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This, this, was real Thanksgiving, this feeling of being known and accepted, of being loved and, even better, liked. It was family, exactly as Hunter said it was, and I knew a lot of people were able to find that feeling with people they weren’t related to, but somehow, I never had.
I wasn’t sure if I hadn’t recognized the feeling when I was a kid, or maybe I’d been too hurt and angry about my dad to feel it at all back then—maybe I’d had to grow up and move away so that I could look back and see it for what it was—but when I’d whispered, “I’m thankful for belonging,” earlier, I’d meant it down to my bones.
After dinner, everyone who hadn’t been involved in cooking the meal worked on cleaning it up, packaging metric tons of leftovers into plastic containers, and washing nearly every dish in the house. Other folks went on “digestion walks” or took “digestion naps” or, in the case of my uncle Hess, poured themselves a stiff “digestive” whiskey with a splash of apple cider to be festive. Some people left to have dessert and spend time with their friends or another branch of their family, while new people arrived to take their places just in time for the football game to start.
Without intending to, I ended up sitting next to my cousin Buck, who was one of the new arrivals. For a solid hour, I listened to him tell an unbelievable tale that involved his “seed” being stolen by a notorious drug cartel, a daring rescue mission in Venezuela, a decoy “Horn,” and how he and he alone had rounded up his enemies and saved the day in the end.
Very little of it had made sense until Amos had leaned over and murmured, “Horn of Glory is a video game Buck created, kiddo. You’ve never heard of it?”
As a matter of fact, I had—it had been all over the news a while back—I just hadn’t had any idea that it had been created by a member of my own family or that the company was headquartered right here in the Thicket.
Suddenly, I remembered telling Hunter with total confidence that there were certain jobs—like art or running a tech company—that simply couldn’t be done in the Thicket. Now I understood his smug look, and I felt more than a little foolish. Both Mal with his art and Buck with his video game company seemed to be doing just fine living out their dreams right here, and I couldn’t help wondering whether I was being shortsighted in thinking I couldn’t do the same if I wanted to.
But… did I actually want to? Thanksgiving was one thing, but was living in the Thicket something I could actually see myself doing?
I was so deep in thought over this that when Amos nudged my shoulder and asked me to go with him to the far pasture to “deliver a holiday message to the good folks of the Thicket,” I couldn’t think up an excuse. So I rode shotgun and helped him swab each cow with a nontoxic livestock hair dye until they spelled out EVERYONE BELONGS IN THE THICKET…
And then collapsed into laughter a moment later when one of the cows, in Regina George–level Mean Girls move, head butted her way through the herd, pushing the others aside, collected a bunch of her friends, and went to stand on the far side of the field, leaving the remaining cranky cows to spell out OBSCENE, RIVETING HOLE.
Could I see myself living in the Thicket? I was starting to think I knew the answer.
When we returned to Amos’s house, I started talking to Buck again, this time much more intentionally, and by the time I pulled myself away, it was nearly midnight.
My heart fluttered in my chest as I remembered my plans with Hunter, and I lost no time in sneaking out to the side-by-side for the drive to his place. But it wasn’t until I was halfway there that I realized I’d never checked my texts to see if he even wanted me to come.
Chapter Ten
HUNTER
After Charlie left my place the night before, I thought I’d spend so much time overthinking I’d never be able to get to sleep. Thankfully, though, I’d been so tired that I’d fallen asleep the minute my heart rate finally settled. I’d even managed to sleep in a little since I wasn’t due at Mom and Dad’s place until noon.
I got up and showered before throwing on a pair of work coveralls and packing my nicer clothes in a duffle bag. Hopefully, I’d have a couple of hours to catch up on some work at the greenhouses before my family inevitably called to ask me to come earlier.
As soon as I entered the warm, humid air, I felt my muscles loosen. The scent of peat and fresh green growth filled my nostrils and reminded me I was home. This was why I couldn’t hope for a future with Charlie Nutter. There was something about this farm that felt like it was hardwired into my very soul. I had a bone-deep need to grow things, to nurture and care for them in hopes of watching them flourish.
