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“Tired? Or dreading spending the holidays with Mr. Business?”
Jude and I have the same thoughts about Carl Nelson, Adam’s dad. We tolerate him. It’s not that he’s a bad person—certainly not to us or our parents—he’s just so business-minded and all he talks about is work. He was never really present in Adam and his brother’s life and was always at the office and missing family dinners. I once asked Adam if it bothered him and he said other than missing the odd sports day, it didn’t because his dad was building up an empire for his family so how could he fault him? Ordinarily I would jump to Mr. Nelson’s defense and tell Jude not to be so mean, but knowing what I know now, it’s obvious Carl Nelson’s priorities have changed and he’s a little more cut-throat and a little less family man. Instead, I shrug as I reply.
“Just hoping Mrs. Nelson brings pistachio pie instead of pumpkin this year is all.”
“Ah, first world problems, hey?”
“It’s just her pumpkin pie is just so . . .”
“Drrryyyyy!” we both say together before dissolving into laughter and my mood instantly lightens.
Jude turns his attention back to the road and I take the opportunity to take out my phone and send a quick text to Ky. Since the other night, we’ve been getting better at communicating with each other. He’s still rarely at the house—for reasons I now understand —but he makes the effort to at least eat the plate of food I save for him each night and text me updates on how much he enjoyed it.
I send a text, letting him know that I’m thinking about him spending the time with his family.
Hope you have a good Thanksgiving.
Ky
Thanks. You too. Hope DBA behaves.
Even though he’s not shy with hiding his feelings about Adam, he’s respectful enough not to be disparaging about him at every opportunity he gets. Still, I know he thinks Adam is a douche, so DBA—or Douchebag Adam—is as respectful as it will get where those two are concerned.
I’m sure he will. Text you later?
Ky
I look forward to it. Although I’m working, so replies might be delayed.
Promise me you won’t fight tonight?
The three dots appear but it takes a while for the message to come through, which makes me wonder whether he’s thinking carefully about his reply.
Ky
Have a good Thanksgiving, Thea.
His reply is short and simple and doesn’t refer at all to my previous message. I know I’ve lost the battle for him to stop fighting. Slipping my phone back in my purse, I decide we need something to distract us for the rest of the journey and resort to the childhood game we used to play when we were younger.
“Hey Jude,” I say, referring to the well-known Beatles song which he was named after. I see the smile forming on his lips and before I can continue, he instantly starts playing along. We spend the rest of the journey following the song’s advice: trying—and failing miserably as we always do—to sing sad lyrics to upbeat music in a bid to make them better.
* * *
My family is hosting Thanksgiving this year, which means the Nelsons are on their way over. We arrived back late last night, so today is the first day I’m seeing Adam again since our argument. Given the extra intel I now know about him, I’m a little nervous to say the least. The doorbell rings promptly at noon and my mom welcomes Carl, his wife Andrea, and Adam into our house. Unfortunately, Andrea is carrying a pumpkin pie and not pistachio and Jude gives me a knowing look as she passes, and I have to suppress my laughter. We take our seats, give our thanks, and eat the spread my mom and dad have been preparing since dawn. Despite the tension between us, Adam takes his usual seat next to me and kisses me on the cheek as he sits down. As designated photographer, Jude takes a couple of photos of our families together. The turkey is delicious, as are all the trimmings and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed my mom’s home-cooked meals. The nostalgia washes over me with a slight sadness, because even though I’ve taken it on myself to be the cook of our household, I’ll never match up to the standards of my mom’s. Maybe I’ll steal a few of her cookbooks when I leave so I can adapt them for our purposes. Dessert is served and thankfully mom has made additional dishes which I help myself to.
“So, Carl,” my dad says, “what’s this I hear about Austin’s parole hearing coming up?”
Andrea’s demeanor instantly changes at the mention of her oldest son. The day he was put behind bars, was the day she went from being the head organizer of the town’s events, to stepping down from every social group she was a member of. Having a convict in the family did not sit well with the Stepford Wives community in Silver Lake and she couldn’t deal with being the subject of the town’s gossip mill in the weeks that followed.
“Pfft,” Mr. Nelson replies. “He’ll be lucky to get a year shaved off his sentence. The boy deserves to serve punishment for his crimes. The pain he’s put his mother through is unforgivable.”
“I’m sure he’s realizes that and is sorry for what he’s done,” my mom says, ever the optimist who likes to see the good in people.
“I doubt it very much, Lauren. Austin only ever thinks about himself, everyone else be damned. In fact, the only good thing that boy has done for this family is get mixed up with some trailer-park trash and bring to my attention the park she lives in, which, thankfully, has resulted in me buying the land for development.”
“Jesus,” Adam mutters under his breath beside me and I wonder if it’s because he’s also finding this conversation awkward or it’s because he’s working on this project too.
“Come on, Carl,” my dad says with a laugh, “surely, it’s not all about business and you’d like to be reconciled with your son?”
