The afternoon passed peacefully, with Jim providing colorful commentary on the football game and Ellen sharing family stories prompted by various photographs scattered around the living room. I learned about Bash’s high-school achievements, his decision to enlist, the pride his parents had felt when both their sons chose military service.
“They were always competitive with each other,” Ellen said, showing me a picture of two young men in dress blues who looked remarkably similar. “Glenn was bigger, but Bash was faster. Glenn was more outgoing, but Bash was more thoughtful. They balanced each other out.”
“They must’ve been close,” I said, studying the photograph. Bash looked so young there and yet so solemn.
“Thick as thieves,” Jim confirmed. “When they were deployed in the same area that one time, their commanding officers said they were working together like they could read each other’s minds.”
I glanced at Bash and he was looking at the photograph with an expression of such profound sadness that I had to resist the urge to reach for his hand. “He sounds like an exceptional person.”
“He was,” Bash said quietly. “The best of us.”
By the time we made our excuses to leave, claiming exhaustion from the enormous meal and the time difference, I felt emotionally wrung out from the effort of maintaining my public persona for so many hours.
The Pullers sent us off with the same warmth they’d shown all day despite my careful formality.
“Thank you,” I told them as we stood by the rental car, preparing to leave. “This has been one of the most memorable Thanksgiving experiences I could’ve imagined.”
“You’re welcome any time, honey,” Ellen said, giving me a hug that made me smile as four generations of ancestors were probably rolling around in their graves now, horrified at such over-familiarity, but I loved it. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The drive back to the motel was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I stared out the passenger window at the familiar landscape, trying to process everything I’d experienced during the day. The warmth of the Puller family, the genuine hospitality, the way they’d made space for me at their table and in their traditions despite knowing so little about who I really was. It had been wonderful and heartbreaking in equal measure. Wonderful because of their kindness, heartbreaking because it highlighted everything I’d never had in my own family. The easy affection, the comfortable traditions, the sense that everyone belonged exactly where they were. It made me miss my mum with a fierceness I hadn’t felt in years.
“You were different today,” Bash said as we pulled into the motel parking lot.
“Was I?” I replied, gathering my jacket and preparing to exit the car. “I thought I was perfectly appropriate.”
“That’s just it. You were appropriate. Polite, gracious, charming…” Bash turned off the engine and turned to look at me directly. “But you weren’t you.”
I met his gaze steadily, letting him see the careful blankness I’d perfected over years of public appearances. “I merely played the role you asked me to play, Bash.”
Something flickered in his expression, but I didn’t let myself care about his reaction, didn’t let myself soften or explain or apologize for protecting myself the only way I knew how.
“Eddie,” he started, but I was already getting out of the car.
I waited until he’d opened the door to the apartment, then walked past him and said over my shoulder, “Thank you for today. Your family is lovely, and the meal was exceptional. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I walked into my room without looking back.
Professional distance indeed.
17
BASH
I sat on the couch in the small living room of the apartment, staring at the door to Eddie’s bedroom and replaying his words over and over in my mind like some kind of broken record.
I merely played the role you asked me to play, Bash.
The words hit different now than they had in the parking lot. Then, they’d felt like a slap, cold and dismissive, and completely unlike the Eddie I’d gotten to know over the past few months. But now, sitting alone with nothing but my own thoughts for company, I heard what he’d actually been saying.
He hadn’t been cold because he wanted to be. He’d been cold because I’d been cold first.
Christ, I was dumber than a box of rocks.
I thought back over the day, trying to see it from his perspective instead of my own defensive position. Eddie arriving at my parents’ house yesterday, ready to charm and engage, only to be met with my carefully professional distance. Eddie trying to participate in family conversations while I kept every interaction surface-level and appropriate. Eddie watching me interact warmly with my parents while treating him like nothing more than a client I was obligated to protect.
No wonder he’d retreated into that princely formality. I’d basically told him, through every careful word and measured response, that whatever connection we’d built meant nothing here. That in my real world, with my real family, he was nothing more than a job.
And that wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all.
