“Can you two sit at a dinner table amicably?” Daniel said to Mark and his son. He really was a middle school principal. “Or is there something we need to discuss further?”
Mark was flexing his hand like he’d broken his knuckles, which, Zeke thought, was absurd. He hadn’t hit himthathard, not that Zeke had ever been in fistfights before and not that Zeke would have minded if Markhadbroken his knuckles. Sybil could probably swoop in and cover all of his surgeries, though Zeke was well aware this wasn’t actually how it worked. But he thought it should have worked that way. There wasn’t much that he thought Sybil couldn’t actually do.
“I can,” Zeke said. “Though I think I am owed an apology.”
“Well, I just have an issue with the fact that Zeke Rodriguez is sleeping with my wife,” Mark said, and this time, whatever Sybil was holding—it turned out to be a tureen of gravy—landed on the floor.
“What the actual fuck?” Charlie squealed, but not with any sort of rancor.
“Oh my god,” Eloise said.
“I’m not—” Zeke started, but Sybil cut him off. He wanted to defend himself because, of course, they weren’t sleeping together. But also? It’s not like Zeke hadn’t thought about it. It’s not like Zeke hadn’t thought about ita lot.
“Mark Foster,” she snapped. “Zeke is a friend. A dear friend.And he has been here for me while you have been busy gettinganesthetized”—she said this like he had been getting dipped in venom—“and I won’t even dignify your comments.” She shook her head, and only then seemed to notice the gravy all over her seagrass runner. Her entire body slumped.
“I can make an excellent gravy,” Zeke’s mom said, and he smiled at her, grateful, because she could. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh,” Sybil said. “No, I can—”
“Syb,” Zeke said, knowing full well what he was doing, baiting Mark. “Stop. Let her. You’ve done enough. Come on, let’s go sit outside, let everyone else take care of this for once.”
As if on cue, Pluto bounded into the kitchen and began cleaning up the gravy with his tongue.
Zeke watched Sybil soften, relax under his gaze, even with the surrounding chaos.
“Okay.” She nodded at him, then opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas for his jaw.
“Okay,” he replied.
They slipped out the sliding glass doors as the rest of them, or at least Zeke’s family and Simone, got to work doing everything that Sybil had put on herself. Zeke pulled out a chair at the outdoor table for Sybil.
“Thank you. That was very chivalrous,” she said.
“You know me, ever a white knight,” he replied, pressing the bag of peas against his chin.
She looked at him for a long beat and then erupted in high, staccato laughter. She laughed so hard that she had to double over to stave off a cramp, and when she finally got ahold of herself, her cheeks were tear-streaked, and then she started up all over again.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I don’t know if I am so tired that I’mdelirious or if this is actually the funniest thing that has ever happened to me.”
“This is definitely just what our forefathers envisioned at the Thanksgiving meal,” Zeke said. “Chaos and fistfights.”
“They all died at like, thirty-five,” Sybil said. “That made marriage much easier.”
“I’m thirty-four. Jesus,” Zeke said. What if he’d lived in a time when he had only a year left? What if the only thing his obituary said about him was that he was once a Hall of Famer, but now all of his records had been surpassed by someone younger, better, harder-throwing, harder-working? He swore to himself that as soon as Thanksgiving was over, he was going to actually try to give a fuck about his rehab, about returning for spring training.
“And I refuse to tell you exactly how old I am,” Sybil said.
“Whatever it is, I like it.”
“It’s old.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.” She held his gaze and heat grew in his chest.
“Did you know that Betty had never celebrated Thanksgiving?” she said. “That makes me sad. But also, isn’t that…I don’t know, odd?”
“It does seem like she’s not telling us…everything,” he replied.
