Chapter 9
Whit
“So,Caleb, what are you studying at Bainbridge?” Brian’s question throws me off a little, and I’m suddenly doubting my major. His smile is friendly, but there’s an intensity that unnerves me.
The four of us—me, my mom, Lucy, and her dad—are seated around my mom’s dining room table, a veritable feast in front of us.
We did the obligatory unwrapping of presents over coffee and bagels this morning, then Brian, Lucy, and my mom drove north for Christmas lunch with Brian’s parents. I begged off, happily explaining that I had to cook—and I did, as evidenced by the mountains of food in front of us.
“Uh, Communication Arts,” I tell him, helping myself to another heaping spoonful of my scalloped potatoes. I’m not tooting my own horn, but these things are as addictive as crack.
“Communication?” he says skeptically, as though I’ve just told him I enrolled in clown college.
“Yeah, it’s a broad field, so I’ll have a lot of options.” That’s always been my standard response, even though the truth is that I have literally no clue what I want to do with the rest of my life, so it seemed wise to pick something with a lot of options. Though, honestly, none of those options really speak to me.
“You’re going to be a deejay? Is there still a strong market for that kind of job?”
He sounds like a high school guidance counselor, and I didn’t come home for Christmas to get grilled on my career choices. But this guy is my mom’s new husband and Lucy’s dad, so I keep my tone respectful. “Well, my dad was a deejay, so it’s definitely something I’ve considered.” I haven’t, to be honest. Music is part of me, and I don’t want to monetize that. It’s my passion, and I don’t want it to become my burden. But I’m not admitting any of that to Brian Alvarez. The further away we can get from the topic of my future career, the better.
“Whit’s a great deejay, actually,” Lucy surprises me by coming to my rescue. “He plays a lot of parties at school and deejayed a party I went to when I was home this summer.”
I appreciate the save, but it’s clear from the look on her dad’s face that he’s not impressed. But he’s a smart man. He’s not going to insult me outright in front of my mother. He clears his throat. “This dinner is so delicious, I’m surprised you’re not at culinary school. Does Bainbridge have a food science major?”
I shake my head. “No, the closest option would be Nutrition, maybe? But that’s not really the same thing.”
“Business, perhaps?” He adds, as though I’m a high school junior still mapping out my plans. Though, I’m about as confident in my career path as a clueless high school kid, so maybe he’s not too far off base.
“That type of degree might be useful if you want to go into the restaurant business,” he adds.
My mom piles more food onto her plate. “You know I’d have a standing reservation at your restaurant, sweetie. Everything is fantastic. Thank you so much for cooking today. I’m sorry you couldn’t join us. Maybe over New Year’s we’ll all make another trip to see Brian’s family and you can come along? Will that work for everyone?”
She’s so hopeful that I nod, but Lucy’s quick to give it a no. “I’m heading back to school on the 29th. My flight’s already booked.”
“Your internship starts right after the New Year, isn’t that right?” Her dad’s so proud of her, and it shows.
“On the third, yes, although I haven’t heard anything official just yet. I thought the final interview went well, and my adviser doesn’t think I have anything to worry about, but I won’t take a good, deep breath until I know for sure.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” her dad assures her.
“And speaking of the new year,” Brian clears his throat and looks at my mom, “I think Santa left a few more gifts in the living room, right?”
My mom smiles broadly. I guess Lucy and her dad have some sort of tradition about leaving one gift to open after dinner. Something about delayed gratification. It makes no sense to me, but Impulsive could well be my middle name, so maybe I’m biased. And if it makes my mom happy, which it clearly does, then I’m not going to bitch about it.
“I’ll start clean up,” I tell them, rising from my chair. “You guys go ahead and finish opening gifts.”
“Oh, Caleb, no,” my mom chides. “Dishes can wait. Besides, I have a feeling there’s a little something under the tree for you, too.”
It’s impossible to say no to my mom, so I follow them all in and relax in an armchair near the fire. My mom’s on the loveseat next to her new husband, and Lucy’s like a little kid—sitting cross-legged by the tree. She looks adorable. I’ve rarely seen her so joyful and free of stress. It’s a good look on her.
Brian hands a beautifully-wrapped gift to my mom and she beams. I’m guessing Lucy is responsible for the wrap job, but the look on my mom’s face when she opens the lid tells me that even though I think Brian’s a putz, the man clearly knows what he’s doing when it comes to gift giving.
“Are you sure?” my mom’s voice is breathless. “I know it’s hard for you to leave the hospital, and—”
“Of course I’m sure. You deserve a honeymoon. St. Lucia was wonderful—the best few days of my life—but it went by so fast.”
“Two weeks in France? That sounds like heaven.”
“It will be,” he kisses her temple.
