He squeezes my shoulder, and kisses the top of my head, and that, more than anything else today, is enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“DO YOU NEED anything, Brett? More turkey? Or stuffing?” Mallory is all over him like white on rice. He almost never comes here, but when he does, she waits on him like he’s the freaking maharaja or something. I think she thinks she’s making up for me. Like, if she’s uber-nice it will make up for my bitchiness and he’ll see that he really wants to sweep me off my feet and into a three-bedroom, two-bath Cape with a picket fence in a random New Jersey suburb, where we can have a life like hers and Jeff’s.
The thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little.
I mean, I get it. I do. She wants to be everything our mother wasn’t and she’s terrified I’m treading Mom’s path. But her lifestyle isn’t for everyone, and it’s definitely not for me.
“So tell us about your show, Brett,” she says.
His eyes shoot to me before he looks at Mallory and shrugs. “It’s just about five college guys trying to figure shit out.”
Her eyes widen for an instant and flick to Henri and Max. Max is intensely focused on making his mound of mashed potatoes into an igloo around the puddle of gravy in the middle, but Henri is looking at Brett and grinning widely.
“Oh,” Mallory says, gaining back her composure. “How is it being received?”
Brett’s mouth tightens as he lifts his eyes from his plate again, annoyed at the string of questions. “So far we’re selling out and the reviews are good.”
“There’s a scene where Brett strips,” I say through a mouthful of green-bean casserole. “The reviewers love it. It’s totally hot.”
Mallory asks about the tour, and conversation for the rest of dinner is just as awkward. When we’re done, Mallory brings out the apple pie and vanilla ice cream. She serves it up and we eat in front of the football game in the family room.
“So, what do you think of the Jets’ big trade?” Jeff asks Brett.
Brett scratches his chin and looks at Jeff for a second before saying, “Um . . . I don’t really follow the Jets.”
Jeff cracks a smile. “You’re a Giants guy, huh?”
“Not really,” Brett answers with a shrug.
“So . . . basketball?” Jeff tries.
Brett gives another shrug, and this time he almost pulls off apologetic.
Finally Jeff goes back to watching the game. We eat our pie and the only sound other than the game on the TV is the clink of forks on plates.
It’s painful.
And the whole time I’m thinking about Alessandro and resenting Brett. It’s Thursday. This is our day. We should be out somewhere, exploring undiscovered corners of the city. Alessandro and I have a past that should make being together hard. So, how is it that being with Brett seems like so much more work?
I wonder what Alessandro’s doing today. Does he have anywhere to go?
“Auntie! Come help me,” Henri says, shaking me out of my thoughts. He grabs my hand and pulls me off the couch. I set my plate on the coffee table and let him tow me to his and Max’s room. He hands me a Lord of the Rings Lego box. “Carry that,” he says as he grabs a big tub of loose Legos. We bring them back to the family room and within minutes the awkwardness is gone and every adult in the room except Mallory, who’s gone to clean up the kitchen, is on the floor building Helms Deep.
Henri to the rescue.
It takes us almost two hours to finish it, and by that time Mallory already has Max in bed and Henri is yawning.
“C’mon, buddy,” I say, standing from the floor and pulling him up by the hand. He holds my hand tight in his sweaty little one as we walk together to the bathroom. At seven, modesty obviously hasn’t kicked in yet, because he drops his pants and pees with me standing right here. I turn my back while he finishes up, even though he doesn’t seem to care.
“Wash your hands and brush your teeth,” I tell him when he flushes. He does, then he takes my hand and tows me to his and Max’s room and pushes the door open.
The room is small, with just enough room for twin beds and a dresser between. There are Transformer prints on the dark blue walls and pencil marks on the white door frame where Mallory has ticked off their height over the years, Henri on the right and Max on the left.
“Shh,” I say as he steps into the room. “Max is asleep.”
He tiptoes all exaggerated into the room and grins at me. I stifle a giggle and follow him in. He finds his pj’s in his dresser, changes, then clamors into bed.
“ ’Night, buddy,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and kissing his forehead. “Sleep tight.”
His eyebrows press together. “What does that mean, Auntie?”
“Sleep tight?” I think about that for a second and realize it’s what Mom always used to say when I was little. No, “I love you.” No, “pleasant dreams.” Just, “sleep tight.” “I have no idea,” I tell him with a shrug.
He grins like he always does when he realizes he’s pretty damn smart.
I kiss his forehead again. “Love you.”
He rolls over and curls up on his side, facing the wall. I watch him for a minute, then stand and give Max a kiss on his sweaty little forehead before heading back to the family room.
When I walk into the room, Mallory is sitting next to Brett on the couch scanning through pictures on her iPhone, probably of the boys. He looks up at me with pleading eyes.
“So, I guess we should probably head back,” I say to Mallory, and Brett is off the couch like a shot.
“It’s been great, guys,” he says, lifting a hand, clearly relieved now that the torture is over.
We shrug on our jackets and spill out the door. It’s cold, but not cold, so the walk to the bus isn’t bad.
“You really shouldn’t come to these family things, you know,” I tell Brett as we walk.
“Cut me a little slack here, Hilary. I came all the way back to spend Thanksgiving with you.”
My feet slow and I turn to him. “Sorry.” The truth is, things have been a little strained since he got back on Tuesday. He’s been out partying with his friends, and last night he came home drunk enough that he passed out before he could get his pants off. I sat and stared at him for a long time, trying to convince myself that what we have is still working. But it’s not. Something’s changed.
He blows a long white jet stream behind him and looks at me. “Listen, let’s just go home and get naked and forget the whole thing.”
My stomach twists at the thought.
I only realize I’ve stopped walking when Brett says, “What’s going on with you? You’ve been weird ever since I got home.”
I start walking again. “I’m not being weird. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“That guy?” His tone is measured, and when I look at him, his mouth is pulled into a line.
I never should have told Brett about Alessandro, but everything that happened Monday was still so fresh when he got home on Tuesday that I needed to talk about it, so I told him about our trip to the group home. It was the first Brett even knew about me being in a home. I’ve never really shared much of my past with him . . . or anyone else, for that matter. “He’s just someone I knew a long time ago.”
“Someone who’s back,” he says in that same tone.
“He’s leaving as soon as he sorts his shit out.”
“And you don’t want to screw around with him?” he asks, a cynical edge to his voice. “For old times’ sake.”
“No!” I stop and glare at him, wrapping my arms around my middle. “Christ, Brett.”