I escape down the hall and out the French doors on the opposite end of the hallway, just as I swipe open the Facetime call from Emily.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Emily shouts immediately while holding a baby bean on her shoulder, nestled next to her perfectly curled hair. Mom is standing next to her, wearing a forest green Angora sweater and maroon lipstick.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” I reply, standing under the porch light.
“Are you outside? Wasn’t there an ice storm?” Mom asks, brow twisted.
“I just stepped out for a second to talk to you,” I reply.
“Are you crazy? It’s freezing! Or at least it is every time I’ve ever been to Chicago. It’s bone cold—the worst,” she adds.
I smile politely and nod once, no desire to respond.
“Where are you? I hate that you’re alone on Thanksgiving. We miss you,” Emily says.
“I miss you too. But I’m not alone. I went to a friend’s house,” I admit, though I intentionally don’t say who. I don’t want to answer questions about my whereabouts.
“Well, I told you to fly out two days ago so you wouldn’t have to have dealt with this and not be here with us,” Mom cuts in.
“You’re right, Mom.” Her comment is unnecessary but so is the need to argue.
Because, yes, I could have flown out days ago so I wouldn’t have dealt with my flight being canceled, but I also wouldn’t behere.
This weird, melancholy sadness tugs at my heart. A part of me misses my sister and wishes I could be there to see her and the baby. But deep down, I realize I don’t miss being there at all. The twisted emotion swirls in my chest. I love my family, but I don’t want to be with them.
“How’s baby Alyson?” I ask.
“Oh, you know, milk drunk as usual.” Emily shifts my niece in her arms so I can see her squishy face. She still loosely resembles an old man with a pink bow, but I’d never say it out loud.
I make a quick noise of affection. “I wish I could snuggle her. Did you all have a good time tonight?”
“Yes, it was quite lovely. The Wellingtons stopped by for a bit. Do you remember that publisher, Bennedict Tilbury? He was here with his wife, Anita. Though, we didn’t care so much for her.” Mom laughs and Emily smiles a smile that tells me she realizes Mom is about to hijack the conversation and cut me down one way or another.
“Well, we love you, Julia. But we’ll let you get back to your friend. Happy Thanksgiving,” she says, saving me from my mother’s impending conversation domination.
“I love you too!” I blow kisses at the phone until the screen goes black.
I smile at my phone as the night air cuts the skin on my face. I breathe it in and let my gaze drift up at the stars and light snow falling. I’m only in my sweater, but I welcome the cold, hoping the snowflakes sober my conflicting emotions.
I sigh, watching the cloud of my breath heat the cold air.
“Hey.” The click of the door’s latch behind me and the sound of his voice make me startle and hold myself tighter. “Everything okay?”
I nod with a tight-lipped smile.
“You sure?” he asks—his eyes unapologetically kinder and my heart uncontrollably softer. He wraps the blanket he brought out around my shoulders and I nestle in the warmth and the scent of his entire life.
“Just on the phone with my mom and sister,” I reassure him, reaching out to take his hand. “Come look at the stars with me.”
He holds me close, his chin resting on my head. “You seem sad. Did someone say something and make it weird? Do you hate being here and wish you ordered delivery from the Golden Corral?” he asks with a coy smile I hear in his voice. “Is it because my dad said we’re getting married, because my parents have been plotting to get their degenerate son hitched for years?”
I laugh—a quick, genuine chuckle that makes my stomach ache and my heart hurt.
As a therapist, I know functional families exist—the kind that are the cliché quirky hodgepodge group of relatives but so safe and loving. But it’s been so long since I’ve truly experienced it.
“No, thank you for having me tonight. I haven’t felt at home somewhere since my dad and grandma died. Holidays with my family became precocious and artificial—just my mom and I tiptoeing around each other, pretending we’re a normal, happyfamily.” He holds me tighter as I speak without hesitation. I can feel his heart thrumming against my back, but I want to say this to his face. I twist to meet his gaze, running a hand over his chest. “Butyouare profoundly normal.”
He laughs and drops his head into the crook of my neck, cocooning me in his arms.
