The table is full of the usual suspects. In addition to my parents, Owen, Carolina, and their two daughters, Savannah and Kennedy, Carolina's sister and her family are here. Georgia's daughters, one in her late teens, the other in her early twenties, each have a significant other with them. I didn't catch their names, so in my mind, they're Dude Number One and Dude Number Two. Aiden walks in without a moment to spare. Owen's client and his wife round out our party of seventeen.
I've never had a date for a family function. At least this year, I'm not the single spinster loser who has to sit with the kids because she doesn't have a grown-up relationship.
Why is it that Aiden gets to be the funcle, but I'm a spinster? He's thirty-five and not married. Societal roles are stupid.
Dinner is about as New England as you can get. Turkey, oyster stuffing, cranberry everything. It's all delicious and flawless, as is everything my brother and sister-in-law do. Even their children are well-mannered and impeccably groomed.
Georgia's girls are less so, obviously bored and talking only to their dates. When they're not on their phones, that is.
Owen's client—I've already forgotten his name as well—asks Xavier, "What part of England are you from? I'm having difficulty placing the accent."
Xavier swallows what's in his mouth because of course he'd just taken a bite. "Just outside of Gloucester, toward Bristol. It's southwest England."
"What brings you to the states?"
"Football." Xavier takes another bite, probably because he doesn't want to have this conversation.
"Soccer football, not American football. Xavier's a professional soccer player. He's totally awesome. He used to play in England, but now he's here."
Owen's head turns toward Xavier. "Oh? What team? Anyone I've heard of?"
I wish I could stick my foot in my mouth if only to shut me up. Instead, I shovel in another mouthful of mashed potatoes, which sits like lead.
"Currently, I've a contract with the Baltimore Terrors, but I'd been pursuing a trade to the Boston Buzzards."
"I didn't know we even had a soccer team here." That helpful—and mortifying—contribution is from my mom. "Did you know that?" she asks my dad.
"What do you do besides play soccer?" Owen asks. "Surely you must have other ventures for when your career ends. You know, you're only ever one slide tackle away from being done."
I'm not sure where this colossal bunch of assholes came from. I'm starting to think that Xavier and I would have been better off sitting in his car and eating turkey sandwiches from Subway.
Aiden chimes in, "Oh—isn't that true of all of us? You're only one lost trial away from failure. I'm only one bad horse delivery away from getting a bad rep. We're all only ever one mistake or unfortunate event away from disaster at any given time." He looks at Xavier. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."
"When my career is finally done"—he gives me a sideways glance—"I'll return home and help with the family business. Currently, I financially support them, but when I can't do that, I'll contribute in person."
Even though I sort of knew this, my chest tightens at his words. If he's in England, he'll never text from my doorstep again. I'll never see him again. The food in my mouth turns to sawdust.
"And what exactly does your family do?" Carolina gently places her fork down.
"We run a wildlife rescue center."
"So cool," Aiden says. "What type?"
It's my turn to look at Xavier. "Why'd I think it was a farm?"
"We have land, naturally, and barns, in addition to the aviary."
"The what?" He did not say what I think he said.
"The aviary. We rescue birds of prey and rehabilitate them. We're all falconers by training."
I feel the color drain from my face.
Birds.
Big birds. Scary birds. Birds that could kill me.
My husband is a bird man.
