“Yeah. You did his first Thanksgiving.”
There were a myriad of throaty and mouthy sounds: sucking of the teeth, clearing of the throat, nervous coughs. All of this from my family and Bernard.
“What the fu—” Stenton caught himself.
“Elizabeth Ardell! That’s enough!” my mother hissed.
“I was working. You knew that.” Stenton’s tone was cold.
Yeah, but not that night. I wanted to yell, but my better sense had kicked in. When I was able to pull my daggers out of him, I muttered, “I need to put these things away and pump. Thanks, Bernard for the ride. I need to give you a few dollars for gas. Hang on.” I rummaged through my mammoth Louis Vuitton tote for my wallet. That darn Tynisha, talking me into this bag. “Let me get my—”
“Here you go, B,” Stenton’s vocals poured over me again. When I glanced up, I noticed him handing over a wad of cash to Bernard. “Thanks for bringing her safely.”
Huhn?
Bernard’s mouth hung wide and I caught him quickly adding up what could have easily been a couple hundred dollars, accepting it in his hand.
“Wait,” my dad interrupted. “The storm is here. We can’t send you out in that. It’s supposed to pick up and get heavier. It likely won’t stop until the wee hours of the morning.” He then turned to Stenton. “Stenton, I know there’s plenty of room. You mind if he crashes until it clears?”
Holy mother of Joseph!
“You’re the head of the family. It’s your and Sarah’s call,” Stenton uttered while walking off with his eyes glued to a cheery Jordan bouncing in the air.
That was brusque.
I glanced back over to Bernard, whose expression of confusion and shock mirrored my own. “Su-sure. I’ll just have to call my mom to let her know.”
“Okay,” my mother added. “When you’re done, come meet me in the kitchen.”
One by one, my family sauntered out of the eventful foyer, paying me a last admonishing glare, I’m sure accusing me of slighting Jordan’s father. Even Ruth, who swears to not care for Stenton!
My shoulders dropped.
It’s going to be a long night.
~~~~~~~~~~
~Stenton~
At dinner, tension reigned over the table. I couldn’t shake my brooding, although Sarah did a damn good job of creating a big ass feast for Christmas Eve. Michael was sitting at one end of the table and I was down at the other. Sarah was to the right of him and Zoey sat to his left. Next to Zo was Jordan in his high chair, who was to my right. To my left was Ruth and next to her was Bernard. Dinner was served buffet style with the spread in the center of the table.
I was surprised at the large feast being served the night before Christmas, until Sarah explained at the table minutes ago how when Zoey and Ruth were kids, she and Michael preferred doing the dinner this way because, often times, he was out doing missionary work on Christmas day, leaving limited time with the family. Talk about dedication. Sarah and Michael made sure to keep the conversation going at the table in spite of the discord between Zoey and me.
I left Boston yesterday, right after the game to get home to make sure everything was intact for tomorrow. I had to be on my A game. Zoey was sour as hell that I missed Jordan’s first Thanksgiving. I had every desire to make it, but my schedule didn’t allow it. She said it was cool at the time, but even now at the table, she refused to look at me more than the few seconds that I addressed the table when engaged in a conversation. Was I tight? Hell, yeah! Bernard’s corny ass had no business here with my family. I couldn’t give a damn that he knew the Barretts longer or his connection to them; he wanted Zoey, and that fucked with me.
“Ewwwwwww,” Ruth sang as she squeezed her face. “JR is that you, baby?”
All eyes went to Jordan, who is aloof while straining and attempting to grab a kernel of corn between his thumb and index finger.
Damn, J, don’t shit at the table, son.