will be at work.
No, fuck . It hits me: today's Thanksgiving. That
means all family, all day. Great. Just great. I'll have to see my dad and
Carter, and Jack won't even be here to break up the tension. Football games on
Thanksgiving? The NFL is crazy.
I shuffle over to the main house, my desire for coffee
outweighing my desire to hide. I press in the key code as I spot Anne behind
the counter. She glances up with a friendly smile as I let myself in.
"Morning! I just made the coffee about fifteen minutes
ago if you want some."
"Thanks," I murmur, unaccustomed to being greeted
with such cheeriness.
"Bree and Carter aren't up yet, but I thought I'd get
started on some chopping," she says, waving her hand at an array of
vegetables on the island in front of her.
"Oh, you're a...a chef, right?" I ask, searching
my brain for some information about her passed on from Jack.
"Hardly. I own a small restaurant...ABC Diner. A for
Anne, B for Bree, C for Carter," she explains. "I created all the
recipes, mostly interpretations of some stuff passed down in my family, but I'm
not classically trained or anything. So, you never told me, are there any
dishes in particular you wanted to have today?"
"You know, we were never that big on holidays," I
explain.
"Gotcha. So, you have to tell me more about Paris. Bree
and I visited, but we were just at the hospital the whole time. You were
working for a start-up, is that right?"
"Umm..." I pause, unsure if I want to continue in
my lie. My father already knows, and though it seems like he didn't share the
information, it seems silly not to tell the truth now. "No...that was...I
was hoping to, but it didn't work out. I ended up working in a bakery."
"Feel like whipping up a loaf?" she asks with a
smile, and I laugh.
"Honestly, never again."
How did my father manage to snag this woman? I wonder
as she tells me more about her diner. She seems sweet, down-to-earth, and
smart. I follow her gaze as she looks toward the doorway leading to the front
of the house. Carter is standing there in a white tank top and jeans. My
hormones surge forward, and I push them down through sheer force of will.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Anne greets her oldest.
"Look at your haircut! You look so different! Coffee's fresh. And Ray told
me that he worked out an arrangement with you two! I mean, it just sounds so
convenient, doesn't it?"
"Mmhm," I answer, taking a sip of coffee to avoid
having to expand on my response.
"I think he's being silly with all this security. But I
do wonder if Bree and Carter both getting hurt had more of an effect on him
than he's letting on. The fragility of life, and that sort of thing."
"Bree got hurt?" I ask.
"Yeah, she tripped while she was out on a jog and hit
her head. She was concussed and had to get stitches."
"That must have been tough on you."
"It was," Anne replies, pausing her movements for
a second. "I still think your father is overreacting, though I do
appreciate the sentiment."
Sentiment. Not something I've ever thought of my father
having before. Though if what Anne says about his motivations is accurate,
maybe I judged him a bit harshly. It's just that nothing about our history
together has shown him to be anything other than a massive control freak.
"Need any help?" Carter asks his mom in his low,
throaty voice.
"No, you just sit and enjoy your coffee."
Carter glances at the counter stool next to me and slowly
walks over and sits. I deliberately don't look at him. There's silence for a
moment as we sip our coffees and Anne continues chopping.
"So, what are you making today?" I finally ask.
Anne describes the various dishes and I make her promise to let me know if she
needs any help. Unfortunately, our respite only lasts a little while longer, as
Anne slips a casserole dish in the oven and announces she's going to go work
out in the gym while it cooks. As soon as she's safely in the foyer, I stand up
and walk to the back door.
"Going back to the boat house?" Carter
No, fuck . It hits me: today's Thanksgiving. That
means all family, all day. Great. Just great. I'll have to see my dad and
Carter, and Jack won't even be here to break up the tension. Football games on
Thanksgiving? The NFL is crazy.
I shuffle over to the main house, my desire for coffee
outweighing my desire to hide. I press in the key code as I spot Anne behind
the counter. She glances up with a friendly smile as I let myself in.
"Morning! I just made the coffee about fifteen minutes
ago if you want some."
"Thanks," I murmur, unaccustomed to being greeted
with such cheeriness.
"Bree and Carter aren't up yet, but I thought I'd get
started on some chopping," she says, waving her hand at an array of
vegetables on the island in front of her.
"Oh, you're a...a chef, right?" I ask, searching
my brain for some information about her passed on from Jack.
"Hardly. I own a small restaurant...ABC Diner. A for
Anne, B for Bree, C for Carter," she explains. "I created all the
recipes, mostly interpretations of some stuff passed down in my family, but I'm
not classically trained or anything. So, you never told me, are there any
dishes in particular you wanted to have today?"
"You know, we were never that big on holidays," I
explain.
"Gotcha. So, you have to tell me more about Paris. Bree
and I visited, but we were just at the hospital the whole time. You were
working for a start-up, is that right?"
"Umm..." I pause, unsure if I want to continue in
my lie. My father already knows, and though it seems like he didn't share the
information, it seems silly not to tell the truth now. "No...that was...I
was hoping to, but it didn't work out. I ended up working in a bakery."
"Feel like whipping up a loaf?" she asks with a
smile, and I laugh.
"Honestly, never again."
How did my father manage to snag this woman? I wonder
as she tells me more about her diner. She seems sweet, down-to-earth, and
smart. I follow her gaze as she looks toward the doorway leading to the front
of the house. Carter is standing there in a white tank top and jeans. My
hormones surge forward, and I push them down through sheer force of will.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Anne greets her oldest.
"Look at your haircut! You look so different! Coffee's fresh. And Ray told
me that he worked out an arrangement with you two! I mean, it just sounds so
convenient, doesn't it?"
"Mmhm," I answer, taking a sip of coffee to avoid
having to expand on my response.
"I think he's being silly with all this security. But I
do wonder if Bree and Carter both getting hurt had more of an effect on him
than he's letting on. The fragility of life, and that sort of thing."
"Bree got hurt?" I ask.
"Yeah, she tripped while she was out on a jog and hit
her head. She was concussed and had to get stitches."
"That must have been tough on you."
"It was," Anne replies, pausing her movements for
a second. "I still think your father is overreacting, though I do
appreciate the sentiment."
Sentiment. Not something I've ever thought of my father
having before. Though if what Anne says about his motivations is accurate,
maybe I judged him a bit harshly. It's just that nothing about our history
together has shown him to be anything other than a massive control freak.
"Need any help?" Carter asks his mom in his low,
throaty voice.
"No, you just sit and enjoy your coffee."
Carter glances at the counter stool next to me and slowly
walks over and sits. I deliberately don't look at him. There's silence for a
moment as we sip our coffees and Anne continues chopping.
"So, what are you making today?" I finally ask.
Anne describes the various dishes and I make her promise to let me know if she
needs any help. Unfortunately, our respite only lasts a little while longer, as
Anne slips a casserole dish in the oven and announces she's going to go work
out in the gym while it cooks. As soon as she's safely in the foyer, I stand up
and walk to the back door.
"Going back to the boat house?" Carter
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