I wanted to tell her how I feel. I think she might be ready for that, but I’m terrified I’m not. My one-night stands haven’t exactly turned me into a relationship guy, which only reminds me that there’s a reason I’ve never been in one before. Everyone around me knows the truth. My mom and Aunt Carol have drilled into me how terrible the Carter men are. When we came to Roots, I had hoped changing my last name to match my mom’s would be enough to distance me from the terrible legacy the Carters have left, but even my closest friend has told me I’m not enough. I can’t even imagine what Charlie would think if he found out?—
Beep! Beep! Beep!The sound of the smoke detector screeching throughout the house pulls me from my thoughts. I leap from the couch, searching for the cause, but it doesn’t take long to spot the big black cloud billowing from the oven. Aunt Carol pulls a charred turkey out of it, and Mom grabs the burnt stuffing out after her, fanning the smoke.
“Well, I guess we’re going out for dinner tonight.” There’s defeat in Aunt Carol’s voice. I can’t blame her. Mom has always cooked the turkey because she’s been so busy with Resilient Paws, the dog rescue she runs right in her backyard. This year, she had time to help prepare dinner because of all the work Olivia has been stepping in to help with, but her attempt clearly failed.
Unable to refrain, I snap a picture of the crusty turkey and send it to Lauren.
Me
Do you know where all the failed turkey chefs go to eat on Thanksgiving?
I instantly regret sending the text. I’m not sure this is the way to break our recent bout of tension, but to my surprise, she immediately responds. Maybe we needed something light-hearted to get our relationship back on track.
Lauren
Oh no! Maybe there’s a Bucc-ee’s open?
Me
We aren’t getting Thanksgiving dinner from a gas station
Hey! You could do much worse than Bucc-ee’s!
I can’t hold in my laughter. She’s not wrong. Texas’s most infamous gas station has everything from refrigerator magnets to swimsuits as well as a vast selection of food, which isn’t half bad. I used to beg my mom to take me to Bucc-ee’s for a brisket sandwich and an Icee, but the nearest one is easily an hour away, so I was often unsuccessful.
“What’re you smiling about? Dinner’s ruined,” Aunt Carol sasses as Mom tries to look over my shoulder.
I pull my phone tightly toward my chest, but another text vibrates.
“Oh, I bet he’s texting Lauren!” Her smile is radiant, and it surprises me. I wouldn’t expect the same woman who told me all Carter men are scum to be the one who supports me having a relationship with someone she likes as much as Lauren.
Lauren
Dad just pulled the brisket off the smoker. It still needs another 30 mins to rest and as usual he made way too much. Y’all should come over
“How do you two feel about Thanksgiving brisket at the Rhodes’?”
“I don’t care where or what we eat. I’ll take anything besides this burnt turkey.” Aunt Carol throws down her oven mitt on the counter, grabbing her coat and heading toward the front door without further discussion.
“How about we play a few games of poker to round out the night?” Mr. Rhodes offers as we finish cleaning up after our spectacular dinner. I don’t understand how he could spend so long making that delicious brisket and not even eat it for dinner tonight.
“I don’t know, Dad. You get a little excited when you play.” Lauren pins him with a look.
“Come on. It’s Thanksgiving! I want to play poker with my family, like we always do. I’m not ready to give up everything I love in life.”
I look between him and his daughter, noting the sudden shift, but Mr. Rhodes simply claps his hands together and presses on a smile. “Are you three in for a game?”
I glance at Mom, weary. Growing up, poker wasn’t something I learned how to play. In our house, it wasn’t just a game. It was a trigger for a cascade of darkness.
Mom gives me a gentle nod before she says, “Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve played a hand, so you’ll have to remind me of the rules.”
At her words, Mr. Rhodes’s face fills with joy. Grabbing a deck of cards, he takes his spot back at the dinner table, explaining as he shuffles.
My stomach churns as the cards feather together in his hands. Sweat beads on my palms, and as I brush them off on my jeans, I try to remind myself I’m safe. My dad isn’t here to hurt us, and I’m not my father. I don’t need to ruin their tradition just because of things that happened years ago. A few games of poker can’t hurt, especially the way the Rhodes family plays it. It’s the most innocent version out there. They use chips to place bets, but they never actually put any money on the line. For them, the only reward in the game is the pride of winning.
We make it a full time around the table before anyone folds, but once it starts, everything unravels quickly.
“I fold.” Mrs. Rhodes groans, setting her cards down.
