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Marcella poked at the potatoes, willing them to boil faster. The turkey had less than half an hour to go.
“Men watching football while women cook Thanksgiving dinner?” Mom retorted. “What’s so shocking about that?”
“Thatheis in the mix, and Daddy and Chase are okay with it!” Yvonne set the pie on the windowsill and cracked the window a bit for cooling.
The ‘he’ in question was Eight. He was meeting her family for the first time on Thanksgiving, which was possibly not ideal, but it was definitely convenient.
Despite the divorce, their family had celebrated most Thanksgivings and Christmases together. Both their parents had mainly remained single, and they’d always come together to support their daughters, so keeping the holidays intact had seemed, to them, completely right and even normal.
Marcella and Yvonne had thought so too, until their friends who also had divorced parents had hipped them to how really abnormal it was.
Still, it worked.
Now, as usual, their dad, Chase, and Ajax were ensconced in Mom’s living room, stuffing Easy Cheese and crackers, and Doritos and salsa, into their maws, yelling at the television. And Eight was right in there with them.
The first few minutes had been a little bit awkward, yes. Her family knew that Eight had been willingly out of the picture all this time, and they loved Ajax, so they were cool to the man who hadn’t wanted to be in that great kid’s life.
But he was here now, and Ajax was happy, and Marcella was happy.
Also, Eight’s knowledge of football seemed encyclopedic. Once that had become apparent, Dad and Chase were down with Eight.
Mom was thrilled Ajax was getting what he wanted, so she’d welcomed Eight enthusiastically.
Yvonne needed some convincing.
“Vonny, I need you to do me a favor and not be a jerk to him today, okay?”
Her sister turned and slammed her hands on her hips. “Why am I the only one in this family who cares who he is?”
“No, you’re the only one in this family who won’tseewho he is.”
“Um,” a gruff voice interjected from the doorway Yvonne had been leaning on a few minutes earlier. Eight stood there now, looking sheepish. “Sorry. Pete said there’s beer in the fridge here?”
Marcella went to the fridge to check. “We’re out up here. I’ll go down and get some from the second fridge.”
“Eight, honey,” Mom said, “Be a honey and go with her? The table leaves are down there.”
“Sure, Marguerite. You need anything else?”
Mom smiled sweetly. “I think that’ll do. Thank you.”
Eight followed Marcella down the rickety basement steps. As she pulled the cord on the bulb at the foot of the stairs, his arms swept around her waist, and he tucked in against her neck. “Your sister hates me.”
She leaned her head against his. “Not hate. She’s suspicious and protective. She’ll warm up.”
“I get it. I deserve it. I just don’t know how to be around her. Usually, I’m an asshole, but that’s off the table, and I don’t have anything else I can do if she doesn’t like the non-asshole thing I’m trying to do.”
Turning in his arms, she looked up at him. “You don’t have to audition for my sister, babe. Just be, and let her come around on her own time.”
“You think?”
“I know. You’re doing good, Eight.”
He smiled. “I like this. I never thought I would, but I really do.”
She pulled his head to hers and kissed him.
~oOo~
