The Words We Leave Unspoken(42)
“Charley,” Gwen warns.
“I know. I know.” I let out the breath of frustration that I had been holding and try to figure out for the hundredth time why I can’t get past my anger. When I look at my mother, I still see a bitter, helpless woman drowning in self-pity, as if she had been swallowed by grief. And yet, nobody died. I know that she’s not that person anymore, but in my mind, she always will be.
Gwen tries to tell me something, again, but is once again interrupted by a strong knock on the front door. The expression on her face is of dread as she calls out to John.
“Coming,” he says and I hear him open the front door.
“I tried to tell you. I’m sorry,” is all Gwen says seconds before I see him standing in the kitchen, with John at his side, holding an expensive-looking bottle of wine.
Our eyes lock for what feels like forever, until John steps forward and kisses my cheek, breaking the trance. “Hey Charley. Happy Thanksgiving, I didn’t hear you come in.” I can hear Gwen speak to him as I watch her pull him into a hug. He hands her the bottle of wine and she thanks him.
John opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of beer, handing one to him and I continue to stare. The air is thick and charged.
“Game’s on,” John states.
“Make yourself at home,” Gwen says.
He steps toward me hesitantly. “Charley,” he says quietly. And then in a whisper, “I tried to call you, to ask if it was okay.” I feel all eyes on me and hear nothing but silence and the steady drum of my heart.
Despite feeling shocked, foolish and caught off guard, despite feeling a sense of relief to see him, to feel him this close, and despite feeling angry at the situation and at Gwen for that matter, I smile, wave my hand through the air and say, “It’s fine. Happy Thanksgiving, Grey.” I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, inhaling greedily, filling my senses with him.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he whispers against my ear.
I step away and turn immediately back toward the sink and pick up a potato. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind – my heart – of the mess of emotions swirling like a storm inside. When I hear John and Grey retreat to the family room, Gwen is at my side.
“John invited him at poker last week. I tried to tell John that it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t uninvite him. He was going to be alone for the holiday.”
“It’s fine, Gwen,” I say, although it’s hard to leave the anger out of my tone. I begin to peel the potato in my hand, slicing at it harshly until there is hardly any flesh left.
Chapter 24
Gwen
Dinner is ready, finally. Although it’s more like Thanksgiving lunch given that it is only two o’clock in the afternoon. The timing is a tradition of sorts. This was supposed to be a good day. Yet all I feel is tension. Rolling off Charley in waves, building slowly in my mother’s comments, hidden underneath Grey’s unusual silence. The day is full of tension and I feel exhausted. So tired that I silently wish for a moment to sneak upstairs and lie down. My ankles and feet feel heavy and swollen from standing in the kitchen all morning, my back aches and my head throbs. But I put on my smile as Charley and I set all the prepared dishes on the table, including the Vegetable Tofu Bake that my mother insisted upon. Her vegan diet quietly crept itself into my traditional dishes. And honestly, I’m too exhausted to care. Real butter, vegan butter – who cares?
I call my family to the formal dining room table and everyone takes their place. John opens a bottle of wine and begins to fill glasses. I say a small prayer and then explain to Grey our tradition of sharing what we are thankful for. I begin.
“I’m thankful for my family and friends,” I start. I try to keep the tears at bay and the emotion from my throat, but this year my words hold so much more meaning than those of the past. “I’m thankful for this day, for every day that we have together.” Charley wipes a single tear from her eye, as she stares at her empty plate. I’m thankful that she doesn’t look at me now, or I might not be able to hold back my own tears.
John goes next. “I’m thankful for my beautiful wife,” he pauses and leans over and kisses me on the lips, “and for my two completely crazy children who I love more than this world!”
“I’m not crazy, Daddy,” Max says with a giggle.
“You’re the craziest,” I say, reaching over and poking his side with my finger, earning a belly laugh that makes my heart ache. “Why don’t you go next? What are you thankful for Max?”
“Um, I’m thankful for my house and the big giant turkey cookies that Aunt Charley brought.”
Everyone laughs. It’s hard not to.
Olivia looks deep in thought while we all look to her and wait for her to speak.
“I’m thankful for the lead part in the school play,” she says triumphantly.
“Yay,” we all say in unison and clap for her. She is absolutely beaming and I feel so happy for this moment.
“That’s wonderful darling. I knew you could do it!” my mother says, shaking a closed fist over her heart.
Charley is seated next to Olivia and I watch her take a deep breath before she says, “I’m thankful for all this wonderful food and for everyone seated at this table.” It’s the same thing she says every year. I watch her glance quickly across the table at Grey and then pick up her wine and take a big gulp.