I was still mortified.
Mom had trailed behind Jay silently for a while, fixing whatever he messed with — the thermostat he kept cranking, thefridge he left open after getting another beer, the cabinet door he let slam hard enough to rattle the shelves. But eventually, she just gave up.
By the time the casseroles went in the oven and the football games started, the beautiful holiday I’d imagined was gone. The whole day had dissolved in front of me — one humiliating, heartbreaking moment at a time.
And now, we were less than ten minutes from dinner being ready and it was pure chaos.
“Come on, Georgie. You gotta man up! Not gonna be a boy forever!” Jay was screaming so loud I was sure all our neighbors in the apartment building could hear. He shoved my little brother down to the ground, rolling his eyes when Georgie cried before Jay was screaming for him to stand again.
“Don’t cry like a girl. Get mad! Fight back!”
He pushed Georgie again and my heart cracked.
He wasn’t hurting him, the shoves soft enough to just land Georgie on his butt. But the kid was just barely six years old, and I could see it in his eyes — it was the same emotion I’d grown up with my whole life.
Fear.
Shane’s hand swept across my lower back gently, but I still winced, my cortisol levels through the roof. I turned to him wide-eyed, and my fingers curled in his sweater as I clung to him. “I am so sorry. I’m… I’m mortified.” My eyes grew wider when I spotted the water I was boiling for the stuffing spilling over onto our stovetop. “Shit!”
Jay carried on in the living room as I ran to handle the mess before I burned the whole place down. Everything seemed to be happening all at once: the stuffing needed to go in the water, the rolls needed to go in the oven, the casseroles needed to come out, I needed to whip up the gravy, Jay needed to go the fuck to sleepor something, and Mom was so useless all I wanted her to do was get out of my way.
My heart was aching beneath all the panic, the sour reality of the holiday at war with what I’d had pictured in my mind. I was naïve to think we could host a beautiful, calm holiday with my family here, that we could have a normal dinner where everyone smiled and went around the table saying what they were thankful for.
ThankGodShane’s grandparents couldn’t make it.
I shuddered at the thought of them being here to witness the disaster.
Somewhere in the background as I dashed around the kitchen, I heard my mom try to wrangle Jay. It was a feeble attempt, and he screamed at her for it before lifting his hand in warning. He seemed to remember where he was before he put it back down and sulked on the couch, draining the beer in his hand before storming to get another.
My lungs seized.
How were we supposed to do this?
How were we just supposed to sit down and have dinner with him in this state?
Panic clawed at my throat.
Suddenly, the television cut out.
“Hey!” Jay screamed. “The game is on!”
“I thought we could all play a game ourselves, instead.”
Shane stood with a grin — holding two Nintendo Wii controllers in his hands.
He handed one to Georgie and then to Jay. “What do you say? Some good old-fashioned competition? Georgie, I’ll be on your team. Bowling or tennis first?”
Jay grumbled, but I could see it in his glazed eyes — his interest was piqued. He was nothing if not competitive. “Bowling.”
“You’re on!” Shane said, and the way he was smiling, the way he bent down to Georgie and helped him pull bowling up on the screen before talking him through the controls like nothing wrong had happened all day…
It wrecked me.
Tears flooded my eyes when Shane glanced up and found my gaze across the room.
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
He smirked, winking at me like it was nothing.
