CHAPTER 19

ON THANKSGIVING MORNING, I rose early to put the turkey in the oven and then got down to work with food preparation, eating fistfuls of cereal in between peeling potatoes and chopping beans. Dinner was going to be served at two o’clock. At one, Eric walked in carrying three bottles of red wine. He set them down on the kitchen counter, scratched Odin on the back, and then came over to wrap his arms around my waist. “Hey, beautiful.”

He kissed me under my right ear, and my breath hitched.

“You smell nice,” I whispered. He looked pretty nice, too, wearing tailored gray pants and a green sweater that brought out his eyes.

“We still have some time before everyone arrives. . . .” He slid his hands down my thighs.

“Are you kidding? I still have to make the sweet potato casserole and set up the appetizers!”

“Okay, got it.” He planted a kiss on my cheek. “But maybe later.”

For purposes of Thanksgiving dinner, Eric was my colleague and a friend who had nowhere to go for the holiday. We were definitely not dating and most certainly not sleeping together. We’d had a long talk in which I’d established ground rules and prepared him to meet my family. “No politics of any kind, unless you want to watch Dad and Win go at it. That means no talk of the president’s performance and no mention of any kind of social-welfare program. Oh, and don’t talk about tort reform unless you want Dad to explain how it helps corporations and hurts individuals.”

Eric was sprawled out on my couch for the talk, his head on my lap. “That doesn’t leave me with much,” he quipped.

“I’m not finished. Mom lives in one of those age-restricted condominium developments, so don’t talk about how they’re bad planning policy, overpriced, and probably motivated by a fear of racial minorities and schoolchildren.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m just saying. And Sadie’s been a vegan for three weeks now, so maybe try not to wear leather. Although knowing her, she won’t draw the connection. And Faye and Win had an open marriage that has recently closed, so just . . . don’t say anything about that. Okay?”

He was watching me with a big smile. “Anything else?”

I took a breath. “My niece and nephew are adorable. . . .”

“Yes, I remember.”

“But you can’t say anything about Portia being bossy or shame her in any way. Better yet, if she does something wrong, let her get away with it. If it’s really bad, nudge Faye. God knows Win doesn’t know how to discipline.” I smiled and stroked his hair. “That’s it, really. We’re on the road to having a great Thanksgiving.”

But as we stood in the kitchen now, with me dropping mini marshmallows (vegan!) on top of the sweet potato casserole and him slicing a loaf of Italian bread, I searched my brain for more off-topic subjects. “I forgot to mention this the other day, but Dad is sort of paranoid, so it’s best not to mention anything about home-security systems.”

Eric continued slicing the bread. “Why on earth would I talk about home-security systems?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you feel strongly about them. Maybe you think those companies prey on paranoia. But you can’t say anything about it, because then Dad will march out fifty reasons why he needs to fear for his personal safety, and Sadie will start drinking too much and then educate all of us on safety in other countries, and she’ll develop this affect and talk condescendingly about Americans—”

“Lettie.” Eric set the knife on the cutting board. “You can’t manufacture a perfect holiday with a set of rules.”

He was right. I could mold Eric to be the most considerate, noncontroversial guest my family had ever seen, and then Faye and Win could muck it all up by fighting about what she did in the dentist’s chair. “Sorry, that’s a fair point. God knows one of my own family members will say the wrong thing at some point, or Mom will ask me how James is doing—”

“Honey.” He shook his head. “Can we go with the flow and stop imagining all the things that will go wrong? I want to meet your family. I want them to like me. Just trust me on this. Okay?”

I held my breath, counted to three, and released it. “Okay.” No problem, I could be cool. I’d just smile and have a glass of wine in my hand at all times.

For all of my neuroses, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. What’s better than an indulgent meal with the people you love most in the world? Mom brought a box of mini cakes from a local bakery, Dad and Sadie brought some more wine and a dish of marinated tofu cubes, and Faye and Win brought homemade cornbread, a chocolate trifle pudding, pies, and a healthy green salad that no one would eat.

“Auntie Lettie!” Portia and Blaise ran over to rub their faces against my apron. “Can we have a snack?”

I gave them each a kiss. “I put some appetizers out. Baked brie and crackers, some grapes—”

Portia noticed Eric right away. Recognition settled on her face. “Hello,” she said.

“Hi there,” Eric said congenially. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Portia drew closer to me, keeping her eyes fixed on Eric. “Aunt Lettie, is that the one who gave us the snake candy?”

I ushered Portia to one side and helped her out of her coat. “No, sweetie, that was someone else.”

“It looks like him—”

“All of my friends look the same.”

“Well, who’s that?” Mom came into the kitchen with a sunny smile. Every time I saw her these days, I thought about how Faye looked more and more like her. The only differences were some wrinkles and gray strands of hair.

“Grammie!” Portia and Blaise spun toward her and flung their arms around her legs. Then Blaise looked up and said, “Do you have a present for us?”

“Blaise, your manners!” Faye scolded. “Sorry, Mom. He’s excited.”

Portia stuck out her lower lip. “Grammie Sadie always has a present for us.”

I eyed Eric, who was standing by the cupboard observing the entire exchange. He turned to me, and I gave him a knowing look that said, See? They barely have their coats off, and already it’s started.

Mom looked confused, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to be angry. “Grammie Sadie?” She started laughing. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

Faye, Win, and I released a collective breath. “So you’re not mad?” Faye asked.

Mom waved a hand. “Mad? If she wants to call herself a grandmother at her age, then what do I care? She’s no competition.” Dad and Sadie entered the kitchen from the living room, and the tight expression on their faces told me that they’d overheard everything. “Why, here’s Grammie Sadie now!” Mom said.

Sadie pulled her shoulders back like she was physically shrugging off the barb, and then she leaned over to greet the kids. “Hello, my sweethearts. Sadie has a little surprise for you.”

“You mean Grammie Sadie,” Portia said.

“Well.” Sadie took their hands. “Just Sadie is okay, too.”

“Hello, Grace,” Dad said as Sadie and the kids left the room and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you again.”

“And you,” she said, but I think I knew what she was thinking: that standing next to a woman his daughter’s age didn’t make him look younger, just more delusional. She’d said as much to me when they first married. She reached up to touch the hair that framed his face. “Are you coloring your hair? Silver looks distinguished on men.”

Dad huffed something and looked away. Mom had actually made him blush. She was a marvel. I cleared my throat and set a hand on Eric’s arm. “Everyone. I want to introduce you to my friend Eric. He’s the vice principal at Noah Webster.”

“John Osbourne.” Dad reached out his hand, and Eric accepted one of his patented firm handshakes.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

Oh my gosh, he called him sir. Dad’s chest swelled a little, and he gave me a look of approval.

“And I’m Grace.”

I held my breath. I should’ve warned Eric that Mom is a kisser. She doesn’t believe anyone in a relative’s house is truly a stranger. Sure enough, she kissed Eric on the cheek. More points there: Eric didn’t balk. Instead, he said good-naturedly, “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. Lettie looks just like you.”

Now he was lying, but Mom was pleased just the same. “She has her father’s jawline,” she replied with bizarre sincerity, like this was something she’d concluded after long research. “Lettie, where can I put the pastries?”

I led Mom into the kitchen, so I didn’t get to witness Eric meeting Faye and Win. All I knew was that when I came back, Win had his arm slung around Faye’s shoulders, and the three of them were standing together and laughing at something in the news. Jiminy turkey, he was talking politics with Win, and no one was bleeding. I swept my hands down the front of my apron as Eric caught my eye and winked. I smiled.

Touché, Mr. Clayman. Touché.

ERIC HAD EXPECTED the worst. Drama and food fights. Thin-skinned people with personality disorders and axes to grind. Lettie had set his expectations so low that he couldn’t help but like her family so long as there was no bloodshed. Her mother? A little quirky but sweet, and he saw where Lettie got her warmth. Her father? He seemed like a fun guy to have drinks with. Sadie? Well, Eric was keeping an open mind. And he had already met Blaise and Portia. They were active and silly, just like the kids he saw in the kindergarten classrooms at school. No reason to head for the hills.

Lettie had told him before about Faye and how beautiful she was. “Like, stunning,” she’d said. “She could’ve been a model.”

Eric had noticed the insecurity in her words, the fear that he might find her sister more attractive than he found her. And to be sure, Faye was a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t actually imagine preferring her to Lettie. He couldn’t put his finger on why—until he looked across the room and saw Lettie laughing at something Portia had said. She was covering her open mouth, her hazel eyes bright and shiny, her cheeks flushed. His heart skipped and he thought, There it is. That was the reason he was falling in love with her. He couldn’t name it, but he could see it.

When they first met, Win shook Eric’s hand and immediately asked him about his job. “Acting vice principal at Noah Webster. For now. Usually I’m at the middle school.” But Eric knew instinctively what Win was looking for. “How about you, Win? Lettie tells me you’re a lawyer.”

Win lifted his chin a little higher and launched into a speech about himself he must’ve given a thousand times. Eric listened carefully at first, but it went on for so long that his mind started to wander. Trial attorney. Corporate defense. Major verdicts. Awards. Partnership at a young age. “Unprecedented age, really.” Win took a sip of his wine. “But I’d threatened to take my clients and my skills to New York. I’m licensed in both states. You really have to be, living so close to the city.”

Eric nodded politely and was almost relieved when Faye gently changed the subject. “I tell him we should move to New York so he can run for judge one day,” she said. “He’d make such a great judge. Tough on crime.”

Win released a breath, like didn’t he know it. “I’d be a reformer, Faye. I don’t know if they’re ready for me.”

She set her hand on his forearm. “Of course they are. Of course. They need someone to show everyone else how it’s done.” She turned her large blue eyes to Eric. “I’m sure you must see it in the schools. The criminality at a young age.”

This sounded like politics, and Eric had been given strict orders to stay away from any kind of politics. “Criminality? I don’t think so. We have some kids who need a little extra guidance, sure. Like a few years ago, this one kid took a permanent marker and drew caricatures of the faculty on the hallway wall, including yours truly.” Eric grinned at the memory. “He drew me as a penguin.”

“A penguin?” Faye knit her brows. “Why a penguin?”

“I had no idea until I asked him. Then he told me it’s because I had such a long pole up my ass that I waddled.”

Faye and Win broke into laughter, and Win draped his arm around Faye’s shoulders. “So,” Win said, “let me guess: juvie hall? I mean, it’s defamation of public property.”

Eric shook his head. “Nope. I had a long talk with him.”

“The penguin discussion?” Faye gave a knowing smile.

“The same. How’d you know?” Eric said.

Win groaned. “You bleeding hearts. A long talk? For defacing property? That kid obviously had issues.”

“You’re right there. A whole string of them.” Eric held up one hand to tick off on his fingers. “An absent father. An alcoholic mother who’d tried to drink herself to death and ended up losing her job and her apartment. The kid was homeless and acting out.”

The explanation sobered Faye and Win. “So what happened?” Faye asked.

Eric shrugged. “I made a case to the principal. This student was a talented artist, and given the right support, I thought he could still have a future. The board of education agreed not to press charges, but the student had to stay after school every day to repaint that wall. He ended up designing the most magnificent mural. A landscape of this one section of River Junction.” Eric smiled thinking about it. “He added a penguin in the corner, too. He said it was his license as an artist, and that this time it was supposed to be a compliment. He’s in art school now, out in Chicago. Not a criminal,” he added.

“Hmm.” Faye leaned her head against Win’s shoulder. “Maybe you should run for judge. It sounds like you get results.”

Eric waved off the compliment. “I’ll leave that to Win. I’m challenged enough by elementary school.”

ERIC WAS CHARMING. Easygoing. At dinner he made my dad laugh out loud a few times, and Win liked him so much he invited him to join him for a charity golf tournament in the spring. “Our firm hosts it every year. It’s a great time.”

“I love golf. I played in college.”

Well, look at Mr. Copper Hill, I thought and reached for a glass of wine. “You’re a golfer, Eric? I’m learning something new.”

Something about the disclosure bugged me. Maybe because I’d assumed Eric wasn’t about that leisure life. Maybe because I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. But he lifted his shoulders nonchalantly. “My uncle used to take me out as a kid. I worked at the country club through high school. I was a caddy but I got to play free rounds at slow times. It was a way to get out of the house for a few hours.”

Ah. I got it. Golfing was a way to avoid his father. I felt instantly ashamed for making it a class issue.

“I’d love to play,” Eric said to Win. “I’ll have to scrub the rust off my golf clubs.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s all for charity. And fun.” Win clapped him on the back and I winced. Ugh, back clappers.

Mom informed us that she was taking an art class at the local community college. “It’s not serious, of course. I take it with some of the girls. But I’ve learned so much about myself, and the instructor says I have talent.” She looked at me. “I told him he should see my daughter’s work. You’re the artist in the family, Lettie.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” I said. “What’s your medium?”

“Oil. Here, I’ll show you.” She left the table only to return with a cell phone in a white plastic case decorated with a sparkling jewel in the shape of a flower. “See, this is one that I did of some flowers in front of my condo, and this is one of some flowers that I saw on a postcard.”

I flipped through the images and noticed the common theme right away. My mother is painting female genitalia, and she doesn’t even realize it. “These are lovely, Mom.”

“Can I see?” Faye leaned over beside me to get a glimpse. “Oh. Oh my.” She bit back a gasp.

“Interesting, right?”

Faye’s eyes widened. “Very.”

“They remind me of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work.”

“Oh, is she good?” Mom said. “You’ll have to write that name down so I can look her up.”

Faye and I exchanged a glance as I handed the phone back to Mom.

“I think it’s great that you’re challenging yourself in new ways, Grace,” Sadie said. “I’ve decided that I’m going to begin writing erotica. I told the girls about it a month or two ago.”

The timing was unfortunate because Faye had just taken a sip of water, and she started choking. I patted her on the back. “You okay there?”

She nodded, but her face was red and she had dribbled water down the front of her white sweater.

“Lettie didn’t tell me you were a writer,” Eric said cheerfully as he helped himself to more cranberry sauce.

“I am. I’ve never published any of my work, but I thought, why not? I’d try something new. Everyone loves a good sexy story.” She reached over and gripped my dad’s hand. It was no less weird the second time.

But Eric was intrigued. “I don’t actually know much about the market. What kind of story do you think you’ll tell?”

Sadie’s face lit up. She loved the spotlight. “I have this notebook I would write in when I was modeling. People would tell me stories—I must have one of those faces. People like to tell me things. But I think I’ll write about that.”

“So it’s nonfiction erotica, then?”

He said it deadpan, like this was something he always wanted to know about. Was he for real? I nudged him under the table with my foot, and for a split second, his veneer cracked, and I saw the hint of a smile. But just as quickly, he was back to engaging Sadie in serious conversation about her erotica while eating his turkey.

Sadie nodded enthusiastically. “The names will be changed, but that’s it. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people have told me. One of my friends—I won’t mention her name because she’s extremely well-known—she was at a photo shoot, and the photographer kept telling her to take off her bathing suit. And she was like, ‘But I’m modeling a bathing suit!’ And he didn’t care. He was saying, ‘Take off your top.’ And they were in Hawaii on one of those black-sand beaches, and then this male model was there, and he was super hot—”

“All right,” Faye said loudly. “We have little pitchers with big ears at the table.”

Portia and Blaise weren’t even paying attention, though. Blaise was arranging his mashed potatoes into a mountain, and Portia was slipping food under the table to Odin.

“Maybe they want to go and play,” I said. “Portia and Blaise, are you all done with your dinner?”

The twins nodded. “Can we be ’scused?” Blaise drawled.

“Go ahead.” Faye watched them leave, Odin following closely, before saying, “It sounds interesting, Sadie. Maybe you can show us when you’re finished.”

LATER IN THE KITCHEN as we were washing dishes, Faye grumbled, “Are you as grossed out as I am about Sadie writing erotica?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt anyone.” I handed a plate to Eric, who was waiting with a dish towel.

Faye rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s no surprise she’d want to write that. Those books are trash.”

My shoulders stiffened, and I bit down on my lower lip. “You know, I think that’s unfair. Sex is a normal part of life. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“We both know why people read those books, and that’s to get off. It’s pornography.” Faye handed me a glass to rinse.

I lifted a shoulder. “I can see a value in women expressing their desires and fantasies. We’ve been taught we’re supposed to endure sex and instructed that it’s really for men. You know, the old, Not tonight, dear, I have a headache. But what’s wrong with women wanting to enjoy themselves? I think it’s liberating.”

Faye eyed me sidelong with a smirk on her face. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m just going to express my surprise that you’re coming down in favor of erotica.”

“Noted. And I’m going to express my appreciation for it as an art form that normalizes women enjoying sex.” I paused. “But yeah, the thought of Dad’s wife writing about sex . . .”

“See? It’s gross,” Faye said triumphantly.

“Yeah. It’s gross.”

I glanced at Eric, who I could tell was trying to remain as invisible as possible. But when our eyes met, he gave me a suggestive smile, and my stomach did a backflip. If filling my gap with erotica had brought me to Eric—as I believed it had—then I would be a defender of erotica for the rest of my life.

WHEN DESSERT was served, we couldn’t find Portia. Faye cornered Blaise, who was on the family room floor flipping through one of the children’s books I kept on hand for their visits. “Where’s your sister?”

“I dunno.” He turned the page and didn’t bother looking up.

“Faye, she’s not lost,” Win said as he rose from the couch. “She’s probably playing somewhere upstairs.” He patted his already swollen belly. “Mmm. What kind of pie do we have?”

Faye set her hands on her hips. “Why isn’t she answering me when I call her, Win? Blaise, were you playing hide-and-seek with her? Could she have shut herself in the washing machine?”

I sighed. “She’s five. That’s why she’s not answering you. I’ll go check upstairs. She’s probably with the dog.” I hadn’t seen Odin in a while, and Portia adored him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Eric said, and took a step toward the stairs.

If I knew my niece, she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing. I’d do the best I could to get her cleaned up and hide the damage so she wouldn’t spend the rest of the holiday on a time-out chair.

“Thanks, but it’s fine.” I smiled. “I’ll be right down.”

My house has three bedrooms upstairs, but I use two of them for storage and I doubted Portia would be in either of those rooms. Sure enough, when I opened the door to my bedroom, Portia was in front of me, naked as the day is long, wrestling happily with Odin. “Hey, Portia!”

She froze, terror written on her face as she waited for the lecture that would follow. Stand up. Put on your clothes. Act like a lady. All of the things Faye, Win, and all of us were trying to drill into her young head. Be a nice, pretty girl, because boys only like nice, pretty girls.

Her brown eyes were wide, and for the first time I saw something in them that made my heart tip to one side: a flash of shame. I knew that feeling intimately, and I never wanted my niece to feel that way again. Not if I could help it.

She scrambled to her feet and away from Odin, who lay panting on his side, tail thumping. “Sorry, Aunt Lettie,” she said. “I’ll get dressed.”

She hopped over the dog and rushed to grab her clothes, which she had strewn haphazardly across the bedroom floor. I took a step forward, one hand over my hurting heart. “Portia. Honey, wait.”

She stopped and faced me, holding a limp purple dress in her arms. Her bare belly stuck out like a little ball; her thighs rubbed together. She was slightly pigeon-toed, and one day someone would tell her that her eyebrows were too thick and that she should wax them. But to me in that moment, she was exquisite.

“Sweetheart.” I knelt before her and set my hands on her upper arms, feeling the soft baby skin. “I’m not mad. I think you’re beautiful, and if you want to be naked and play with Odie, that’s fine with me, okay?”

She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Okay.”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

I tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “Promise me that you’ll never listen to anyone who tells you what you should think about yourself or your body, okay? Because you are beautiful, and you are perfect, and you are going to run a small country one day, and God help anyone who tries to stop you. And if you like to be naked, then you should be naked.”

She smiled. “Okay.” She paused for a moment and searched my face. “Aunt Lettie, does my breath smell bad?”

“What? No, sweetie. Not at all.” I froze. “Does mine?”

“A little bit.” She opened her dress and showed it to me. “I’m cold now. So I’m going to get dressed.”

I kissed her forehead. “Okay, pumpkin. I’ll be downstairs.”

I wouldn’t even mention the exchange to Faye or to anyone. It would be our secret. I’d walk downstairs and say that I’d found Portia playing with Odin. But first I went to my nightstand drawer and found a tin of breath mints. Out of the mouths of babes.

LATER, when everyone had left, Eric and I snuggled up on the couch. “You survived the Osbourne family Thanksgiving,” I said.

“You survived. I excelled.” He kissed the top of my head. “Actually it was fine. You prepared me for the worst.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Odie was great, too. No jumping or eating off the table.”

“He’s working toward his master’s in obedience, so . . .”

Eric pulled his head back and smirked at me. “I think he’s a long way from that.”

“Sir, you have insulted me. I will defend my honor.” I sat up and clapped my hands on my legs. “Odin, come!” There was a long stretch of silence and the unmistakable clink of dog tags upstairs. He’d heard me, but he wasn’t obeying. “Odin. Come!” Another rustle of dog tags as he scratched behind his ear.

Eric snickered and folded his arms. “A master’s, you said? Did I hear that correctly?”

“Labs take longer to mature, obedience-wise.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s a very good swimmer.”

“Too bad we’re not in a lake.”

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Odin! Cookie!”

Another brief pause, but this time I heard the patter of his feet as he crossed the bedroom and plunged down the stairs. “Good boy! You show Eric what a good boy you are—”

I stopped as Odin trotted into the room, clutching something in his mouth. He bent down, keeping his tail wagging high in the air, and chomped on whatever he’d found. “What do you have?” I climbed off the couch and crawled over to him, but Odin jerked his head away and growled playfully. “I’m not playing tug. What is— Oh no.” I recognized the edging.

It was one of my thongs.

“No. Bad! That’s mine!” I lunged for the underwear and Odin sprung in the other direction. He dropped it on the ground and barked at me, wagging his tail. “Odin Zachary Osbourne, give that to me right now!”

Eric stood and took a few steps. “I can help—”

“I’ve got it! Really!” The last thing I wanted was for Eric to pry a wet thong from my dog’s mouth. What was it with Odin and crotches, anyway?

I chased him back upstairs and distracted him with a dog treat. He dropped the underwear, and I snatched it up. “You!” I growled and rubbed his head. “Just when I was bragging about how well-behaved you are.”

When I reentered the living room, Eric was grinning at me. “Maybe a few more semesters—”

“Don’t.” I attempted to keep my face severe, and when I felt the smile coming, I set my hand across my mouth. “It’s not funny.”

He held out his hands to loop his fingers in my waistband. “You. Come here.”

He pulled me down toward himself until I straddled his lap. His hands reached under my sweater and fanned across my bare back. “Let’s talk about something better.”

“Like what?”

He stroked his fingertips along my spine, sending chills throughout my body. “Like you reading erotica. That’s pretty hot.”

I slid my hands over his shoulders and down his back, bringing our faces inches apart. Could this guy be any more perfect?

“Don’t tell Brunhilda. It would probably get me fired.”

“I don’t see how that would be relevant.” He kissed me on the forehead.

I ran my fingers through his hair. My family loved him. He claimed to love them. He was wearing those thin, wire-rimmed glasses again, and I found him so mind-blowingly sexy.

I could tell him, I thought. I could tell him that I’d been capturing my feelings for him and preserving them in an erotic story. Fictional, sure, but the feelings . . . they were real. I could tell him. “I have some titles, you know. We could read them together—”

He kissed the spot below my ear. “I’d much rather act out our own.”

And for a flash, I hesitated. I had that opening, that moment where I could show him all of me. But it lasted only for a flash, and then my mind got—justifiably—distracted.