Page 32 of Pour Decisions (Stryker Family #3)

KATRINA

I hold off on texting my mom until I have time to think about how to ask her about Thanksgiving. Having JD with me would help me get through it, but she doesn’t seem to like him. His dad is a wildcard. He never met me personally, but I represent his son falling out of line.

Thanksgiving will just be a matter of getting through the day this year.

I quickly type out a text to my mom Tuesday as I leave work, thanking her for the invite and asking if JD and I can just swing by for dessert. Her response bubbles pop up right away, but I don’t get the ding for her response until I’m back home.

Mom: I’m disappointed, Katrina. I wanted our first holiday this year to be something special with US, not this man who honestly? I don’t think he should be back in your life right now. If you can’t come alone, unfortunately, we can’t host you this year.

“What the fuck?” I blurt. I was expecting pushback, but not a full-on rejection. JD raises an eyebrow in question and I hand him the phone.

He reads the text, his frown getting deeper and deeper.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” He hands me the phone back.

My heart sinks, but to a familiar place.

Why was I expecting Mom to be all that different?

To be predictable and rational? JD isn’t some passing boyfriend who I’ll dump in a month or two.

Even if she thinks we’re cruising for a breakup, couldn’t she at least meet him in person and judge for herself?

There’s only so much someone can change, I guess.

“Here, come help me with the pies,” JD says, his tone gentle. He rests a hand on my lower back “We’ll have a good time with my family.”

I can’t help but laugh, but it sounds deflated. “Okay.”

“I’ll make it good. Somehow.” He sighs and guides me toward the kitchen. “At least the pies will be delicious."

“Is this outfit fine?” I call out down the hallway the morning of Thanksgiving.

“Yes,” JD says back.

“You didn’t even look!” I step into the doorway of the kitchen, Bubba behind me. I chose a green, form-fitting sweater, jeans, and those earrings JD likes.

He looks me up and down, warmth and approval in his eyes.

“You look perfect. And also, no one will care that much.” He puts his hand out and I put mine in his, letting him pull me in for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous.”

“My nerves. You’ve cured them.” I tuck myself against him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound dismissive.” He tilts my head back so he can look at me. “I just meant that my family is mostly chill, my dad aside. My brothers and their partners are nice. Even Ash can be mostly tolerable to people who aren’t me.”

I snort. “Such warm words.”

“Just being honest.” He shrugs and puts the pies he finished last night into bags. “But I’m going to make sure you have a good time.”

“What about your father? Should we face him head on?”

JD sighs through his nose and leans his hip against the counter. “I don’t think so. It might be easier to let him realize who you are. If he does.”

“Is it messed up that I want him to remember who I am? He had such a big impact on my life.”

JD winces. “I know. I don’t think he cares to file people’s faces and names away unless they’re directly benefiting him. Especially since he only knows your name and probably won’t recognize your face from the photo he saw a decade ago.”

I run my hands over his chest, savoring the softness of his sweater against my palms. The way he talks about his dad has changed a lot. He never spoke about his father with warmth, but he didn’t have so much contempt for him before.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says.

I don’t want to doubt him, but this pit in my stomach is growing. My gut feelings are rarely far off.

We head over to his parents’ house, Bubba in tow. It’s a gorgeous ranch-style home, sprawling across a big plot of land. Bubba knows where he is, and goes running up to a bush near the front for a sniff before going back up the front steps.

JD takes my hand and pushes open the screen door. The smell of hot food wafts toward me, making my stomach growl. How did I forget about the food part of Thanksgiving? Everything smells delicious.

“Mom?” JD calls out.

“Hello, hello!” Mrs. Stryker appears around the corner in a beautiful, dark blue sweater covered with an apron. Her hair is up in an elegant chignon like she just walked off the set of a cooking show.

“Hi. Thank you for having me,” I say. Thankfully she goes in for a hug instead of a handshake because my palms are drenched.

“No problem at all. I love hosting.” She takes the pies from JD. “And call me Delia. Here, let me give you a little tour and a drink.”

Delia walks us through her home, which is impeccably decorated in a faux-rustic style.

Her art style is very Southern Mom, especially her big wall of family photos and mementos.

His younger brother, Waylon, is slightly overrepresented, with his awards and accomplishments taking up a big percentage of the wall.

But I also get to see a few baby pictures of JD, looking very stern but concerned in the way that only babies can look.

We end up at the back of the house, which has a huge deck overlooking the yard. Everyone seems to be out there, and for a moment, my heart seizes. But I don’t see JD’s father—just his brothers, the women I assume are their partners, and their dogs.

Bubba is already out there, frolicking around with a big stick in his mouth. Another dog, maybe a husky mix, grabs it from his mouth and darts off.

“And here’s everyone,” Delia says. The deck is toasty warm from heat lamps. “Excuse me—I need to put the finishing touches on dinner. And no, I don’t need help.”

“She absolutely needs help,” Wes says as soon as she shuts the door. He looks older, of course, but I’d recognize him anywhere. He has a big, charming smile and his hair is similar to JD’s, dark and a bit wavy.

“She wouldn’t take it even if you walked in there and started doing stuff,” the woman sitting in his lap says. She’s petite and Black, with long braids that pool in her lap. “Hi there.”

“This is my girlfriend, Katrina,” JD says, putting a hand on my lower back.

He introduces everyone else—Wes, his wife, Rose, Waylon, his fiancé Bianca, and Ash.

Waylon has the same, open friendliness as Wes, but more wholesome in a way I can’t clearly define.

Maybe it’s the fluffy Pomeranian in his lap, Sadie.

Bianca is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in person—tall and willowy, with luminous brown skin and a bone structure that’s almost scarily symmetrical—but I get the sense she’s shy just by looking at her.

Ash looks so similar, but so different to JD. They have the same dark eyes and hair, and similar noses. But the sleeves of his long-sleeved henley are pushed up, revealing gorgeous, colorful tattoos. His eyelashes are the kind of long, dark ones that men have and rarely appreciate.

“Girlfriend? JD’s girlfriend?” Ash asks me, looking me up and down. “Are you okay? Tap out help in Morse code if you need it.”

“Shut up, Ash,” JD says, going over to the bar cart on the corner of the deck.

“Morse code? Not blinking?” I ask. “Who even knows Morse code these days? It seems like you don’t actually want to help, unless you happen to know Morse code.”

Ash laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, and it sounds exactly like JD’s. The visual contrast between the two of them is even more jarring despite the similarity.

“You’re with him and you have a sense of humor?” Ash sits down and Bubba comes running up to him. “This Thanksgiving is already interesting.”

JD pops a top onto a shaker and starts shaking, glaring at Ash.

“Where’s Dad?” JD asks, pouring me a drink.

“Working.” Wes rolls his eyes.

I sit down in one of the chairs, relief washing over me. He’ll have to come around at some point today, but I can ease into dinner this way. The drink JD made me is perfect, a not-too-boozy margarita that doesn’t match the season at all.

The husky mix breaks the calm by shriek-howling in a way that sends a chill down my spine. It literally sounds like a woman screaming.

“Duke just does that,” Waylon says to me before I ask, putting an arm around Bianca.

“Waylon warned me before Duke ever did that, but it was still eerie when I heard it for the first time,” Bianca adds with a slight smile.

“Imagine hearing that in the middle of the night,” I say with a laugh.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Delia says, poking her head out. “Waylon, does Jeremiah like green bean casserole? I can’t remember.”

“He does,” Waylon says.

“Okay good.” Delia sighs. “I’m packing up their food for you to bring over later.”

Delia disappears back into the kitchen.

“They aren’t coming this year?” JD asks. When I give him a questioning look, he adds, “Jeremiah and Jada are family friends—Waylon’s closest friends. Usually their family stops by to have dessert with us.”

“No. Their grandmother passed away last week,” Waylon says, running his fingers through Sadie’s fur.

“Didn’t their grandfather just pass away a month or two ago?” JD asks with a frown.

“Yeah, it’s sad. But everyone kind of knew it would happen that way.” Waylon shrugs, taking Bianca’s hand when she offers it. “They were that kind of couple—they never wanted to be without each other. Her grandmother said that she was waiting to go with him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” JD says. “Please send them my condolences.”

Bubba, Duke, and Murphy come sprinting up the steps, completely unaware of the tone. Another chocolate lab who looks like a smaller version of Bubba comes up last, trotting over to sniff me. Her tag says her name is Lady.

“What a sweet girl,” I coo, petting her. She turns her butt toward me the way Bubba does and I give her some scratches.

“She’s Bubba’s littermate,” JD says.

“Do you have pets?” Waylon asks.

“It feels like you’re going to pull a bunch of kittens out of your pockets and give them to her,” Ash says with a smirk.

“Black-market kitten dealer isn’t on my resume.” Waylon laughs. “But I just like to know.”

“I’m not in the position to adopt a pet right now, but I donated to the new shelter at Bubba’s birthday event,” I say. “It was a great time. I’d say I’m surprised that many people showed up for Bubba, but I’m not.”

“Bubba reminds people of how loving pets can be.” Waylon pats Bubba’s side and puts Sadie down next to him. Bubba dwarfs her and carefully sniffs her head. “He’s a good mascot.”

“Oh, you mean brand ambassador?” I say, keeping my tone sincere despite knowing it’s a joke.

To my surprise, JD snorts into his drink, coughing, before he quickly regains his composure.

Wes looks between the two of us, his eyes narrowing. “Wait…are you trolling us with the brand ambassador thing?”

“No,” JD says, his tone as impassive as always. But it’s too late.

“Oh my god. You have been trolling us. You can joke about things?” Wes sits back in his seat, like he’s genuinely shocked. “This is turning my life upside down.”

“I can’t believe this.” Rose shakes her head. “Here I was, trying to wrap my head around you genuinely believing Bubba was a brand ambassador when you were messing with us the whole time.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of it,” Ash says.

JD takes my hand and lightly squeezes it, a ghost of a smile on his face. The conversation shifts to what’s going on at the shelter, then onto other things. It flows so easily that I forget I was nervous about coming here at all.

“Okay, food is ready,” Delia says with a smile. “Let’s go eat.”

We go inside, leaving all the dogs besides Sadie out on the porch. Bubba and Lady give us the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.

The formal dining room is decorated in full Thanksgiving theme, with an honest-to-god cornucopia in the middle, along with a dish with a perfectly carved turkey. Delia does allow us to help bring the other dishes to the table, setting them in the spaces around the china table settings.

Once we’ve all sat down, Delia disappears for a moment and returns with JD’s father behind her. He clears his throat and looks at all of us, but his eyes go straight to me and narrow.