Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Tobias

I walk into the living room of my mother’s house. The scent of cranberries and spice fills the warm, stale air. There’s always been a stench to this house that makes me nauseous. Maybe it’s just memories of living here.

Jason, my sister's husband, is sitting on the couch, staring at the TV that’s placed on the entertainment center that's seen better days. There’s cheering, announcements, and guys in uniforms. Football. Jason is your typical sport's guy. Die hard fan of all the local teams.

“Hey, Tobias,” he says, lifting his hand in a wave and giving me a half smile.

“Hey, Jason. Where are they?”

“In the kitchen.”

I shrug my coat off, hanging it on the stand by the door then toe my shoes off before making my way around the couch and to the kitchen .

“I’m here,” I announce as I walk in, trying my best to sound happy. But let’s be serious, I don’t have a lot of energy to fake liking my family. It's too difficult.

Molly looks up, giving me an annoyed look—and this is why they aren’t worth my time.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” she comments.

“I said I would,” I answer with a sigh.

“Your word means nothing, Tobias.”

I grit my teeth, seeking out my mother who is hiding behind the fridge door.

“Ma,” I say.

“Hello, Tobias. Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, pinning Molly with a glare. She rolls her eyes. “Do you need help with something?”

“We could have used help earlier, when we needed the lightbulb in the hallway changed and the kitchen faucet was dripping.”

I raise a brow. “I’m assuming you managed.”

I’m not a fucking maintenance man.

“Yeah, well, thanks to Jason being here, we did.”

My mother closes the fridge, ignoring my gaze as she takes a casserole dish to the counter.

She can’t bear to look at me because she knows what she did.

But she doesn’t have enough balls to tell my sister to lay off me.

If I told my sister what my mother did, she wouldn’t believe me.

If my mother told her, she’d have a conniption.

My mother can’t risk it because then she’d have none of her children.

My sister is the only one my mother has left.

As I watch them get food ready, a pang of sadness hits me right in the chest. They look so much alike.

Both pretty with light brown hair and matching eyes.

My mother is a little over five feet tall while Molly got height from our father and stands around 5'8".

They both have such bitter souls that it takes from their looks.

I wonder if they know and if they even care.

With a shake of my head, I leave the kitchen and go down the hall.

I stop when I spot the photo of my father hanging on the wall.

It causes my chest to ache. The older I get, the more I look like him.

I remember when this picture was taken because I was the one who took it with one of those disposable cameras while we hiked Rattlesnake Ledge.

We had such a good day, just the two of us.

Soon enough I’ll reach an age he never got to be. It’s so unfair. It’s so—

“Where are you going, Tobias?” my sister shouts from the kitchen.

“To the bathroom!” I answer.

She mutters something under her breath, and I keep going.

I lock myself in the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. I’m only going to be here a few hours. I can handle this.

I can handle this.

Checking my phone, I see a text from Theo saying Happy Thanksgiving.

So I respond. I wait a moment and then send another, wondering how his day is going.

I’m sure it’s perfect, just like the rest of his life.

Problem is, perfection isn’t always what we want or need.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I splash some water on my face, then leave and go back to the kitchen. I can totally do this.

I place the dish of squash on the table, right between the mashed potatoes and carrots. My phone buzzes, so I pull it from my pocket as I take a seat. There's a text from Theo.

Save me.

I smirk, typing out a response.

My sister would murder me if I left.

“God, can you get off your phone?” Molly gripes. “We’re trying to eat.”

I look up at her. “And me typing on my phone is stopping your mouth from working?”

“Yeah, actually it is.”

“Clearly it’s not, since you can’t shut up.”

Her eyes widen, and she whips her head toward our mother, who is pouring herself some wine. The moment she puts the bottle down, I snatch it up and fill my glass to the very top.

“Let’s just try to have a nice meal,” my mother says simply.

“I’m trying,” Molly says, taking the bottle of wine from Jason who was about to pour himself some. I take a sip of mine before dumping some into his glass. He gives me an appreciative smile, knowing Molly is about to drain the bottle.

I don’t know why he hangs around. Maybe because trying to divorce my sister would be worse than staying married to her. Who the hell knows?

My phone vibrates on the table, and I look at it.

How many siblings do you have?

A dish gets passed to me, and I take it, putting some sweet potatoes on my plate before passing the dish to my mother.

We do this until our plates are full of everything there is to offer.

They cooked a large meal. My mother will have leftovers for weeks.

They don’t need to go all out and make such a thing out of Thanksgiving, but they always do.

Maybe because it was my father’s favorite holiday and my mother feels guilty, but he isn’t here anymore.

She should have tried harder when he was.

I pick up my phone and answer Theo.

One sister. You?

“Dad would be so ashamed of you right now,” Molly hisses.

I look up at her, clenching my jaw. Those jabs hurt the most. I don't think anything I'm doing would make my father ashamed, but just her putting the thought in my head fucking hurts. I loved my father and all I ever wanted was to make him proud.

“Molly,” my mother warns, knowing bringing up my father is crossing a line .

“Well, it’s true. He’s being rude by texting one of his boyfriends at the table.” She jerks her hand toward me.

“Molly,” my mother repeats, shaking her head.

“The least you could do is act right for him,” she says.

My hands curl into fists. If she were a brother, I’d lay her out.

“Don’t bring up Dad,” I say calmly. As calmly as I can.

“He—”

“Molly,” Jason warns, glaring at her. Her eyes widen as she looks around the table at everyone, shocked.

“Oh, so you’re all going to be mad at me now?” she complains.

“Just eat your food,” Jason pleads, digging back into his.

Her gaze goes around the table, looking like someone just took a shit on her plate and told her to eat it.

It’s been a few years since our Thanksgiving ended in an argument. It was always for the same reason. She brings up Dad, I get pissed. Mom doesn’t stop it. It’s her guilt that keeps her quiet. I don’t even know why I’m here anymore. Maybe next year I won’t come. This isn’t worth it.

That is the sort of thing that would make Dad upset, though. He’d want me to try. He’d tell me they’re doing their best. I’d argue that they’re being unreasonable, and he would laugh and say, “Yeah, but that’s human nature, Tobias.”

If I had a family of my own I could have my own Thanksgiving .

That’s a stupid reason to have a family. Start my own so I can forget this one?

I can enjoy my father’s favorite holiday alone, but deep down, I know that won’t do.

Not for him. Thanksgiving was the time to celebrate and appreciate family and everyone you love.

He was such a happy guy, so supportive. He was the first person I came out to.

I knew I could trust him with it and that he wouldn’t judge me.

He kept my secret for years before I was comfortable enough to tell others.

It’s not that my mother is cruel. She’s not.

She was very loving growing up, but my dad and I had a special bond.

The day he died, everything changed. Actually, I guess things had changed months before that too, but Mom won’t talk about that, and I stopped begging for answers.

I’m not sure I could get the truth out of her with a gun to her head.

Two annoying brothers.

I eat as quickly as I can, then excuse myself. I wash my plate, wine glass, and utensils, leaving them in the strainer to dry. Then I head into the living room to sit on the couch and watch the football game.

How much longer do you have to suffer?

Two hours, seven minutes.

*laughing emoji*

You?

I could leave now, but my sister may chase me down. I’ll stay for another hour, I guess.

I have a date tonight.

I stare at my screen as the little bubbles dance and disappear. Dance and disappear.

Have fun.

Why does it seem like he’s upset?

Why do I get satisfaction out of that?

Are you drunk yet?

Not yet. Why?

I’m waiting for you to say stupid things to me.

The response I get has me a little shocked.

Is telling you that knowing you’re going on a date with someone who isn’t me makes me mad, stupid?

Never mind. I know it’s stupid.

Can I unsend that?

Just don’t read it. Please.

Okay, I’m going to jump off a cliff now.

Maybe he’s drunk and he doesn’t realize it. I’m definitely not drunk after one glass of wine, so there isn’t an excuse for what I say to him next.

We could hang out after?

Those dots dance again, on and off for a long time.

Jason drops onto the couch beside me, letting out a heavy sigh. I know better than to talk to him about my sister. He doesn’t get mad about it, but I’m wasting my breath because he’ll just give some stupid line like, “You know how your sister is.”

Thanks. That’s really fucking helpful.

I hear my mother and sister in the kitchen, clanking around and cleaning up. Normally I would help. Cleaning up used to be my favorite thing. Dad and I did it together. Mom and Molly cooked, me and Dad cleaned. Now I just don’t care.

“Who you rooting for?” I ask, gesturing to the TV.

“Giants. You?”

“Same. ”

He nods, eyes focused on the TV.

I feel bad for Jason. There’s no way he’s happy with his life.

His family is on the other side of the country and here he is, stuck with my miserable sister.

She never used to be this angry. One day, she just woke up a bitch.

I’m not sure what happened. It wasn’t even right after Dad died, so I can’t blame that.

Twenty minutes later, they’re bringing out the pumpkin pie my mother made.

It’s tradition because it was my father’s favorite.

Every year she makes one, even if she hates it.

Molly puts it down on the coffee table in front of us, while my mother puts down the plates, utensils, and a container of cool whip.

They get to work cutting slices, topping it with the cream and passing them out.

I stare down at the piece, not wanting to eat it because I don’t like pumpkin either.

I never have, but I always pretended to love it because my dad loved it and I wanted to be just like him.

So I force myself to eat it because even though no one else will do anything for him, I always will.

Because I loved him. More than anyone else ever did.