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I smiled, and my heart warmed from his confession. “I bet it’ll make Kierra feel a little better if you tell her.”
“Can you put me down so I can tell her?”
“Yeah, buddy. Let’s just get you cleaned up first,” I offered, reaching for a towel to clean his snotty nose.
As soon as I set him on his feet, Grant raced back to the dining room. I arrived just in time to see him whisperingsomething in her ear. She gasped before whispering back to him. He blushed furiously before she kissed the top of his head and sent him to the children’s table. I claimed my spot next to her and watched as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a linen napkin.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep,” she answered, clearing the emotion from her throat. I grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it.
“Finally…we can eat,” Dad sighed. We were about to dig in when the doorbell rang. I threw my fork down and rolled my eyes, prepared to answer the door, but my mother beat me to it.
“Sit. Sit. I’ll get it.”
I wish I could say I was surprised by the calamity that ensued. With how life was throwing curveballs at me left and right, I should’ve anticipated that Thanksgiving would be ruined…
Chapter Forty-Eight
Kierra
Truthfully, I was shocked when Jonathan leaped into action and called the police once his ex arrived at the house—pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell like she didn’t have a lick of sense after Felicity refused to open the door for her. I had expected Jonathan to leave the dinner table and try to reason with her—give her a warning that she was trespassing and that he had a restraining order against her—but he didn’t.
Good. That means he took our conversation in Vegas seriously. It’s not like I could leave him if I wanted to—not anymore. I wouldn’t dare run off with this man’s child.
The adults cleared their throats and shifted in their chairs uncomfortably until Jonathan returned to the table. He was about to address everyone when he paused, noticing all the children greedily smacking their lips and stuffing their faces except Grant. Everyone could hear Eliza raging like a lunatic outside, but only Grant gave a damn.
Jonathan left the table, grabbed Grant and his plate of food, and sat his son in his lap. “You all should eat,” he said brusquely, trying to encourage Grant to eat. The child shook his head and buried his face in his father’s chest.
“I think we should all go around the table and say what we’re thankful for,” Felicity suggested merrily, trying to inject someholiday cheer back into the evening. “Who wants to go first?” she asked, clapping her hands together. “No one? Okay, I’ll pick someone. How about…Marcus?”
“Fuck,” he muttered, throwing his utensils onto the plate.
On the inside, I’m cackling. The poor man just wants to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
“Language, Marcus. There are little ears present,” his debutante wife reminded him.
“Well, thanks to someone’s,” he paused to pointedly stare at Jonathan, “former paramour, the kids have heard every word in the book, but I digress.”
Way to kick a man when he’s down…
I reached over and grabbed Jonathan’s thigh and squeezed it, hoping my touch would bring him a sliver of comfort. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his head. Shame? Guilt? Embarrassment? Contempt? Anger? Regret? Fear?
“I’m thankful I’m not standing outside in the freezing cold for a $400 television set.”
Marcus’s matter-of-fact statement broke the ice and pulled a snicker or giggle from everyone, including Jonathan.
“But more than that, I’m thankful that I have a place at the table.”
That comment piqued my interest enough that I sat my fork down, not wanting to miss a word.
“I may not have been the most…help me out here, darling,” he said, turning in his seat to his wife.
“You’re doing wonderful, Marcus. Continue,” Felicity pressed. From the tiny smirk on her lips, I could tell she was eating up his discomfort. It was filling her more than the turkey and dressing.
“I should’ve known better than to seek help from you,” he huffed. “As I was saying, I may not have been the mostaffectionate or understanding parent. I did my best, but it doesn’t take an idiot to see that my best wasn’t good enough.” He paused and sipped his wine before launching back into his speech. “Jonathan…thank you for the seat at the table.”
Translation: I’m sorry for being a hard-ass parent. I’m proud of you, and I love you.
