The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(57)

“Thank you for letting me know.”

“What time will your friend be arriving? We won’t be holding dinner for late arrivals.”

Why had I wanted Reece to come here and be subjected to my father’s withering scrutiny, knowing Reece was already feeling insecure? Because we don’t have much time left. Every minute we had together was a minute I wanted to hold on to with both hands, but by the time the game was over and he did the press conference thing, it would probably be at least another hour until he arrived.

He was already nervous about meeting my parents; how would he feel if he walked in and we were finishing up Thanksgiving dinner after I invited him? Like he was an intruder barging in. I couldn’t do that to him after how amazing his family had been with no notice at all.

My heart squeezed at the idea of cancelling the invitation so late, but it was better he had the hotel Thanksgiving with the rest of the team rather than showing up here, even though I’d been using looking forward to his visit to keep me going since I stepped on the plane.

“Actually, he won’t be able to make it. His event is running over and he doesn’t want to disturb us.” It would be nothing like what he thought a family Thanksgiving should be. His family was probably all crowded in the kitchen, laughing and joking. I’d be lucky if I made it through dinner without frostbite. What had I been thinking? So selfish about wanting to see him that I’d subject him to this? I was so used to it, I’d forgotten what it was really like to be back home.

Dad’s lips tightened and the corners turned down.

“I can go help Mom.” Closing my book, I set it on the desktop beside me.

“She can handle things on her own. We have a lot to discuss over the meal.” He closed the door behind him like he was locking a jail cell.

Had being away for a few months made me forget that my family was nothing like Reece’s? That mine wasn’t a sitcom version of a family, but the cold shell of what an alien might think a family looked like?

Grabbing my phone, I sent Reece a message. The wood of the steps creaked under my feet as I walked downstairs. My dad’s office door was closed and I tiptoed into the kitchen. Mom stood in front of the stove, mashing potatoes in a pot.

“Mom.” I touched her arm.

She jumped and turned. Her smile for me was always real, always there, and sometimes it was the only thing I had to cling to for warmth.

“Come to help me?” She bumped me with her hip.

“If you need it.”

“I’m sure I can find something for you to do. What time is your friend arriving?” Lifting the pot, she gently transferred the potatoes into a serving bowl.

I cleared my throat. “He can’t make it.”

Her face fell. “Oh, that’s a shame.”

“It might be for the best. Aunt Sophie mentioned coming up for Christmas. Has she talked to you at all?”

She froze, spatula in hand, a lump of potatoes on the tip of it. “No, I haven’t heard from her.”

“It’s hard to get past the gatekeeper.” I glanced over my shoulder.

She did the same and went back to the potatoes. “You know how your father is once he gets something in his head.”

“How did you two even meet? Aunt Sophie said you were a free spirit like her growing up.”

Her cheeks pinked up and she set down the pot. Letting out a sigh, she covered the bowl of mashed potatoes in foil and opened the oven. “I was. Your father was my tutor in college. My parents were always trying to get me to settle down. They always wanted me to get serious about my studies so I could find a nice, responsible college boy to marry.”

“And that boy was dad?”

“Not at first. Can you cut these for the salad?” She set the cutting board and an assortment of vegetables in front of me. “I was on the verge of academic probation and he was my assigned tutor. I was still dragging your aunt out almost every night.” The faraway look in her eye didn’t match the bland tone in her voice. Her eyes sparkled while her words told the tale of a girl making every mistake in the book.

“So how did you end up together?” The peppers crunched as I sliced them under my blade.

“My dad died of a heart attack, and I took that to mean life was short. I barely slowed down. I couldn’t, because that would mean facing what had happened. Mom kept telling me it was a sign, said I needed to start taking things seriously.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Even Aunt Sophie tried to rein me in, but I didn’t listen.

“And then my mom died three months later. That was when I knew it was a sign. I was the one Aunt Sophie looked to. I was the big sister. I didn’t have a choice. Your father found me crying in the library trying to sort through the life insurance documents and other things I needed to figure out. He sat down with me and handled it all. He was so sure of himself, the even-keeled kind of boy my parents would have approved of, so when he asked me out, I said yes. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“You never told me any of that before.”

“Not much to tell. We met in college, got married, and then we had you.” She pinched my cheek.

“Do you ever wonder how your life would have turned out if your parents hadn’t died?”

She stopped in front of the oven with a tray of rolls midway out. “I try not to.” Shaking her head, she quietly closed the oven door and gave me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.