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It would probably be best for both of us if I kept my distance until then.
As soon as I pulled up to the farmhouse, my little cousin Jack came racing out the front door and down the porch steps. “Finally! What took you so long, Junior? We’re late to the Johnsons’!”
“The Johnsons’?”
Jack looked at me like I was a brick short of a full load. “Sure. The Black Friday Prep Party, where folks pretend to care about shopping sales.” He rolled his eyes broadly. “But there’s barbecue. Red Johnson gets his smoker out, and he cooks up, like, a whole pallet of ribs, and Parrish—have you met Parrish? He runs, like, all of the Partridge Pit Barbecue restaurants—he brings all these special sauces, and his husband, Diesel—that is to say, Parrish’s husband, not Red’s, on account of Red’s married to Cindy Ann—sometimes brings Wattle along, and he’s a heavy son of a gun—Wattle, not Diesel… although, really, both—and he plays hide-and-seek with the kids.”
I stared at Jack, my head whirling as I tried to make sense of all these names. “Wattle plays hide-and-seek?”
“Of course not. Wattle’s an obese, flightless turkey.” Jack gave me a pitying look. “Turkeys can’t play hide-and-seek, Junior, don’t you know that? Anyway.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Ribs?”
My stomach growled loud enough for both of us to hear it, and I laughed. “Yes. Just let me get cleaned up.”
I hurried through a shower and pulled on clean jeans and a sweater before double-timing it back down the stairs.
My mother lifted an eyebrow at me. “Hungry?”
I smiled. “You know it. And I have fond memories of Red’s barbecue.”
She laughed and looped her arm through mine as we made our way out of the house to join the throng of family members hopping in various vehicles. “You had a busy day. You must’ve worked up an appetite.” She shot me a sideways look. “People at the Stuffin’ seemed tickled by your costume.”
“Yeah.” I grinned, remembering. “Everyone was very sweet. You know, I think people around here are nicer than I gave them credit for.” I shrugged. “It’s different, seeing them through adult eyes.”
“It’s true. The Thicket is a special place, and I’m glad you’re realizing that. But…” She pulled me to a stop near Amos’s truck. “Are you sure everyone was sweet to you?”
I frowned. “I mean… I think so? Everyone who talked to me had something nice to say.”
My mom huffed. “I meant Hunter Jackson, Charlton.”
“Oh.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Him.”
“Yes, him. Don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why my child was walking around dressed like a turkey?”
“Well, you and I had that niceness bet,” I ventured. “I was being nice. He did buy me at the Biddin’ after all.”
She gave me a distinctly unimpressed look.
“Hunter may have had some… unresolved feelings about the Great Turkey Incident,” I admitted.
“Because you never told him what actually happened,” Mom surmised. “Did you?”
“Hardly matters anymore,” I said, trying to make myself believe it. “He lives here in the Thicket. I live in Chicago. The past is the past.”
“If you say so,” she murmured, pulling open the back door. “But sometimes the past isn’t all that easy to let go of.”
As we rode the short distance to the Johnsons’, the warm sound of family banter washed over me, and it was easier to block Hunter out of my mind. It was funny how quickly I’d gotten used to their noise and shenanigans… and how much I’d started to enjoy it. This time, when my cousin Jory teased me about being the “biggest turkey to ever walk around the Thicket,” I reminded him that, pound for pound, I was also the most expensive turkey.
“Y’all are just jealous,” I told Jory smugly. “’Cause nobody’d pay five dollars to see those spindly drumsticks.”
Then I laughed out loud when Jory howled in outrage, and Jordan thumped me appreciatively on the back.
Amos met my eyes in the rearview mirror and winked, and I remembered what Hunter had said about family. They’re loud and interfering sometimes, and you might not enjoy every minute of their company, but they’re yours. Tonight, I felt the truth of that.
I settled back in my seat, watching as twilight washed over the Thicket. There was something familiar and almost restful about this place and these people. Like, I knew before we even arrived that Cindy Ann would fuss over me, tell me how grown up I was, and try to feed me until I was sick to my stomach. I knew Red would ask me about football and make sure I hadn’t somehow become a Bears fan in the decade I’d been living in Chicago. And I knew my mother would take every opportunity to slip my recent promotion into the conversation as often as possible.
