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I wanted to explain to her, but then Uncle Patrick’s voice boomed through the house, announcing it was time for the feast. With the house full to the brim—kids, partners, and friends—I knew this meal would be a balancing act of family dynamics and unspoken tensions.
Navigating the crowded dining room was like trying to find your seat at a packed Taylor Swift concert. It was a dance of jostling elbows and shuffled steps, a blend of laughter and holiday chatter. Somehow, in this festive shuffle, I ended up next to Andrea in the food line, while Trisha was several people behind, lost in a sea of relatives and friends.
I had this urge to slide back, be near Trisha, and assure her with a look or a small gesture that she wasn’t forgotten. But just as I was about to maneuver through the crowd, Andrea’s touch on my arm anchored me back to the spot.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of something I couldn’t quite place. “I heard about your position in Baltimore. Johns Hopkins, right? Professor?”
“That’s right,” I replied, trying to keep the conversation light, “Professor of Education.” I should’ve felt flattered that she had somehow kept up with my career. But my mind was elsewhere, trailing back to Trisha, wondering if she was alright; if she felt out of place.
I saw Rome and Paris not far from her. They were good company, but Rome’s friendliness always bordered on flirting. The thought irked me more than I expected.
Andrea bumped against me playfully, pulling me from my thoughts. “You were always so smart,” she mused. “It’s no surprise you went down the academic path.”
I managed a half-hearted “Thanks,” my attention divided. A quick glance upfront revealed Aunt Theresa watching us, a knowing smile on her face. She must have had a hand in this, probably thinking it was a pleasant surprise, not knowing about the silent storm brewing inside me.
Obviously, my aunt had no idea I would bring Trisha when she invited Andrea, and besides, I’d made it clear to everybody that Trisha and I weren’t a thing, which was probably why my aunt hadn’t given me a heads-up about Andrea. She must’ve thought setting us up would be harmless, maybe even helpful.
Andrea’s voice brought me back, asking about my teaching career. “I don’t think I could ever be a teacher,” she admitted. “I just don’t have the patience for it.”
I stifled a sigh, resigned to making polite conversation. This was the least I could do for someone who’d had a tough year. “What about you? What’s your story these days?”
As she spoke, detailing her plans for a new apartment, I found myself only half-listening. I was stealing glances at Trisha, strategizing how to slip back to her side. I knew the clock was ticking; her dad would text soon, the storm would clear, and then she’d be gone. My time with Trisha was slipping away like sand through my fingers, and I was stuck here, tangled in polite small talk with my high school crush.
I was so fucked!
TWELVE
TRISHA
Was there sucha thing as a twentieth wheel?
I definitely wasn’t a third wheel with this many people, but twentieth? That was a distinct possibility.
In this bustling, lively gathering, I felt like an extra in a family movie where everyone else had a defined role. Sure, they were all incredibly welcoming, everyone going out of their way to include me, but still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider.
Though unrelated by blood, Andrea still had her slice of history with this family. I, on the other hand, was the only real outsider. As the morning progressed, this realization pressed down on me, leaving me feeling claustrophobic in the midst of their warmth and camaraderie.
With the kids eagerly taking their Christmas gifts apart, I took advantage of the opportunity to slip outside for some fresh air and space. The sun, finally breaking through the clouds, was a welcome sight. I tilted my face upwards, soaking in its gentle warmth. The crisp air, a stark contrast to the snowy, frigid weather I’d left behind on the East Coast, felt refreshing, almost liberating.
I meandered down the McCraes’ long, winding driveway, relishing the quiet and the chance to stretch my legs. I mused over my childhood fantasies of having siblings, a large family like this. The love, the unbreakable bonds I’d witnessed today brought those old yearnings to the surface. But I hadn’t factored in the sheer volume, the overwhelming energy of so many people under one roof.
It was a memorable Christmas with Blaze’s family, but it also stirred a pang of homesickness in me. The quiet, more subdued holidays I was used to with my dad suddenly seemed worlds away.
Reaching the end of the driveway, I paused, gazing towards the town. My phone felt heavy in my pocket, a reminder. I pulled it out and dialed my dad’s number, needing to hear his voice, to connect with my own slice of family, however small it might be. As the phone rang, I waited, anticipation and a tinge of melancholy mingling within me.
“Hi, Dad,” I greeted, my voice lighter despite the whirlwind of emotions inside. “Merry Christmas.”
His concern was clear even through the phone. “Everything okay? I was about to text you that the storm has cleared.”
I looked down the quiet street, feeling both relieved and hesitant. “That’s great. I’ll head out soon. I just need to say my goodbyes.”
He sensed something in my tone. “You sound like you’ve had a good time. If you want to stay longer, you can. Remember, we can always have our celebration whenever. We’ve always been good at that.”
It was true. Our little family of two had never been bound by dates on a calendar. Our moments together, whenever they happened, were our celebrations. “Dad, this place is like a festival. Blaze said his family was big, but seeing it is another story.”
His next question was more probing. “So, do you think you’ll see this Blaze fellow again after this?”
The question hung heavy in the air. “No, I don’t think so, Dad.” My voice was a whisper, carrying a twinge of regret.
