Secret Lucidity(42)

I nod my head, knowing all too well it isn’t that simple. Because the fact is, as sick as it sounds, I don’t want to stop.





“YOU WOULD HAVE ME BE the one to do this.”

He smiles in devious amusement. “Don’t be shy, babe.”

“Shy isn’t the right word here. More like disgusted.”

David stands a few feet away from me and takes a pull out of his beer bottle, watching me in pure entertainment as I scrunch my face. With my sleeves pushed up to my elbows, I hold on to the cold, damp leg of the turkey and lift it before readying my hand.

When I hesitate, he teases, “I’m so damn jealous of that bird right now.”

I shoot him a sneering look from over my shoulder and then turn back, cringing when I shove my hand up the ass of this turkey.

“Eeeew.”

David laughs at my theatrics, and when I pull out the neck, I nearly dry heave.

“Uuuuugh!”

“Dude,” he says, appalled as strands of goo slip off and fall into the sink.

I drop it and quickly turn on the water to wash the gunk off my hands, shuddering at the nastiness that will soon be our Thanksgiving dinner.

“These things should really come already cleaned out.”

David continues to laugh.

When he asked me the other day what my plans were for the holiday break, he didn’t seem surprised when I told him my mom had yet to mention anything about Thanksgiving and probably would forget about it altogether. He insisted that I spend the day with him, and I agreed, even though I felt bad that he wouldn’t be with his family.

It’s been easy for us to be together outside of the farce we are when we’re at school. My mother couldn’t care less about my whereabouts, if she even notices them at all. But if she did, it wouldn’t matter because most weekends are filled with swim meets, which serve as a perfect cover.

Even though David called off our morning practices nearly two months ago, my times have been improving faster than what I had anticipated. I haven’t come in behind Taylor for a while now, which has only spurred on her distaste for me.

“How did you learn how to do all this?” David asks as I slip pats of butter under the skin of the bird.

“I used to watch my dad,” I tell him. “He was the cook in our family, and when he was in the kitchen, I was always with him.”

“Yet, this is your first time manhandling a turkey?”

“I guess my father was more of a gentleman than you.”

“But you look so adorable when you’re squeamish,” he jokes, coming up behind me and slipping his arms around my waist.

“I’m about to slap you with that turkey neck that’s still in the sink.”

We both laugh, and when I pick up the roasting pan, he opens the oven door for me.

“So what are your parents doing today?” I ask as he pulls the bag of sweet potatoes from the fridge.

“My brother is with them at their house along with all our aunts and uncles and cousins.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother. Do you have other siblings?”

Standing by his side at the sink, I start peeling the potatoes for him to cut.

“No. Only Josh.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“And all your family is here?” I ask when I hand him a potato to chop.

He nods. “What about you? Aunts or uncles around?”

“None. Both my parents were only children, which is probably why they were both satisfied to have just me,” I tell him, handing him another potato. “Are you and your brother close?”

“Used to be. But he’s married with two kids, so he has his own stuff going on.”

When morning shifts into the afternoon and all the food is set out, we look at each other, realizing we went a little overboard.

“What the hell are we going to do with all this food?”

“That’s a really good question,” he responds before filling his plate.

Sitting down at the table, we eat our efforts until we can’t go on in our gluttony.

I eye his plate, noting everything has been eaten aside from the turkey. “What’s up with you not eating that?”

He looks at me with a mischievous glint.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I question.

“Don’t get mad.”

My eyes narrow as I wait for what’s coming next.

“I don’t actually like turkey.”

“Are you kidding me?” I exasperate, throwing my napkin at him. “Then why the hell did you buy one and make me shove my hand up its butt?”

He chuckles, “I don’t know. Because it’s Thanksgiving, and whether you like turkey or not, it’s what you cook.”

“I cannot believe you.”

“Everything else was amazing though,” he says, unable to stop his amusement at the situation, and I shake my head before joining him in his laughter.

“Give me your plate,” I tell him in mock annoyance before excusing myself from the table to head back into the kitchen.

This is my first holiday without my dad. A part of me didn’t even want to acknowledge the day, but I went along with David regardless. I thought I’d be sad, but here I am, smiling and laughing, nearly forgetting all the reasons why I should be crying.