“Yeah, yeah,” she says. Then she calls over her shoulder. “You two have fun.”
I chuckle under my breath, watching her until she’s completely out of sight.
Pappoús reaches for a cigar box on the side table and pops it open. “Matt, care to join me?”
“I’d love to,” I say, and I mean it. It’s the first time I haven’t been itching to get out of here minutes after arriving. It feels different today. It’s warmer. Lighter. Not so fucking stiff.
Nothing makes me happier for Jordan. That she isn’t crawling into a shell in front of her family. That she gets to be herself.
And the thing that hits me the hardest—her family will finally get to know the real her.
Jordan plops downbeside me on her grandparents’ sofa, her hand immediately reaching for mine. Thank fucking God, too, because I’d rather watch football with a chatty toddler than listen to Christopher drone on about himself any longer. He’s the kind of guy who’s constantly seeking validation—always trying to one-up you and anyone you might know.
If there’s a way to ruin a Thanksgiving football game, he found it.
“How’s the game?” Jordan asks as I lean in to greet her with a kiss, silently thanking her for saving my ass.
“Game is good,” I reply.
She glances toward Christopher, rolling her eyes before a sly smile lifts the corners of her mouth. She cups my cheek, brings me closer, and kisses me. It’s not soft. It’s deliberate. A little dramatic. I catch on immediately and play along, sliding a hand to her waist.
Christopher shifts and clears his throat. A few seconds later he stands and mutters, “Jesus. Get a room.”
Jordan pulls back the moment he’s out of sight and laughs, dusting her hands like she’s finished a job well done. “I knew that would get rid of him. At least for a few minutes.”
I chuckle. “We don’t have to stop just because he left,” I say quietly.
“Hate to break it to you, but that's as much kissing as I'll ever do when Yiayia's nearby.”
“Well, thank you for saving me,” I say, stealing one more quick kiss.
She smiles, resuming her position beside me, her shoulder soft against mine, our fingers laced and resting on my thigh.
Smoking cigars with Jordan’s pappoús was a highlight. He’s always been good to me, but tonight we actually bonded.
Before we sat to eat, Jordan’s mamá congratulated us, hugged me, and even welcomed me to the family, and dinner went… pretty good, all things considered. No drama. No raised voices. Conversation mostly revolved around Christopher and Andrea, with about ten minutes of rapid-fire questions from her yiayiá about when the wedding would be and making sure we picked a date that worked around Andrea’s pregnancy.
We landed on a September wedding in Spetses, Greece. I offered to pay for everyone’s accommodations—find a resort and buy the damn thing out.
Yiayiá looked pleased. But with her, it’s impossible to know. She could just as easily have been offended, like I was implying she couldn’t afford it.
Overall, it’s been a good Thanksgiving, and Jordan seems… happy. Loved. Accepted. Andfuck,it’s been a long time coming.
Seeing her like this here, in the place where so much of her doubt was born, where her confidence has been shaken, it fills my chest with fierce pride—in how far she’s come with her family. With life. With herself.
“Who are we rooting for today?” she asks.
“Nobody,” I say. “I don’t really care who wins, and my fantasy team is sucking ass this year. I’m in last place.”
She laughs softly. “I will never understand how it’s enjoyable to watch a game when you don’t even care who wins.”
I shrug. “I love the game.”
I feel her gaze shift to me. She sits there quietly for several seconds before she asks, “Have you talked to Cole today?”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing over. “I texted him this morning. Told him Happy Thanksgiving. Said we wanted to FaceTime later if he could.”
“That’s good. I hope he has a good day. Cece’s seemed…” She exhales. “I don’t know. Softer? The last two times we’ve picked him up, she’s seemed… different. Like she doesn’t think she’s sending Cole off with the devil and his mistress anymore.” She laughs at her own joke, and I smile. “How are you feeling about next weekend?” she adds.
