Page 69 of See You in Your Dreams

“Love you too, baby. And make sure you say the same to your brothers. I’ll be home before eight, I promise.”

The line clicks closed. I stare at the black screen for a long moment, gathering my thoughts. Tommy and I have managed to be cordial to each other so far this Thanksgiving break, but that’s mostly thanks to Mom keeping the peace. Dinner without her sounds like a powder keg waiting to explode.

Well, you’ll just have to make the best of it.

Taking a deep breath, I plaster on a smile and turn to Patrick. “Hey, Pat, you want to help me mash these potatoes?”

His eyes light up as he sets aside the mostly emptied cans of cranberry sauce. “Sure!”

I focus on my work, losing myself in the prep and cooking as I try to pull an entire Thanksgiving meal out of my ass. Patrick might be a walking disaster in the kitchen, but without his enthusiastic ‘help,’ I don’t know how the hell I would’ve gotten it all done.

At least, things don’t become desperate enough to ask Tommy to pitch in. I’d tried that earlier in the day and gotten an angry response about how he’d worked a late shift the night before and had an early shift tomorrow morning, so I could pull my own weight for a change. As if I don’t have plenty of my own shit to deal with right now.

As I work, my thoughts inevitably turn to Ash. His inability to save Greta had affected him just as deeply as I’d feared, and while a couple weeks of distance have helped ease some of his guilt, I hate not knowing how to make it all better.

Not that my own life isn’t its own special brand of disaster. I still need to tell Mom about my plans for school next year. I’d intended to do it over break, but the timing hasn’t worked out. Case in point—her taking on an extra shift today. Maybe after she gets home tonight…or this weekend for sure.

Or maybe it can wait until Christmas,I think with a sigh as I carve the turkey.No sense having that awkward discussion any sooner than I need to.

Once the turkey’s cut, the potatoes are mashed, and the green bean casserole’s warmed, I set everything out onto the table. “Dinner’s ready!”

Tommy turns up the TV loud enough to hear the game from the kitchen and strolls in, nursing his beer. He takes a seat at his usual spot, his eyes narrowing as he glances about the kitchen. “Where’s Mom?”

“Still at the Red Rocket.” I set the plate of turkey down in front of him. “She said to eat without her, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“You know, you could at least pretend being stuck with us isn’t a punishment,” Tommy says, shoveling turkey onto his plate.

“And how else am I supposed to act?” I reply as I take my own seat as far away from Tommy as I can get. Patrick sits silently between us, ducking his head as though to avoid any friendly fire. “You want me to pretend we actually like each other?”

“Not being such a little bitch would be a great start.” Tommy scans the table laden down with dishes and scowls. “What, no gravy?”

Shit.I squeeze my hands together in my lap. I’m tempted to tell him where he can stick his gravy, but then I notice Patrick’s tensed back and take a soothing breath. For his sake, I can make it through one family dinner without it devolving into a shouting match.

“Hold on.”

The other two eat in silence while I grab a packet of instant gravy and get it heated on the stovetop. When it’s ready, I pour it into one of Mom’s cracked gravy boats and set it down on the table near Tommy. “There. Happy?”

His sullen grunt suggests otherwise.

As I slide back into my seat, Patrick clears his throat. “M-maybe we could all go around the table and say something we’re thankful for.”

“Pass,” Tommy says in between noisy bites. “I’d rather not sit here all night trying to think of something.”

“But it’s tradition!” Patrick protests. “Mom always has us do it.” A tentative smile flickers over his face. “Remember that time Dad—”

My stomach curls as Tommy slams the casserole dish down hard on the table, cutting Patrick off short. “Dad’s not here, Pat. And neither is Mom. So, let’s just get this over with, okay?” He eyes me with a sneer. “I’m sure some of us have other places they’d rather be.”

I’m not particularly thrilled to perform our old Thanksgiving ritual either, but Patrick’s downcast expression tears at me. “Come on, Tommy, it’s not that big of a deal. Here, I’ll start. I’m thankful this is my last year of school.”

Possibly for quite a while, depending on how things go…

Tommy’s silverware clatters as he tosses it onto his plate. “Fine. How about I do this by process of elimination? I’mnotthankful that Dad peaced out on us. I’mnotthankful I’m stuck here wasting my life in a dead-end job while you get to go live the high life on Mom’s dime.”His hateful glare fixes on me. “And I’mdefinitelynot thankful to haveyouas a brother.” He turns back to his meal, stabbing into his turkey breast. “God, no wonder Dad left,” he mutters.

His words rend into me, my own plate clattering as I jerk to my feet. “You think I don’t know it’s my fault Dad left? That’s why I’m staying.”

Tommy’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I glance at Patrick, softening my voice a hair when I see his stricken expression. “What you said to me before about the family needing me—you were right. Mom could use that money in my college fund right now more than I can. College can wait a few years while I stay here and help out.”