“Oh, you’re going to get it,” he says to me as he starts drawing cards.
“What did I do?” I laugh out loud at the question and hold up my hand, which still holds at least nine cards. “I’m an innocent bystander, and you’re a sore loser, projecting your insecurity on me, JP.”
“Look at that! The therapist is inflicting the trauma!” Charlie teases.
“That’s how I collect my patients,” I tease back, and he howls with laughter.
“Oh, I do like her!” JP’s mom, Sofia, says, sipping her wine. “Julia, you must give me your address before you leave. I’ll send you a Christmas card.”
“I’m just glad he’s finally over Audrey—the cheater,” Anna adds, though it’s almost garbled sounding as she holds her glass up to her lips. Bianca pinches her. “Ow!”
“You can’t say things like that!” Bianca scolds as Sofia says something to her daughter in Italian. Bianca turns to me, “Pay no mind to her. We like you all on your own.”
I smile at them and say, “No worries.” Even if I do, in fact, have worries. “We’re just friends.”
Bianca eyes me. “Yeah, right.”
Are we toeing the line? Are we more than we agreed to be? Are we faking it for his family and are they going to be pissed he brought some girl he’s not really dating? Because let’s face it, you don’t invite situationships to Thanksgiving to play Uno with your parents and become besties with Zio Roberto.
JP is still drawing cards and I can’t read his expression.
“Don’t you worry, sweetie. We’re all so happy you’re here,” Aunt Evelyn says from across the table, and I nod, wishing my cheeks weren’t so flushed.
“Mark my words! These two are getting married!” JP’s dad, George, throws in.
Charlie hoots out a laugh. “He’d be a fool not to!”
Bianca and Sofia laugh while Anna says, “You’re drunk, Unc!”
I don’t miss Bianca murmur, “But probably telling the truth.”
“I’d bet my top dollar!” his mother hollers, and the table laughs louder.
“It’s bottom dollar, Sofia,” George corrects.
“What? Why is bottom and not top?” she asks, with dramatic hand gestures.
George shrugs.
I try not to laugh. She just might be my favorite mother I’ve ever encountered.
“Because the English language never makes sense, even when two people do,” Bianca explains.
The saliva in my mouth grows sticky as I swallow hard, knowing JP’s gaze is on me. I don’t have to look at him to know. I can feel it like the warm sun on my skin. Against my better judgment, I glance at him. There’s a soft smile pulling at his lips and a wistful expression in his eyes.
“Well, it’s my turn,” Aunt Evelyn says, tossing down her last card and making us break eye contact. “Quit drawing cards, JP. I win.”
I clap for her while Sofia says, “You didn’t say Uno!”
“So, neither did you,” Evelyn adds, standing. “I’m going to smoke out front.”
“I thought you have to say Uno,” Bianca argues, and there seems to be much discussion about whether or not to challenge Aunt Evelyn’s win.
There is so much joy and chaos and love at this table that my eyes start to prickle as I try to let it all soak in. It reminds me of a happier time—back when my dad was alive and my mother didn’t hold everything against me.
JP’s sisters are still arguing and Uncle Charlie gets up to get more pie, just as my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket.
I quickly excuse myself from the table, but no one hears. Each person is engrossed in their own argument, jest, or post-Thanksgiving dessert.
