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My cell phone dings, and when I lift it from the table, a smile crosses my lips. Drake hasn’t stopped texting me since my plane touched down in California.
Drake: Can’t stop thinking about you…
Taylor: The feeling is mutual, buddy.
Drake: Can you talk?
I glance over at my mom, who’s cutting bread for the stuffing. My family makes everything from scratch. Even the turkey is fresh. My dad and older brother, Shaun, are out right now hunting for wild turkeys.
“Do you need any help?” I ask my mom.
She scans the counter in front of her and shrugs. “No, not yet. I’ll need you in a little while to help me with the potatoes.”
“Okay, let me know when you need me.”
Everyone in our family has to pitch in. As my dad says, No one eats for free. You want to eat, you have to help kill it or cook it. Whenever I wanted new clothes or shoes, he would assign me a chore to earn it. When we weren’t eating at the chow hall on base, my brother and I were required to assist my mom in the kitchen.
On my way out of the kitchen, my mom’s cell phone rings. “Honey, can you get that?” She holds up her bread-covered fingers. “Got my hands full.”
With a nod, I answer the phone. Before I can say hello, my dad’s voice blares through the receiver.
“Claire,” he growls.
“No, sir. It’s Taylor.”
“Taylor.” He sounds out of breath. “Put your mother on the phone.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No, your idiot brother shot himself in the foot with his rifle.”
I gasp at his words. “Is Shaun okay?”
“What’s going on?” Mom says from behind me, wiping her hands on a towel. She takes the phone from me, a single tear streaking down her face as my dad tells her about Shaun.
A minute later, she hangs up the phone and rips her apron off, dropping it onto the counter. “We have to get going, honey. Looks like we’re spending Thanksgiving at the hospital.”
She grabs her car keys, and without taking a single thing with me, I follow her into the driveway. Thirty minutes later, we’re in the emergency room with my dad, who’s dressed head-to-toe in camouflage.
He stands as we approach, pushing his hands to his hips. Even after years of retirement, he still looks like a commanding officer. I never expected my dad to retire from the Marine Corps to work for a contractor, but my mom had begged him to settle down someplace they could call home.
“Shaun needs surgery to repair the damage,” my dad says, embracing my mom in his arms.
She’s trembling, while my dad is as cool as a cucumber. Nothing fazes him. He’s seen much worse in the field than my brother shooting his toe off. My poor brother. As much as my dad tries, he will never make Shaun like him. Shaun is creative and carefree, where my dad is a trained killer who doesn’t have a soft bone in his body.
After he releases my mom, Dad pulls me into a hug and kisses me on the head. He’s not as tall as Drake, but he has a few inches on me. We don’t speak. He merely holds me tight as if he’s afraid something will happen to me.
After a few hours of hanging out in the waiting room, the doctor finally allows us to see Shaun. He’s lying in a hospital bed, his eyes lidded from the anesthesia. My mom comes up to his side and slips her fingers between his. Shaun’s eyes fully open a few seconds later. He blinks a few times and then smiles up at my mom.
I sit at the edge of his bed. “I can’t believe you shot off your toe.”
He forces a smile. “I don’t know what happened. I was adjusting the rifle, and the next thing I knew, I lost my footing and… well, you know what happened next.”
“It’s a freak accident,” Mom says.
Dad grunts, shoving his hands into his pockets. I can tell what he’s thinking without him speaking. He’s disappointed in Shaun. My dad is tough, and if you’re not as strong as him, he considers it a weakness. That’s why I’ve always pushed people away. The second I sniffed out what he would’ve considered a weakness, I walked away from that person. I almost did it with Drake, all because of how I was raised.
Oh, shit. I forgot my cell phone on the table in the kitchen. Drake won’t admit it, but I know he gets worried when he doesn’t hear from me. I usually text him back right away, but it’s been hours since he asked if I could talk.
“What’s for dinner?” my brother asks with laughter in his tone.
My dad shakes his head, his expression devoid of emotion. “We were supposed to have turkey. But now…”
