The van swayed a little as I studied her between glances at the road, making the guy in the next lane lean on his horn. “I thought you said your family wasn’t spending Thanksgiving together this year because your aunt is sick.”
“She is. My mom’s taking care of her.” I knew Vero and her cousin were close—she’d been living on his couch before she’d moved in with us—but when it came to everything else about her family, Vero was unusually quiet. In the month she’d lived with us, her family had never called the house, and even though her mother and aunt both lived just over the bridge in Maryland, as far as I knew, Vero hadn’t once gone to visit them.
“If Ramón is home, why aren’t you having dinner with him?”
Vero’s answering laugh was dry. “Ramón’s idea of a home-cooked meal is mac and cheese out of the box. Besides, I’d rather spend the holiday with you.” She turned toward the window. I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me, but as we turned in to my parents’ neighborhood, I opted to let it go. She would confide in me when she was ready. Families were weird sometimes. I should know.
My mom and dad still lived in the same house Georgia and I grew up in, a brick-faced two-story colonial in what had once been a quieter suburb in Burke. My mother swung open the front door as I pulled into their driveway. HerGRANDMAS FIX EVERYTHINGapron was speckled with oil and dusted with flour. The mouthwatering smell of roast turkey and stuffing wafted from the house as I roused the children and ushered them inside. Five days each year, I was glad to live so close to my parents. The other three hundred and sixty? Maybe not so much.
My mother frowned at Delia’s hair as she corralled her in the foyer for a hug. The short blond spikes had grown at least an inch since an incident involving duct tape and a pair of scissors, and Vero had combed them to the side before we left, pinning them in place with pink barrettes. “Look how much you’ve grown! It feels like I haven’t seen you in months!”
“You saw the kids last week, Ma.” Diaper bag over one arm and a pumpkin pie in the other, I plunked Zach into my mother’s waiting hands. She wiped a smear of chocolate from his cheek, frowning at me as she kissed it. Nose wrinkling, she reached for the diaper bag.
“Sorry. I changed him just before we left, but we got stuck in traffic.”
Georgia appeared in the foyer, an open beer already in hand. Our mother rolled her eyes skyward, giving it up to god. “What?” Georgia asked, the picture of innocence. “It’s five o’clock.”
“Maybe at the Vatican,” Ma muttered. She brightened when Vero dragged the two Rollaboards over the threshold. “Vero, sweetheart, it’s good to see you. So glad you could join us.” Zach giggled as they exchanged an awkward hug around him.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Leave the bags,” my mother said, gesturing loosely to the base of the stairs as she closed the door.
“Hey, Vero. Happy Thanksgiv—oomph!” Georgia’s breath rushed out in a grunt as Delia plowed into her, wrapping my sister’s legs in a bone-crushing hug.
“Aunt Georgia, will you come to my school next week? It’s Work Day.”
“Work Day?”
“Career Day,” I clarified, setting the pie on the hall table and stripping off my coat.
Delia jumped on her toes. “I told my friends you’re a policeman and they want to see your gun.”
Georgia ruffled Delia’s hair, shaking loose a barrette. “I’ll talk to your mom about it. Go find your pop. I think he’s hoarding the cookies.” Delia took off for the living room, where the sounds of a football game were blasting from the television. Georgia raised her beer to us in salute. Before the mouth of the bottle reached her lips, our mother thrust Zach against my sister’s chest. Georgia’s cop reflexes kicked in and she caught Zach with her free arm as he slid down her sweater.
“You can change Zach in the guest room,” Mom said, dropping the diaper bag at Georgia’s feet.
Georgia’s eyes went wide.
Vero backed away, hands raised. “Don’t look at me. It’s my day off.” She retreated to the living room, pressing a kiss to my father’s cheek and plopping down beside him on the couch.
Georgia sniffed, her pursed lips making Zach giggle. “Take him, Finn. I’m not qualified to handle this one.” She held him out to me. I was certain she’d be more comfortable dismantling a bomb.
I plucked her beer from her other hand instead, sliding the straps of the diaper bag over it until the bag dangled from her arm like a jacket on a coatrack. “Think of it as a tactical bag,” I said with a reassuring pat.
Georgia eyed the diaper bag, my name a soft plea on her lips as I took a long swig of her beer and turned for the kitchen, following the buttery-sweet smell of candied sweet potatoes and stuffing. Sinking into a chair at the kitchen table, I closed my eyes and sipped, grateful for a few moments of peace.
Something heavy thunked down on the table in front of me. I opened one eye. The bowl of green beans was piled high, a tangle of pods and stems. “Work on these while I baste,” my mother said, drawing on her kitchen mitts. I set down my beer with a sigh as she hauled a steaming turkey from the oven.
“How’s your book coming?”
“Great,” I lied.
My mother looked at me askance as her baster sucked juices from the bottom of the pan. “Have they paid you yet?”
“Only half. I get the rest when I finish.”IfI finished.
“Put that half in savings. Just in case.”
