fuss is about. I think I have a new favorite cookie.”
Tony’s gaze sweeps my face. His other arm comes around me and his demeanor intensifies. “I’ll pay her to make you more. I’d pay a mint to see that look on your face again.” Then he leans in to kiss my forehead and turns to walk away.
I sigh, feeling even more worn down. I decide to focus on my new favorite treat and not think about it now.
I’ll think about it later.
*****
Honestly.
How did this happen?
There are at least three hundred—slight exaggeration—Carpinos at Thanksgiving. How did I get seated here? I thought I would sit next to Gabby since I’m her guest, but nope, I’m seated at the kid table. Right smack dab next to Tony.
I mean, really.
And we’re squished in here tight. Like sardines. Tony and I are seated with nine other miniature Carpinos, ranging in age between William, who’s fourteen, down to little Chloe, who is only three-years-old. Chloe is the only thing I have to be thankful for at this Thanksgiving table. She’s sitting on the other side of me and talks constantly so I’ve kept busy chatting it up with a three-year-old, ignoring the fact the entire side of Tony’s body is plastered to mine.
“Tell me something,” I ask conversationally toward the end of our meal as I pick up my place card that’s misspelled and written in crayon with a heart next to it. “Who decides the seating arrangements?”
“We all do.” Four-year-old Cayden answers with a mouth full of turkey while pushing a feather out of his face. He’s dressed up as an Indian but he’s molting, as the feathers are falling out of his headdress.
“Thank you, Kemosabe.” I bow my head and grin at him.
“My name isn’t Kemosabe. That’s stupid. My name is Running with Knives. That’s a tough Indian name.” He throws his four-year-old little boy attitude back at me.
“You shouldn’t run with knives. It’s dangerous,” I add because I’m an adult and feel it’s my duty. However, this doesn’t answer my question, so I forge ahead as nonchalantly as possible. “Okay then, I have another question. Why are Tony and I sitting at the kid table?”
“Tony always sits at the kid table,” eight-year-old Madelyn informs me.
“You have pretty hair!” Chloe yells, even though I’m sitting right next to her.
“Thanks. You have pretty hair, too.” I turn to Tony. “You always sit at the kid table?”
He nods, wipes his mouth and while picking up his wine. “Well, it’s more fun than the adult table, don’t you think? And I am their favorite uncle.” He shrugs, arrogantly.
“Okay … why am I here?” I ask the table as a whole, hoping to finally get an answer.
Six-year-old Noah finally gives up the information I’m looking for. “Uncle Tony paid us five dollars each to put you here.”
“Can I try on your shoes?” Chloe pushes her chair back to look under the table at my feet.
Not having the headspace to deal with Chloe, my shocked face turns to Tony. “Why would you do that?”
“Gem.” He takes his arm out that’s pressed in between us and curls it around my shoulders. As he pulls me tight against him, I feel Chloe pulling off my shoes. “I would pay triple if it meant I got to sit here and see you relax while talking to a bunch of kids about nothing. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen you in years. I got to see you smile—repeatedly. You even laughed three times. I counted. That’s what I get to be thankful for today, even if I had to pay for it.”
“I knew he would have paid more,” Emily mutters. “Five dollars is lame. You can’t buy anything with five dollars.”
I cannot believe him.
Now what do I do? I turn to face the kids as Tony’s thumb brushes my far bicep since he still has his arm around me while Chloe is under the table messing with my shoes. All of a sudden, I see my wine glass and Tony says, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I turn to him, give him a glare and grab my drink. I’m taking a big gulp as I hear my name yelled from the adult table.
