Sure, we still have work to do. The loving part is easy, it’s all the other emotions that make a relationship hard. There's jealousy on both sides, but we’re working our way past it and that’s all we can do. I’ve been hesitant for so long, in so manyways, but I’m committed now. I’m not letting fear or anxiety ruin what we have. Van loves me and I love him and we’ll work through the tough parts together.
That’s what couples do.
It’s what my mom and dad did. Thinking about them isn’t easy, but I can’t avoid it, especially not today. They loved each other completely. They fought. They annoyed each other. They had different interests. But their love never wavered, not even that night. I knew they’d go together to get Levi—it’s just what they did. If Dad could make Mom listen to podcasts for a two-hour trip, he would. And I know Mom made him stop on the way up for some apple pie at Mabel’s Diner. It was her favorite. Dad used to say the car just pulled into Mabel’s parking lot all on its own.
So maybe one way to honor my parents is to love the way they did. I’m not always the bravest, but I’m loyal to my core. Van is my person and I’m holding on tight this time.
35
Van
Irinse the last of the never-ending dishes and dry it with a towel before stacking it on the counter. “All done, Aunt Beth. You want these in the cabinet in the dining room?”
My aunt’s head is in the fridge where she’s playing Tetris with leftover containers. I have no idea how there’s so much food left. I feel like I’ve been eating all day, but I guess that’s what holidays are for.
“No, just leave them there. It’ll give Tom something to do tomorrow.”
“What am I doing tomorrow?” Uncle Tom asks as he enters the kitchen and pours himself another cup of coffee. He offers me one, but I shake my head.
Aunt Beth stands and wipes her hands on the front of her jeans. “You’re figuring out how to fit all the dishes back into the cupboard. But there’s no room. So you’ll bitch for an hour, ask me why we need all this stuff, then I’ll sweet-talk you into building me a set of shelves and glass-front cabinets along the back wall of the dining room.”
“The one I just painted this summer? And hung fifty-seven pictures on?”
“That’s the one. Here, I’m sharing my vision board with you.”
She starts clicking on her phone while Uncle Tom just shakes his head and follows her out to the dining room. I’m kinda glad Josie and I are heading back tomorrow, or else I’d probably get roped into helping my uncle. My whole family is in the construction business—at least this side of it is. My dad’s just in the asshole business. But drawing up plans and working with my hands has never been my thing. I’m competent enough. My uncles made sure of that, but I don’t love it. I don’t even like it.
“Hey, what’s that look on your face?” Mom asks as she comes in for coffee, too. “Did you eat Krista’s pecan pie? I told you not to. Love her to death, but that woman could burn water.”
“Nope. I steered clear of the pie. Jos did, too. Now the pumpkin roll? That’s a different story. Did you make that?”
“I bought it at the bakery, which is basically the same thing, but better. You had a good day, huh?” She says, smiling at me. “Everybody loves her, as they should. She makes you happy, so you know she’s got my approval, for what it’s worth.”
“It means a lot, Mom.” It’s always just been the two of us, so the fact that she’s welcomed Josie into our little family is everything. She gives me a hug and even though my mom is tall, I still tower over her.
“I’m gonna see what Jos is up to, then maybe we’ll head back home, yeah?”
“Sounds good. I’m going to stick around for a bit. Beth wants my advice on some shelves Tom’s putting up. Hey, before you go…did you call him yet?”
A knot forms in my stomach. The worst part of every holiday is calling my dad. Because of course he never calls me. I’m a full-grown adult now, so I shouldn’t have to call like I used to when I was a kid, but he pays the tuition bill every year, which means he gets a handful of calls that can make him feel like he’s a good dad without actually having to do anything.
I wave my phone at Mom to let her know I’m calling, then head down the hall to Aunt Beth’s spare room. I take a seat on the bed and turn my phone over in my hand. I guess this is one of the last calls I’ll have to make. There’ll be one more at Christmas and another one at Easter, and that’s it. I’ll graduate a month later (as long as Josie is still helping me) and then I’ll be free of Beckett Vandaele Jr. and our awkward holiday conversations. Santos and I call him BJ for short, and it fits. Once I’m with a team and completely out on my own, I won’t have to deal with his judgment.
But I’m not there yet, so I dial, hoping it goes to voicemail. That’s happened a few times over the years and it’s like an empty-netter: rare but golden. I get all the credit for a call, but none of the hassle.
I’m not that lucky today.
“Beckett,” my father’s voice comes on the line. It’s weird that he calls me that. No one else in the world calls me that. When I was really little, Mom called me Beck. But sometime around the fourth grade I decided I didn’t want my father’s name, so I told everyone to call me Van, and it stuck.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I say like I’m reading from a script I memorized years ago.
“Thank you. We had a lovely dinner here. It’s just the two of us this year and Lauren didn’t want to cook, so we went to the club with friends.”
“Where are the kids?” I ask, not that I really care where my half-siblings are because I barely know them. It just seems strange that they’re not home. Who knows, though? They go to boarding school, so maybe they just decided to stay there. I wouldn’t blame them.
“They’re with their grandparents at our place in Sanibel. Lauren and I fly out tomorrow.”
There’s a heavy silence on the line, or maybe I’m just imagining it, because, technically, those are my grandparents, too. They’ve never really been in my life. My origin story definitely doesn’t live up to their standards. Over twenty years ago, my mom was a model and actress. She got a part in a reality TV show set in a coastal beach town. There are still reruns on certain channels, and people recognize her in public sometimes. But I think the most memorable part of that summer for her was that it resulted in me. She met my dad at a party and they had a summer thing. It meant nothing to him, and everything to her.I guess my mom really thought things might work out. I mean, she named me Beckett Vandaele III, so she was all in, at least for a little while. But my dad’s…well, an arrogant prick, basically. After a paternity test and a fucking mirror proved he had to at least be financially responsible for me, he caved. But Mom was done with his shit by then. Before I could even crawl, she moved us back to Philadelphia to be near her folks. That’s why my relationship with my dad is pretty much reduced to awkward phone calls four or five times a year.
