“Okay! Here it comes,” my mother calls out, bustling into the room with the turkey on a large ceramic platter. She sets it down on the table beside my dad and steps back, smiling at us all with pride. “Cooked to perfection. John, you can carve it when you’re ready.”
As my father stands, and my mother takes her seat, I glance towards Clay, wondering what he thinks of this whole traditional dinner. This is nothing like what he would have grown up with. His family wasn’t religious, and they definitely weren’t traditional. In our years together, we’d never done this type of meal at Christmas, opting instead for takeout Chinese or pizza; a treat we’d rarely been able to afford.
My father picks up the carving knife and shiny two tine fork, and begins the task of carving the turkey. I watch him quietly as he works. John Winslow has been carving the turkey in his own house for more years than I’ve been alive. I can tell from the practiced way he slices it, that he views this duty as his right as the man of the house. The man is nothing, if not traditional.
As he works, he focuses on the bird, never looking up from his task, and I wonder if it’s me that he’s avoiding. Sitting back in my seat, I nibble on my lip, and try not to let the panic I feel welling inside overwhelm me.
My mother’s warm hand reaches across the table and covers my clenched fist. Her face is soft as she gives me an encouraging smile, reminding me that no matter how this goes, she has always been there for me.
*
Eleven years ago
The air rushes from my lungs as the sound of the doorbell chimes throughout the house. Oh God, he’s here!
I rush to the full-length mirror for the millionth time, and take one last look at my reflection. I know I look good. Actually, I look damn good. The pale blue dress my mom and I had picked out goes perfectly with my eyes, and seems to hug my every curve.
My father wouldn’t let me go to a salon, but my friend Kerri had been over earlier, and helped me with my hair and makeup. The girl knows her stuff. Soft curls fall around my face, and the rest of my dark brown hair is piled high in a messy, but artful knot at the back of my head. My makeup is light and natural, but whatever she did with that terrifyingly sharp eyeliner has accentuated the blue in my eyes, making them the first thing you notice on my face.
I still can’t believe my mother had convinced Dad to let me go. He’d been adamant, but she was too, and after a couple days of her silent treatment, he’d finally caved. And now it’s the big day, and Clay is here to take me to the senior prom.
The door creaks as my mom pops her head into my room. “He’s here, honey. You ready to go?”
I turn to face her and take a deep, shaky breath. I can’t believe how nervous I am. Though Clay and I spend a lot of time at school together, I’ve never been out on a real date with him before, or anyone else, for that matter. Butterflies are thrashing inside my stomach, and I suddenly feel like I’m about to throw up.
Mom’s face softens and she steps inside, approaching me as if I’m a timid mouse, cowering in the corner. “Sophie, honey…breathe. You’re going to have a wonderful time tonight.” Her hands come up and cradle my face as she smiles down at me with encouragement. “From what you’ve told me of this Clay, he sounds like he may be smitten with you, and I can see why. You are gorgeous, Sophie. But not only that, you are intelligent and funny, and you, my dear, are the whole package. He’s lucky to have you on his arm.”
The lilt of her voice is soothing, and as she speaks, the butterflies calm slightly, my nausea slowly fading. I look at her and smile.
“Now you go to this prom, you dance with your friends and that handsome boy downstairs. You have fun…be safe, but have fun. If you need anything at all, you call me and I will be there, do you understand?”
God, I love my mom. I reach up and cover her hands with mine, giving them a little squeeze and nod.
“Okay then,” she says, standing up tall and adjusting a lock of my hair. “Let’s go down there and rescue that boy from your father.
That brings me back to reality. Clay is downstairs with my father, alone. I grab my small clutch purse and hurry down the stairs ahead of her. As they come into view, standing in the foyer, my belly flutters. Clay looks amazing. His normally messy hair is slightly tamed, and his tuxedo clings to his muscles, showing off just how ripped he is.
His own look of discomfort fades as he turns towards the stairs, changing to an expression of what I would almost swear is awe. He steps around my disgruntled looking father and takes my hand as I reach the landing.
“Soph, you look incredible,” he breathes.
Heat rises in my cheeks, my whole face feeling as if it’s on fire. “Thank you. You look pretty amazing yourself,” I say softly.
My heart pounds in my chest as he opens the clear plastic container, and pulls out a soft pink gerbera daisy corsage. As he ties the light blue ribbon around my wrist, I can see his Adam’s apple bob with a deep swallow, his pulse thumping visibly in his neck.