“I’m going to be better at talking with you guys. I promise.”

  Vick looks at me, face impassive, serious, giving nothing away. She could have won all the poker tournaments if she knew how to play, I’m sure of it.

  “Do you solemnly swear?” she asks instead, hand coming up, palm out.

  I nod, hard enough to make my neck hurt. “I will, I promise. I’m going to be better.”

  Vick sighs. “I’m not saying this to stress you out, you know…you’ve just…you haven’t been yourself, and you haven’t been yourself for a while. And like, this whole thing with Brody again…I don’t know, did your parents pressure you into it?”

  “No, of course not. They don’t control me.” I say, when we all know that I do everything for my parents. They’re my only set of parents, and that means something to me. Maybe it means too much to me, sure, but it’s not like I can just shake them off.

  I don’t think it’s wrong to want your parents to be proud of you and your accomplishments, but it is if it’s the only thing you’re looking for.

  I sigh.

  Max and Vick share a look that speaks not only volumes, but the entire encyclopedia collection, including the letter Q.

  I sigh again, a big gust of breath. “No, listen, it’s…nice seeing him again?” Why is it even a question? I glance over to Vick, whose face gives nothing away or gives me any indication that she saw me kiss Brody downstairs.

  “I missed him. I did. I’m not going to lie about that.”

  “You see this going somewhere long-term?” Max asks softly, and I nod hesitantly. I don’t want to outright lie, but I think it’s okay to be unsure.

  I shrug, working out the tension from my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s still new. We’re so different, but not really, you know? He’s calmed down, somehow? And this thing with his leg, his injury, it’s really shaken him up, but he’s holding himself together really well. Or he’s just hiding away from me during his bad days.” I shrug again.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. He brings me lunch every single day and keeps me in Petros rice pudding.”

  “Mr. Petros’ rice pudding?!” Max gasps.

  I nod, watching her freak out.

  “I haven’t had one of those in generations!”

  “We can go…sometime soon? Although, I don’t know, we’re gonna explode tonight, so maybe in two weeks when we’re feeling back to normal?” I suggest, blinking at the two of them.

  “My treat,” I add, wanting to seal the deal. “An apology rice pudding.”

  “I’ll take it!” Max shoots her hand up, and Vick just shakes her head like she can’t stand the two of us together, and all three of us in the same room.

  “Good, let’s set it up right now, pull out your calendar apps.” With the date settled and a time set, we make plans to meet two weeks from now, on a Friday night.

  “So…are we gonna dish on Brody before supper or after? Just asking,” Max says, hands up, palms out in a freeze gesture while I spear her with a death stare to end all death stares.

  “Come on…”

  “I’m just asking, man, shit. Have you hopped on the Kane train?”

  I choke on my own saliva. “What? The Kane Train? No. Stop it. Never say those two words in such close proximity ever again for as long as we all three shall live. All right? Kane Train. I’m going to be thinking about that all throughout supper now. How am I supposed to sit next to him with that in my head?”

  “You sure Aunt Lisa’s going to want you guys sitting next to each other with all that explosive chemistry?” Max grins, dodging a punch to the shoulder.

  “What explosive chemistry?” I ask.

  “It’s not explosive, it’s the kind that settles after the fallout, when the dust settles and everything looks new again,” Vick says, nodding to herself. “That comfortable chemistry, you know, where it feels easier now, not all clouded by hormones.” She waves her hands around like we all can actually see the hormones.

  “Shut it, you and your hormones.” Max ruffles Vick’s hair, making her squawk and slap back at her. “We accept all kinds of sex lives in this household, so I don’t care what you’re doing or not doing, but Vick’s right, you guys are like the calm that settles after a crazy storm.”

  They both look at me, looking nothing alike, but sharing a portion of our DNA through our dads.

  “I…I don’t know what to say to that. Yeah, that’s my final answer.”

  “You guys look like you’d stare longingly into each other’s eyes while you slow-dance in the kitchen, making pancakes that are bound to burn,” Vick whispers, a sound of shattered hope weaving in and out of the words. “You know the painting…you know the one, where it’s just a couple lying in bed?” Max and I shake our heads, but Vick keeps going.

  “You don’t see anything, the covers are all the way up to their throats, but it’s just that intimate moment, before they start their day, looking at each other first thing in the morning, opening their eyes to someone they love, starting the day off right…it’s not everything, but it’s something, and both you and Brody have it.” Vick swallows, looking at me with eyes that look a lot like my own.

  I feel the tears well in my eyes again, but Max is the one who sniffs hard. It’s like an audible trigger for my own tears to fall, and for Vick to hide behind her hands, and there’s a gnawing worry in my stomach now about her, why she’s reacting like this—is Vick in love?

  “Girls! It’s time to eat!” Aunt Lisa’s voice rings up the staircase, making her sound like she’s in Vick’s old bedroom right along with us.

  We mop up our faces, have another group hug in the middle of the old bedroom that holds all of our girlish secrets turning into womanly ones, the ones that are the hardest to say out loud.

  But I still can’t bring myself to talk about my worries, about the impending deadline coming closer and closer to the way Brody has been helping me out this past month (Jesus, the Kane Train—why? Just…why?), been steady as a rock, and making sure I eat, of all things.

  I like having him around, but I don’t want to get too used to it.

  This might be our second chance, yeah, but Brody has a whole future back in Pittsburgh, and I can’t (won’t) just pick up and leave my own life behind for his.

  That’s a discussion that needs to be had, and we’re nowhere near talking about that yet.

  This is still too new, the imprint of his lips against my lips still fresh, still tingling and I don’t want to ruin it with the stark truth: January’s just around the corner.

  FIFTEEN

  We trudge downstairs, one after the other, only Vick managing to avoid the creak in the stairs until we’re all practically running pell-mell into the dining room, halting at the entrance like we’re trying to act all cool, before walking to our assigned seats.

  Brody is already there, sitting at the table with his beer bottle settled next to his glass, talking animatedly with Uncle Tristan about the PLL and the changes to the league rules and regulations that don’t have a single thing to do with me.

  It seems good, calm even, as I take my seat next to him. We bump knees when I squeeze in next to him, pulling my chair in. Brody glances back at me when this happens, a happy grin on his face as he helps me push my chair in closer to the table so I can avoid any potential food-in-lap disasters.

  The entire surface area of the table is covered in plates—the giant bird (a nearly-thirty-five pounder, or so I’ve heard down the Prewitt Family Grapevine) cooked to perfection, skin a golden brown.

  My uncle Tristan will do the honors of carving it in front of all these people. The biggest (and first) piece will be going to his wife (because obviously), and then passing it around once everyone gives in their orders and specifications of which piece they want.

  Aunt Lisa starts passing around the giant tray of mashed potatoes, still steaming, passing along the little square insulators with it as everyone starts taking a portion. Then comes the green salad, the stuffing, and then the side dishes which are the cranberry sauce (homemade not that weird stuff from a can), the gravy, and the cornbread, pre-cut, everyone trying to wrestle their squares out of the pan.

  Finally, everyone has something on their plate; the wine has been poured, and we wait with bated breath (or really, it could just be me) for my aunt to give the go-ahead for us to start eating.

  We don’t go around the table and say what we’re thankful for, but there’s a moment of silence, of contemplation, a minute or so of gratitude of being able to enjoy this moment together when so many cannot.

  Then it’s time.

  Vick takes out her phone and starts snapping pictures of different subject matters—me and Brody, Max and me, taking selfies, pictures of the uncles and my dad, pictures of the aunts and my mom, all squeezing in along the table, not once neglecting the food.

  I start to wonder if she’s taking more than her customary amount because she’s sharing them with someone else—like me, Vick doesn’t really have social media, the pictures are usually just for her.

  Evie nearly drops her own glass of wine while struggling to pass on the dish of cornbread, and Aunt Lisa groans, begging her to keep the tablecloth white and pristine for just a little while longer.

  “I make no promises,” Evie says, grinning at her mom and then blowing her a kiss. Evie’s just a younger (if not miniature version of Vick) minus the electric-blue hair. She’s the version of Vick that looks pale in comparison, washed out, her hair a virgin brown, bright blue eyes bracketed by a smoky brown eyeshadow and a sharp brown eyeliner behind her glasses.

  Then there’s Izzy, Max’s younger sister, the tried-and-true extrovert of the Prewitt girls. She’s the odd one out who thrives in a throng of people, pulling energy from them to energize herself.

  They sit together, the two of them, a whole three years apart from the older cousins, but still feeling like they’re an entire planet away. They honestly bring up memes that I don’t understand on a regular basis, and it’s exhausting trying to keep up most of the time.

  I blink at my younger cousins, watching them talk to each other, comfortable as can be while Max and Vick and I are still a little stiff around the edges, boundaries still demarcated even after clearing out the air.

  They both need effort from me before forgiving me completely and I get it, I do, and I have a lot of work to do.

  I eat slowly, carefully, making sure to keep the special dessert department of my stomach free of any other kind of pressure so I can eat a good chunk of Aunt Lisa’s pumpkin pie.

  “Is it good?” I ask, turning to Brody, even though I know all the food’s super delicious. I know that a whole bunch of eyes are on us, especially since everyone’s quiet with eating and drinking their wine and/or beers. Our knees bump together underneath the table, and Brody smiles over at me, his cheeks practically bulging like a chipmunk with all the food he’s eating.

  It’s endearing and cute, and it makes me smile at him eating so enthusiastically. I feel pretty shit about ignoring him for the last little while, but I needed to speak to my cousins, needed to clear out the air as much as we were able to.

  We couldn’t possibly be going into the hardcore holiday season acting like we hate each other; the friction would become unbearable.

  Brody nods at me, wiping at his mouth delicately after demolishing his portion of mashed potatoes. “It’s like I haven’t eaten food in forever and my appetite has just come back. Everything’s so good. Aunt Lisa, everything’s delicious. Worth the wait,” Brody calls out, and I’m appalled to find my aunt blushing, waving away Brody’s compliment while the rest of us jump in and praise her with more and more ludicrous compliments.

  Izzy and Evie try to out-do each other by using stupid adjectives and the word ‘queen’ and make the entire table laugh.

  I catch my mom’s eye, glaring at her when she glances away. I then look over at my dad who gives me an unapologetic grin that speaks absolute volumes. I’m thinking that in their heads, Brody and I are finally ready to seal the deal and we’re gonna get married in the new year.

  Real life doesn’t work that way.

  Would I even want to get married to Brody?

  While we’re getting a second chance with each other, yeah, I don’t want to jinx anything. I don’t want to pour all my hopes in Brody, in a potential future together a second time around, when this might all blow up in my face again.

  It’s nice, though, having him next to me, having him be a presence in my corner. It’s nice that my uncles and aunts don’t bug me about dating, and my mom has to make an excuse to the room at large for me working long hours, working too hard when all she wants in life are grandbabies.

  It’s always made me uncomfortable, that kind of talk, like all of my accomplishments are worth nothing in the face of a legal piece of paper tying me to another human being, especially the human being that they all want me to be with—a whole Brody Kane.

  I occupy myself by leaning over to grab at the dish with the mashed potatoes, lifting it up and adding a huge serving for Brody on his plate.

  We’ve been here before, dozens of times when we were dating. At whatever family gathering we have here, Aunt Lisa always makes enough to bring to a food drive if we don’t finish it and her family of four won’t be able to destroy all the leftovers. I know there’s enough food.

  Brody’s face goes bright red as I serve him potatoes, then I ask the general question to the table if anybody else wants, before getting the general consensus that everyone’s still on their first serving and putting the dish back down on the table and resuming my seat.

  “Thank you,” Brody says, and then keeps complimenting the food, prompting my aunt to take a healthy sip of her red wine.

  It makes me grin.

  Vick, sitting on Brody’s other side, coaxes him into a conversation about a videogame I’ve never even heard of (but I don’t know much outside of Mario Kart), and I let the conversation wash over me, begrudgingly admiring how easily he seems to fit in with everyone.

  It’s like Brody never really left, instead we just put a pin in time, kept this moment in place while everyone decided to age and grow into their own selves. Evie and Izzy make appreciative glances at Brody, which they have been doing since they were fourteen years old.

  I get it, I do.

  But also, stop.

  I shake my head at myself, making the perfect bite of turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potato and gravy and bringing it to my lips, giving a happy wiggle at the party of flavors in my mouth.

  Max and Izzy start bickering about clean makeup brands versus vegan brands, and I don’t really belong in that conversation either, although I’m happy to listen.

  I keep eating, watching and listening to my family (Uncle Tristan and Uncle Isaac murmuring about stocks, and my parents are murmuring about something all the way across the table where my dad is ticking stuff off with his fingers, one by one).

  Aunt Lisa leans back and watches, too, her wine glass in hand, savouring the flavor, as she watches her family eating the food that she made (most of it from scratch unless you count that she obviously didn’t go out to no fields in the middle of November to pick up the lettuce for the salad). She has a proud smile on her face, her eyes at half-mast, watching everyone and everything.

  We make eye contact, her eyebrows lifting as she salutes me with her wine glass before downing the rest of it then placing the glass on the table. She glances over to where Brody sits, talking over me as I’m leaned all the way close to the table now, talking to Vick about that game (maybe it’s called Raid on Sky Castle?) she’s always playing, multi-player or whatever, I’m just not sure.

  The artwork and storyline are pretty amazing though, and I remember during grad school when I needed to not think at all about the human body or else find myself reciting tendons and ligaments at any given moment, flushing with panic if I forgot one for a split second, shocking myself with my own stupidity, I’d go over to Vick’s and just watch her play. The background noise and story kept my mind occupied, and effectively reduced my studying anxiety.

  It was great.

  Brody’s animated, engaged, and I love that, I really, really do. I can see it all over Vick’s face when I turn to look at her, her eyes big and wide, a perma-smile on her lips as she talks about the game and her stats, and Brody freaks out, thoroughly impressed.

  That’s my cousin. Badass all around. Pro-gamer extraordinaire.

  There are conversations going on that I listen to for the most part, ignoring that sizzling in my veins, the one that’s going to trip me up when the conversation inevitably turns towards Brody and me.

  They’re curious, I know everyone’s curious, and while I threw him to the wolves before, I was hoping that Brody would put everyone straight, but we’re the Prewitts and we like to beat around the bush instead of going in for the kill right off the bat.

  We like to give our prey a sense of security before we royally mess them up.

  “So…” Dad says, and again, betrayed by my own father, the other half of my DNA. Really?

  Oh, no. Shit.

  “So…” Max says, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth, coming to my rescue when I’m still not sure that I deserve it. “Uncle Alastor, did Aunt Meg let you come out like that?”

  I guffaw, an ugly sort of laugh that is two parts relief and one part incredulity because Max can talk her way out of everything, but this is probably not one of those times.

  “What are you saying, kid?” Dad says, squinting at her, knocking Uncle Isaac on the chest, and pointing towards his eldest daughter, all ‘get a load of this shit’.

  “Just wondering about your style choices. We don’t support the Habs in this household,” Max says, even though it isn’t her house, and my uncle Tristan doesn’t give a shit about hockey when American football is more his speed.

  My dad laughs, glancing down at the logo of the Habs shirt he’s wearing underneath his ‘nice’ flannel popping through, and then waves it off. But now it’s fair game, and I’m in the middle of it.