Page 1

1

YORK

“Mother. I already have a caterer hired for dinner. For the whole week, actually. You do not need to force that poor woman to come with you.” I grind out, my grip on the phone tightens as I let frustration wash over me, my other hand slipping under my glasses to rub the frustration out of my eyes. We’ve had more or less the same conversation at least six times already.

“I know, dear, but Sage can’t go to her family’s festivities and I won’t leave her all alone on Thanksgiving.” I can tell by her firm tone that nothing can be done to change her mind.

Leave it to Beatrice Snyder to strong arm her way into getting her personal chef to travel and join her family for Thanksgiving. Not even just Thanksgiving. No, she’s forcing this poor woman to join our family’s week-long holiday get together where we also celebrate Christmas as a family.

“Fine, fine. For my piece of mind, confirm with Ms. Bergen that she actually wants to join you on your trip instead of, I don’t know, getting a week off of work. If she confirms, I’ll get her added to the flight.”

“Oh, lovely. I can’t wait for you boys to officially meet Sage. She’s just a darling.” Oh, boy. I don’t have the time to listen to every positive quality of Ms. Bergen, and I know Mother will ramble on for the better part of an hour if I don’t shut down her praising of her favorite, and only, employee.

“Okay, just let me know. I have a meeting so I’m going to have to let you go. Talk soon.” After a little more back and forth, including informing her that I need to go twice, am I able to hang up.

Okay, I may have lied.

I don’t have any more meetings today. I do have a shit ton of emails from my assistant Bernie that need my attention before I leave for the day and now I need to add contacting the caterer I hired to inform them we will potentially have another person they would need to accommodate.

I also need to contact my housekeeper and ask them to turn down another spare room, as well as beg Bernie to contact the airline and update the flight plans for my mother and her guest.

I’m rubbing my temple in a futile attempt to fight the headache that’s bubbling to the surface when my phone rings again. This time, my little brother’s name flashes on the screen.

“Reese.”

“Dude!”

“Don’t call me dude.” My interruption doesn’t even slow him down but I can feel his eyes roll all the way in Utah.

“Whatever, man. Did you seriously tell Mom it was okay for her to bring her personal chef to Holiday Week? I thought we had rules, dude! No plus ones. Any extras can come to dinner and that’s it. That’s your rule!”

It’s true.

I made the rule because I was sick of random women galavanting around my home every year. I put my foot down four years ago when Reese and his then-current flame got into a blow-the-house-down fight that spanned two and a half days and ended with our nephew asking his mother what a “fucking farm hand” was.

They broke up, obviously, and I stopped allowing anyone outside of the family into my home for more than a meal’s length of time.

I do try my best to keep my irritation out of my voice but it’s hard when it comes to my little brother. Eleven years isn’t the biggest age gap, but combined with our very different lifestyle choices, it can be difficult to find any common ground with him.

“Listen, you know how Mom is...” I try to reason with him. We’ve all been on the losing end of trying to get our mother to change her mind once it’s been made up, so, I don’t feel the need to elaborate any further.

Stubbornness is one trait I do share with my Mother, and little brother as well.

“You’re right but I don’t like it,” Reese grumbles out, unable to stand the silence for too long.

“I don’t like it, either. Who knows what kind of shenanigans Mom is plotting, and this poor woman is caught up in the middle of it.”

“If Mom has something up her sleeve, I’m not afraid to go home early. I already feel like an ass leaving work for a week. This new job seems like it might stick. ”

I perk up at his admission. Reese has always known he wanted to work in agriculture but it’s taken him a lot of time to figure out exactly how it would work for him. Or, so he tells himself. He’s only twenty-five for god’s sake but I know he compares himself to me and our middle brother, Mars.

Which he shouldn’t.

Between the three of us, our careers could not be more different. Mars is the office manager for a clinic in Vegas. I’m the majority owner of a company I started as a joke with some friends after we graduated high school. It took off and now I’m forced to deal with a multi-million dollar company I lost interest in years ago.

I can’t speak for Mars, but I’m proud of Reese for going after what he wants, focusing on the type of work that makes him happy. Not everyone can say that about their careers. I would know.

“I’m glad to hear it. Honestly, I don’t think we have anything to worry about with Mom bringing Ms. Bergen.” Lie. “Don’t stress too much. I bet she’ll just be making comments about how she prefers Ms. Bergen’s cooking over the caterer I hired for the week.”