Naturally, Jude listens more than he talks. But when someone asks him a question, he answers thoughtfully. He compliments the food sincerely without overdoing it. At one point, Mom asks him what Thanksgiving was like growing up, and I tense, ready to redirect.
But Jude handles it. “We didn’t do much for holidays,” he says simply. “But I remember going to a relative’s house a couple of times when I was very young. I don’t remember her name, but she made a really good sweet potato casserole.”
“Was it as good as mine?” Mom asks with a competitive glint.
“Yours is way better,” he says, and he sounds sincere.
Mom grins. “I like this one, Liam. You should keep him.”
I laugh. “I intend to.”
Kara’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. She recovers quickly, but I see it. The slight tightening around her eyes. The way her smile stiffens for just a beat before she resumes eating.
I’m going to get an ulcer if this keeps up.
After dinner, everyone settles into that warm, overfed haze that always happens on Thanksgiving. The kids are in the back room watching a movie. Connor is on the couch with my dad, the two of them deep in a drunken debate about whether the ski resort has been good or bad for the town. Jack is helpingDana do the dishes because Mom guilted him into it, and Kara is helping Mom wrap leftovers, chatting easily about a property she just listed.
I spy Jude on the back porch. He’s standing at the railing, beer in hand, looking out at the dark pines that line the backyard. His expression is pensive.
“Hey.” I step out and close the door behind me. “You okay?”
“Of course.” He glances at me. “Your family is really nice, Liam.”
“They like you.”
He gives a doubtful half-smile. “They’re polite. They wouldn’t show it if they didn’t.”
“Ha. That’s what you think.” I lean against the railing beside him. “My mom doesn’t fake anything. If she didn’t like you, you’d know. And my dad laughed at your jokes. If you can make him laugh, you’re in.”
Jude is quiet, his jaw working. The sounds of the house drift through the door behind us, laughter, the clink of dishes, the low murmur of conversation. Normal family sounds that I’ve heard my whole life and never thought twice about.
“Today was great, but weird,” he says.
I frown. “Weird how?”
His smile is melancholy. “It was weird being around a family who all like each other so much.” He glances at me. “My parents didn’t like me or each other. And I didn’t care for them much either.”
“You don’t pick your family, right?” I nudge his arm. “But there’s such a thing as found family. You don’t have to share the same blood to have family, Jude.”
“You mean the pack?”
I shrug. “Not just the pack. You can find individual people who fit with you. People you share the same sense of humor and hobbies with. They become like family. You don’t want to lose them.”
He hesitates and then says quietly, “You mean, like you and me?” My chest physically hurts at the hope in his voice. But before I can respond, he laughs harshly and turns away. “God, I must be drunk. What a lame thing to say.”
I grab his arm before he can go inside. “No, don’t run away, Jude.”
He stops, but his head is down and I can feel his embarrassment. The muscles of his bicep are tense under my fingers, and I have the strangest urge to pull him into my arms to comfort him.
“You are like family to me,” I say huskily. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
He looks up at me under his brows. “You don’t have to say that. I shouldn’t have said what I said. Sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize.” I swallow hard. “I’m… I’m glad you feel close to me, Jude. I feel close to you too. Real close.”
The door opens behind us and I quickly let go of his arm. Mom pokes her head out. “If you two are done being antisocial, there’s pie.”
“Uh, we’ll be right in Mom.” I pray I sound normal. I don’t feel normal. Something is going on with me and Jude, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
