“You know, I must say I’m delighted to hear that. I never did like that girl.”
I snicker. “Me either.”
“Let’s eat, shall we?” she says.
I sit as far away from Brielle as I can manage. Course after course is brought out. It’s rare, but I don’t have an appetite. I blame my father for that. He’s perfected his gift for bringing out the worst in me. I eat everything that’s placed in front of me out of respect for my mom and what the day means. I’m more privileged than most, but I’d rather be poor as fuck than have a father like mine. I wonder what everyone at this table would think if they knew the dinner they’re eating was paid for with blood.
I eat in silence unless spoken to. And even then, I give short, one-word answers if possible. Mostly it’s my parents’ friends drilling me on school and other bullshit. I nod and agree until I can put an end to this hellish night. As the last course is served before coffee and dessert, I set my napkin on the table and stand. Rounding the table, I kiss my mom’s cheek.
“Love you,” I whisper.
She gives my hand that’s resting on her shoulder a tight squeeze. Without looking in my father’s direction, I excuse myself. There’s only one person I want to see right now. She’s the only one who can temporarily erase the hate.
31
KINSLEY
After I stuffmyself with turkey, green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes drenched in homemade gravy, my belly screams at me to stop. Scraping the last little bit off my plate, I can’t help but take one more bite. I lay down my fork in surrender. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe.”
Uncle Trey is leaning back in his seat, rubbing his stomach. “You and me both, kid.”
After a few minutes of resting, I start to clear the table. Uncle Trey gets up with me, reaching for the platter in the center of the table. The kitchen looks as if we cooked for twenty people, not two. The warm bread and roasted turkey don’t smell as good as they did about thirty minutes ago.
There’s a knock on the door as we put the food away and wash dishes.
“I got it.” Grabbing a dish towel, I wipe the soapsuds off my hands.
When I open it, Edge is standing on the porch. I’m not only confused but downright shocked. One hand is tucked into his pressed pants while the other hangs at his side, holding his keys.
“Hi,” I say. The simple word is like a loaded gun exploding in my head.What the hell is he doing here?
“Hey.” His tone is laced with nervous tension as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing or how he ended up on my doorstep.
Edge fidgets with his key ring. He looks completely out of his element. I narrow my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just thought I’d stop by to say Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Um… thanks.” I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” There’s definitely more to why he just showed up on my doorstep. I want to push, but something in his vulnerable expression has me hesitating.
He stands there, shifting his attention from me to the ground. “Listen, you want to go for a ride or something?”
I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen. The sound of pots and pans clattering together comes from inside the house. “Maybe after I help my uncle clean up. There’s still a ton of dishes to wash. And we haven’t had dessert yet.” I open the door wider for him to come in. “You’re welcome to join us if you want.”
He spins the key ring around once. Twice. “Yeah, okay.”
He steps over the threshold. As he enters the small foyer, his face is a mask of confusion. When he looks off to the right into the living room, I can’t help but laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. He jerks his head in my direction.
“I’m sorry. You look like you’ve never been in a house this small, and you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.”
“Actually, I have, and I’m fine,” he assures me as a rare smile forms on his lips. “I’m just taking it all in.”
I nod. “Okay then.”
It seems like something is wrong, but maybe he’s just nervous. That thought alone makes me want to laugh again. Edge, nervous?If that’s the case, then something happened that he had no control over. I haven’t known him very long, but control is the one thing he likes. I would even go as far as to say he needs to have it at any cost.
“What’s that smell? It smells like a campfire.”
I spin away from him on my heels. “That would be the very toasted marshmallows on the sweet potatoes.” I lead the way into the kitchen. My uncle has his back to us. I point at the charred heap in the garbage. “That’s what you smell.”
