Jett kisses me on the cheek, a firm, wet, sloppy gesture before he takes London by the hand and leaves.
LONDON AND I HAVE ALTERNATEDhosting Thanksgiving for the last four years, and this year it’s my turn. The house smells amazing. I made my mother’s sweet potato pie, my grandmother’s stuffing, and cooked a turkey big enough to feed twelve.
“Kayne!” I yell into the living room. “Can you come in here and help me with this monstrosity of a bird you made me buy!” Yes, the turkey was all him. He wanted leftovers . . . for a month. I swear the man eats like a racehorse. I always joke that I need a part-time job just to pay the grocery bill.
“Coming!” He walks into the kitchen holding Layla under his arm like a football.
“Now how are you supposed to help me when your arms are full?” I joke, tapping Layla’s little nose. She giggles.
“Only one arm is full.” He squeezes her and she squeaks. “I still have this one.” He grabs one of the oven mitts off the counter. “If I can bench press you with one hand, I can pull a thirty-pound turkey out the oven.”
I don’t have a second to respond before London swoops in and slips Layla out from under Kayne’s arm. “I’ll take her. We’ll just stand over here and watch.” She steps back behind the island.
“Fair enough.” Kayne grabs the other oven mitt and pulls the turkey from the oven. It looks so perfect I almost squeal. I don’t know when I became so domestic, but seeing that beautiful brown bird come out of the oven gives me chills.
Kayne carves it and I place it on the set table. Not two seconds after he sits down, Layla is off her chair and climbing onto his lap. London scolds her but she insists, refusing to eat unless she stays put.
“It’s fine,” Kayne smoothes his hand over Layla’s blonde hair. “She can eat wherever she wants.”
Sucker.
“You spoil her,” London scoldshimnow.
Kayne just shrugs. “My house, my rules.”
I just shake my head, laughing internally. How many times have I heard that?
Everyone begins to make their plates while talking and passing and sampling. This is Becks’ first Thanksgiving, so we all get to experience his first taste of turkey. He doesn’t seem like a fan; he just keeps throwing it on the floor.
Just as we all begin to eat, Jett raises his wine glass. “A toast.”
With the fork a few inches from his mouth, Kayne groans. “Really? Every time?”
I nudge him with my foot under the table, reminding him of his manners. Sometimes he forgets. As much as he looks like a well-groomed adult, he can sometimes act like a surly teenager.
“Go ahead,” I encourage Jett.
“I’ll make this short and sweet.” He glares at Kayne. If there weren’t children at the table, I know what Kayne’s choice response to that look would be. “I just wanted to thank Ellie for this wonderful meal and say I am grateful for all the past holidays we have spent at this table and am looking forward to many more. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” the rest of us respond.
“See? Short.”
“And very sweet,” I add.
Kayne snorts. “Wonderful. Can we eat now?”
“By all means, savage.” Jett facetiously grants permission.
Kayne scoops an oversized forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth then smiles condescendingly at Jett.Boys.
The rest of dinner sails by with an abundance of laughter and energy. Both children, the stars of the show. Layla sings and plays with her food on Kayne’s lap while Becks keeps London busy with smeared mashed potatoes and squished turkey.
“You know what you’re eating?” Kayne asks Layla as she pops her peas into her mouth, one by one.
“A pea!” she enthusiastically answers, holding up the little green ball.
“Nuh-uh.”
