Artie runs a proud hand down the full length of the white masterpiece. “Fucker’s just jealous he wasn’t asked to play Santa.”
Tom chimes in next. “The gig for the Children’s Hospital? That’s two months away.”
A conspiratorial wink at me and a middle finger at his buddies, Artie doesn’t say a word. My job doesn’t officially start at BCH until after the new year, but I volunteered to arrange a small Santa’s Workshop event for the kids who will spend Christmas there.
They carry on with their bickering, Richard now an honorary member of the crew, it seems. It’s the sweetest sound.
Kristen gives me a nudge. “How are you doing?” John’s kind eyes meet mine over her shoulder.
My nose burns a little as I scan the table, gaze pausing on each of myfriends for a beat before moving to the next.My family.I may not have given them such a title before today, but it’s beautifully clear now what a gift they are.
We’re an odd bunch. A little unlikely. No shared genetic code to speak of. Yet, I become devastatingly—wonderfully—aware of two things at once.
First—I’ll miss my mom every day for the rest of my life.
And, the second—I look back to my friend, no tears, no masks, and say, “I’m okay.”
60
asking for help
Rowan
“Thanksgivingat the beach feels like an oxymoron.”
“You sound jealous, sunshine.”
Hannah scoffs over the roar of laughter I hear from her end of the phone. “Jealous? Please. Canned cranberry sauce is best enjoyed in front of a fire with leaves falling outside.”
I invited her to join my family at our Outer Banks rental for the holiday, but she was excited to host Thanksgiving for her Golden Boys. She claimed it was because they wouldn’t have anywhere else to go today otherwise, but deep down I know it brings her as much joy as it does them to spend time together. Selfishly, I’d rather have her here with me, but I’m happy for what she’s found in her crew back home.
“I thought you said Tom was bringing the homemade stuff?” I ask.
“Oh, he did,the stubborn bastard. And, as I predicted, nobody’s touched it.”
“Cannedisbetter.”
“It always is,” she agrees on a happy sigh.
“Pops ate the stuff straight from the can year round.”
She chuckles. “I remember. It’s the only thing he’d eat all those years I brought him Thanksgiving dinner.”
My head falls back on a smile. “God, I love you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” If she only knew the impact of those words—the echo ringing in my ears having heard them before. I resist the urge to tell her everything.Someday.
The sound of clanking pots and running water pull her attention. Seeing as how Mom and Bri banished me to the deck two hours ago, I can imagine what kind of antics those old cranks are up to in Hannah’s kitchen.
“Cecil, stop eating the potatoes!” she shouts. “Dinner is in twenty minutes. You can wait.”
I snicker. “You tell ‘em, baby.”
Her groan bleeds through the line. “Ugh, I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
Things go quiet on her end, the small sound of a door click piercing the silence. “Wanna know something kind of embarrassing?”