I could’ve walked in waving a red flag and blowing a foghorn and she still wouldn’t have noticed me. Not when she’s in the zone. My dad likes to joke that he’s nearly lost fingers interrupting her mid-baste.
I kiss her cheek in apology anyway. “Need any help?”
Her eyes widen as if I suggested she add mayonnaise and grape jelly to her stuffing recipe. “Thanks, honey, but absolutely not.”
The last time she let me help in the kitchen was back in elementary school, when Nathan and I volunteered to make cookies for a bake sale. I accidentally dumped a little flour on him, which led to a food fight that somehow ended in us sacrificing our allowance money to cover the cost of new cabinet faces. They had to be replaced because the two of us managed to stain them with egg yolk and food coloring.
“Noted.” I fight a smirk. “I think?—”
Twin squeals echo through the house, cutting me off, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny feet thundering down the hallway. Before I can call out a hello, my nieces barrel into me, shouting, “Uncle Coley! Uncle Coley!”
“Hey, peanuts.” I scoop up Violet, holding her in my left arm so she doesn’t latch on to my right shoulder, which is still sore from a brutal hit into the boards a few days ago. Lily’s going through a stage where she’s too big to be picked up “like a baby,” so she quickly hugs my waist and grins up at me. She’s missing her front tooth, which earned her five dollars and earned me a five-hour story about how magical the Tooth Fairy is.
I only hold their attention for another minute before they race off in search of Darby. Emily and her husband, Zach, appear moments later, arms full of steaming platters. I’m surprised my mom let Emily bring anything, but I hold my tongue. If I question her, I’m liable to get a smaller piece of pecan pie for dessert.
As we gather for dinner a short while later, a pang of sadness runs through me. It’s times like this—when my family’s circled around the table—that Nathan’s absence hurts the most.
Often, the comfort of home makes me feel closer to my brother. There’s the familiarity of the perfume we bought for Mom for Mother’s Day back in middle school—the scent she still wears to this day. The smell of stale cigars in my dad’s office and the memory of when we stole a few to smoke during high school, only for Nathan to have an asthma attack. The dent in the front door from when he threw a skate at it after we’d lost a game, and the rundown treehouse in the backyard where the two of us spent hours planning our futures as the next Wayne Gretzky and Bobby Orr.
Everywhere I look, there are reminders of him. As comforting as they can be, they can also bring a pain I never experienced before we lost him. And sometimes they’re accompanied by a guilt that blankets me completely. Because while I get to keep making memories in this home, with our family, all he’ll ever beisa memory.
“Uncle Coley,” Lily chirps, pulling me back. “Can I sit next to you?”
“Me, too.” Violet scrambles to occupy the seat on my other side. “I’m sitting next to you, too.”
Clearing my throat, I smile at them and help them settle into their seats.
My mom refills everyone’s drink, even topping off Violet’s and Lily’s cups with more grape juice.
“Mom,” Emily sighs, rubbing her forehead. “No juice during dinner.”
“Bah, let me spoil my grandkids.” My mom dismisses her with a flick of her hand, then homes in on me. “It’s not like anyone else is giving me more to spoil.”
Here we go again.
“Darby doesn’t seem to be catching heat for her lack of offspring,” I argue, sinking into my chair.
“At least I’m actively dating.” My sister shoots me a smirk.
One brow arched, I snort at her. “Oh? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
My dad groans and buries his head in his hands. “No fighting. Be thankful that you have one another.”
That shuts us up instantly and sends my heart sinking into my stomach. For all the jabs and bickering, he’s right. I may want to strangle Darby half the time, and Emily might try to micromanage my life like she’s got a clipboard and whistle, but I’d be lost without them.
Darby and I mumble out apologies, and my dad’s frown softens.
While we fill our plates with turkey, glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, and green bean casserole, my mom steers the conversation in a different direction. Violet chats about her ballet class, Darby shows me pictures of the DIY renovations she’s done at her condo, and Lily repeatedly tells me that she can do a “super cool” cartwheel, thanks to gymnastics.
By the time dessert appears, everyone’s in a cornbread coma, including me. The second helpings may have been a mistake, since I have a game tomorrow, but it’s impossible to turn down my mom’s candied yams.
Violet rests her face in her tiny palms, fighting to stay awake. Neither of the girls napped today, too energized about dinner, and the combination of excitement and carbs is clearly taking its toll.
Tugging on one of Violet’s pigtails, I ask, “Want to open the present I got you before bed?”
Her tired eyes pop open, and on my other side, Lily perks up, her hands clasped in front of her. “Presents!”
“You can open it once you’re in pajamas and your teeth are brushed,” Emily says. The warning look she gives her daughter is so similar to our mom’s that it makes me chuckle. “Deal?”
