“Whatcha doing?”
I look up and find Justin leaning in the doorway to the dining room where I sit at one of the tables, a pile of linen napkins in front of me.
“Trying to fold these,” I say, setting one that I had folded into fan on the table and it immediately falls apart. I frown.
The entire house smells like food, sweet potatoes and turkey and stuffing and pies and I really don’t know how my mother does it. She’s been up since four but she’s tireless, wanting everything to be just right and I love her for it. I had rolled out of bed around nine just in time to catch the Macy’s Parade with my father like we used to do when I was younger. Justin followed soon after, sitting in front of me on the floor with his back against my legs, my fingers combing methodically through his hair in that way he loves.
Afterwards Justin and my father settled in to watch some football game on TV while I went in the kitchen to help my mother with some of the preparations. Although I wasn’t too much of a help as I was too busy trying to hear whether or not my father was giving Justin the Spanish inquisition. After several admonitions about paying attention my mother finally sent me out into the dining room to set the table where I was out of her way and, more importantly, could better hear what was going on in the living room.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Justin says pushing away from the doorframe and snatching one of the napkins from my lap, his long fingers working nimbly as he makes a perfect triangle out of the linen, standing it on the table perfectly.
I scowl looking at my droopy blob of fabric.
“I can do a swan too,” he says sitting down and grabbing another napkin, flattening it on the table before making quick work of the folds producing a perfect replica of a bird in a matter of minutes.
“How-”
“Long hours on a bus with nothing to do,” he replies before I can even say anything. “I can do a lotus flower too but I need a bowl.” He tugs fussily on the little linen wings trying to make them as even as possible.
“How’s it going in there?” I ask, fiddling with one of the napkins nervously and Justin eyes me.
“Coulda told me he was a Detroit fan,” he mutters shaking out the napkin and starting again, going slower this time.
“A what?” I ask, watching his hands, trying to mimic his actions.
“A Lions fan,” Justin says and I look at him blankly. He sighs. “Football Skylar. Really I refuse to believe you don’t know anything about sports.”
“I know things about sports,” I reply defensively, trying to tuck the corner of the napkin around the underside so I can pull the wings out but my fingers keep getting stuck.
“Skylar,” Justin says seriously as he fluffs out the wings of his little swan. “You thought Eli Manning was a baseball player.”
I scoff flustered. “I can’t keep all those people straight Justin.”
“Oh really? Name for me, please, all the gods from Greek mythology.”
I feel my cheeks flush. “That’s different; that’s for work.”
“Uh-huh,” Justin replies, his eyes cutting me skeptically before grinning at me. “Hey can you just not remember who you lost your virginity to?” I narrow my eyes at him as his eyes widen, gasping. “Oh god, were you really drunk?”
“Justin I assure you I was not-”
“Well would you look at that!” my mother exclaims, shuffling in from the kitchen, a smudge of flour on her cheek.
Justin beams, setting the little swan proudly on the table. I concentrate hard on the napkin in my hands, placing it carefully on the table and taking my time with the fold trying to get it perfect. A startled sound pulls from my throat as it’s whipped from under my hands and Justin has it folded in a split second setting it on the table triumphantly.
“Show off,” I mutter and my mother chuckles as she collects the china from the cabinet on the other side of the room.
“Well if we let you do it we’d be eating around Christmas,” Justin replies and I lean back in my chair crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m just better with my hands than you,” he says wiggling his fingers at me as his eyebrows do the same and I have to bite my lip to force down my giggle.
“You’re right I don’t use my hands much,” I say letting my tongue slide along my bottom lip and his eyes widen just slightly before he chuckles, clearing his throat.
“How’s that bird lookin’ Viv?” Justin asks, grabbing another napkin and starting to fold it carefully.
“Looking pretty good,” My mother responds, her arms full of dishes as she shuffles past us back into the kitchen. “Should just be an hour or so more.”
“I’m starvin’” Justin replies enthusiastically and I smile at him shaking my head.
“You should be you only had two pancakes for breakfast,” I say and he nods. “I was slightly concerned since usually you have about five.”
Justin chuckles. “Sky it’s Thanksgiving…you can’t ruin it by pre-gaming at breakfast,” he says as if this were the most obvious thing in the world and I shake my head.
Just then the phone rings and I can hear my mother sigh as she goes to pick it up. My heart stops as she calls for my father.
“Who is it?” he hollers gruffly from the living room.
“Carl,” my mother responds and I flop back in my chair with a sigh.
“Alright I got it in the den,” is his reply and I hear his old recliner creak as he gets up.
“You okay?” Justin asks and I give an imperceptible shake of my head, reaching for another napkin but they’re all made into little swans in front of Justin. I settle for grabbing a few plates and moving to distribute them around the table. “Skylar?” he says gently.
“Oh good I was just about to tell you to start setting the table,” my mother says as she comes in to get a few more serving plates from the china cabinet.
I nod mutely, my brain working furiously. This is typical. I should have expected it but of course I didn’t. I took his word that he would stay for this. That we would have this thanksgiving together and everything would be as it should have been but that seems it won’t be the case.
I shake my head. No, no I don’t know anything yet. And he promised. My father promised me he would be here for this. Carl had called a few times already and nothing has happened. Maybe for once I just need to have faith. To trust that he’ll keep his promise to me. That he’ll do it because it’s so very important to me, because I want him to spend time with Justin, because I’m his little girl and I asked him to.
“I’m sorry, honey I gotta go,” Dad says, walking into the dining room.
My heart stalls, all movement stopping and I can taste disappointment bitter in the back of my throat.
“Oh Jim,” my mother says sighing, but he merely shakes his head. “You had the next three days off.”
“Duty calls, Viv,” he replies as he pecks her on the cheek before reaching a hand to Justin. “Justin, sorry we couldn’t spend more time together.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Justin says standing, nodding at him and I watch sadly, disappointment settling in my belly.
“Skylar,” he says reaching for me and I go to him, hugging him close, wishing he would just stay but years of experience knows he won’t. “It’s good to have you home.”
And with that he goes upstairs to pack and my mother reaches a hand out, settling it on my shoulder and I want to shrug it off. I want to blame her for not making him stay, for always letting him just go no matter how much it hurt her or me. What is it about being around your parents that turns you into a child? All the things you learned about logic and fairness just go right out the window and your find yourself acting petulant and pouty, periolous to stop yourself. Justin’s eyes meet mine, asking me if I’m okay but I shake my head at him. Not here. Not now.
I hear him coming back down the stairs, suitcase in hand, and I hear the screen door bang as he goes outside. I can’t do it. Thirty-three years old and I still can’t just let him go. I turn to run from the room, my mother’s voice calling after me to stop, don’t do this, but I can’t. I wanted this to be about us as a family. It’s Thanksgiving! We should be together.
“Daddy!” I call, just as he’s about to take his first step off the porch and he turns and sighs.
“Skylar,” he says, warning in his voice, knowing how this goes and I walk to him, as I always do. We’ve done this countless times before. We know all the steps. But I always hope that this time, this time things will turn out different.
“Dad, please don’t go. Please just this once! It’s Thanksgiving! We should be together.”
“Skylar, you know work comes first,” he says sternly and I watch my sneakers scuff the old wooden boards.
“I know,” I sigh, but then I look at him pleadingly. “But I really wanted you to get to know Justin. He’s…he’s a big part of my life. I just want you to see why.”
I want him to know Justin. I want him to like Justin, to be friends with him, because honestly, I see him as becoming part of our family. I see myself marrying him someday and I want my father to like him and approve of him. I want him to see what a good man Justin is. I want him to know that his little girl is in good hands now.
“He seems like a nice young man,” he replies nodding and then shrugging. “You like him that’s what matters.”
“Yes, but-”
“No buts,” he replies and I silence instantly, looking at my shoes again. “I’ll be home in a few days.”
“But what about Thanksgiving?” I ask, a whine lacing my words and he sighs.
“There’ll be others, Sky. How long are you staying for?” he asks, rubbing my arm soothingly and I look down.
“We’re leaving Monday morning,” I grumble, scuffing my shoe harshly against the weathered boards.
“Well hopefully I’ll be back before then and we can read the Sunday paper together.”
He kisses my cheek briefly before trotting down the steps and down the walk to the driveway. I watch mournfully as he puts his bag in the trunk and moves around to slide in the driver’s side of the car. He gives me a small, jovial wave before the car hums to life and he begins to back out of the driveway. I watch his tail lights receded into the distance before he turns the corner and I can see him no more.
I sigh, leaning against the post, my chest tightening painfully. This meant so much to me, this time with him and Mom and Justin. He told me he didn’t have to work and now there he goes, off to take care of clients and his other reps but not me. Never me, and I hate that I’m still torn up over this. That the ten year old girl inside me won’t stop standing on this porch, waiting for her father to come home.
I shake my head, turning to go back into the house and I jump when my eyes crash into Justin’s indigo orbs, standing uncertainly just outside the door. I plaster a smile on my face but it falls when he gives me a hard, unbelieving look.
“This is why you ask me to stay isn’t it?” he asks and it’s like a punch in the gut, tears springing to my eyes immediately but I push them down.
“What?” I ask, my voice jumping an octave in disbelief but he knows me. He knows when I’m putting up a front.
“He never stays when you ask him,” Justin says softly and I let my eyes close, a single tear zigzagging down my cheek which I reach to wipe away quickly. “You told me that once. A long time ago…”
“Don’t do this okay?” I beg, moving to walk past him but he stops me, grabbing my arms and holding me in place.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly and I heave a sigh, finally giving in as tears work their way down my face. He holds my cheeks in his hands, wiping them away. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
He pulls me against him and I cry weakly against his chest, taking comfort in him because he’s here. He’s here with me and he doesn’t leave me unless he has to, really has to. He’s a lot like my father in ways, his job takes him away from me but he’s nothing like him in others. He’s holding me right now, comforting me. He’s here.
“I’ll never leave you,” he whispers softly into my hair and I tremble against him. “I’ll never leave when you need me.”
“Oh god, stop,” I sob, because he can’t say stuff like this to me and not expect me to just weep and sniffle like a child. But he doesn’t care. He never has. He just wants to comfort me.
“If you ask me to stay I will. I’m sorry I didn’t before. If you ask me I’ll stay,” he says softly and my hands fist in the crisp fabric of his button down as my heart swells and I can’t love him any more than I do in this moment.
“I love you,” I whisper, pressing my face against his chest and he rests his cheek against my head, sighing into my hair.
“I love you too darlin’,” he drawls slowly, pressing his lips to my temple and I tilt my head up capturing his lips with mine.
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