Maybe that was why things were complicated with Vic, and it had never even had anything to do with me. I wanted to know more. I wanted Vic’s story and how it compared to Gabe’s. Maybe it was similar and that was their only connection? Maybe they were together – when they possibly didn’t like each other like that – because they both needed someone on their side.
I still hadn’t told my mom because she was all I had left. She had gay friends, but having gay friends and having a gay son are two totally different things. There was the tiniest part of me that thought, every time I considered telling her,What if that makes her hate you?
I imagined getting kicked out and told never to come back. I didn’t know where I would go. To Ava’s, probably, but I couldn’t stay forever. Then the nightmare daydream spiraled into an Orville Peck music video montage where I’m traveling across wood-paneled Middle America searching for meaning and a home.
But Gabe hadn’t been kicked out. If his parents just ignored it, how was that? Was it better that way?
‘Holy shit.’ Ava popped up between us. Today her hairnet had topaz gems to match her copper-colored nails. ‘The energy here isverydark.’
Gabe and I both tried to laugh, but we knew she was right. ‘I should go check on my tables,’ he said. ‘Be right back.’
It was nice being able to use the tables as an excuse to defuse a situation. As soon as the awkwardness was gone, anyone could jump right back and talk about anything and it was like the depressing conversation had never happened.
‘What did I interrupt, and do I get athank youor ahateyou?’
‘It can’t be both?’ I asked. I grabbed a tray and went to check on my tables. I spun around and pointed at her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hate you.’ She blew me a kiss.
While resetting my final table, I heard a knock from across the room. I turned to see Al at the formal dining room door. He waved an envelope through the window. I rolled my eyes and laughed as I went out into the salon.
‘How were the old turkeys?’ he asked. He smelled like whiskey. Jim Beam, specifically. I knew because my pop-pop used to be a Jim Beam fan, too. Every time I smelled it, my brain immediately grasped for the tobacco smell from his pipe, reminding me that it should accompany the whiskey, but not getting why it was missing.
‘Gobbled everything up.’
He snickered and handed me the envelope. ‘I didn’t want to miss you.’
‘Thank you, Al.’ I took the envelope without arguing this time. ‘You guys could have ordered sick trays; I was delivering today.’
I knew where they were. Willa and Al had their own tradition. They got loaded and watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Then later, after a disco nap, they would order Indian and watchIt’s a Wonderful Life, the first of their Christmas movie nights, which moved to Friday nights leading up to Christmas Eve.
Al patted his belly. ‘Saving room for the saag paneer I’m going to demolish later.’
‘I’ve got to tell my mom we should do Indian for Thanksgiving one of these days.’
‘You’ll never go back to dry-ass turkey again.’ Al waved at someone behind me, and I turned to see Gabe waving back from the casual dining room. ‘How are things with him?’
I bit my lip, trying not to look too embarrassed.
Al rolled his eyes and flicked his hand at me as he started to walk away. ‘You’re hopeless.’
‘Happy Thanksgiving, Al!’
‘I’m thankful I’m not a teenager anymore.’
‘Tell me that again when you break a hip.’ He flipped me off, and I laughed.
‘I think John’s the one for me,’ my mom said from the couch across the room.
‘Huh?’
She pointed at the TV. ‘The Asian guy making his sweet potato pie leftovers into a scallion pancake and the cranberry sauce into a sweet-and-sour reduction to dip it in.’
‘Oh yeah. He’s definitely resourceful.’ I was barely paying attention to the show. I was too busy texting Gabe.
He’d sent me a bunch of pictures of his family meal – it really was huge. And now he was back at home watching some HBO show. I sent him a picture of the food on the TV, and he responded by asking what it was and how soon I could make it.
I chuckled to myself.
