Page 49 of Kind of Cursed
“—about something else,” I manage, hoarsely. I’ve never cried in front of a client, but I’ve had a couple of close calls. The first euthanasia I did at the clinic when I watched an eleven-year-old girl say goodbye to her very best friend. My grief rose right up to the surface at the sight of hers, recognizing a member of my new tribe. The time a woman about my age casually mentioned going to New Orleans for Father’s Day.
Both times, I’d made it through the appointment before falling apart in the bathroom for a good ten minutes.
Mrs. Louise is our last appointment today. I can fall apart when she’s gone.
But by the time we get an e-collar that actually fits poor Millie, the crisis has passed. Even so, Kath notices.
“You okay?” she asks, locking up the side exit.
I nod. “Just thinking about my mom.”
Kath’s mouth pinches in sympathy. “Is it the kitchen again?”
“What?” I asked startled. “Oh, no. Since Monday, it’s been good.”
I’d filled her in on Emmett’s meltdown and the smashfest. I still couldn’t bring myself to talk about the lingerie debacle. But the rest of the week went a lot more smoothly. The four sets of noise-cancelling headphones we got at Best Buy Tuesday afternoon have proven to be a good investment. At least no one can say the renovation is interfering with homework.
And Luc has been there every afternoon.
But he won’t be there today.
My stomach gives a little plunge of disappointment at this thought, and I scold myself for it. Of course, he’s not going to be there today. It’s Saturday. And I shouldn’t feel disappointed anyway. Why should I feel disappointed that I won’t see my contractor until Monday?
I hope I see him Monday.
I give my head a violent shake.
Kath frowns at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I snort a derisive laugh at myself. “Nothing outside of the usual crazy.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Oh, well, if that’s all.” Then she bites her lip. “I wanted to ask you something.” Her voice is lower, more cautious. David, one of our techs is still here, sweeping up in the back but the rest of the office is empty.
“Yeah?”
“Jake and I wanted to invite you and your family to our house for Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving.
At first, it’s like she’s speaking another language. Because Thanksgiving means Mom, Dad, Harry, Mattie, Emmett, me—sometimes Aunt Pru and Uncle Bill when they aren’t on yet another cruise—and Mom’s traditional menu. Cranberry-beet chutney, cornbread dressing, butternut squash and kale gratin, and, of course, roast turkey. And for the last four years, the twins and I have been responsible for the desserts. Together, the day before Thanksgiving, we make three pies: pear, apple, and pumpkin.
Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away, and I haven’t thought about it once. Because how can there be a Thanksgiving without Mom and Dad?
I stare at Kath, my lips parted, unable to speak. And she’s watching me, patiently. Compassionately. And not at all like I’m an imbecile.
“You don’t have to give me an answer right now—”
“Kath—”
“It’ll just be me, Jake, Daniel, and my in-laws, and we’d love to have you,” says my sweet, kind-hearted friend.
“I-I… I’ll have to ask the kids,” I say, knowing already this is going to be hard. All of it. The holidays are going to suck, and somehow, I’ve got to get us safely through to January 2nd.How the hell am I going to do that?
But we have to have Thanksgiving somewhere. It’s not like our kitchen is an option—even if my cooking didn’t inspire mutiny. And we’re not about to have our first Thanksgiving without Mom and Dad in a restaurant.
I take a deep breath and accept yet another reality check.
I force a smile. “If they’re all on board, could I bring some store-bought pies for dessert?”
