Emmy
Renverse (rahn-vay-say) v—To reverse
“What’s the plan?” Mom tosses the football to Jason, and we all lean into a huddle.
“Score a touchdown,” Jason deadpans.
“Obviously, smart aleck.” Mom flicks Jason’s ear. “Anything more specific?”
“Just run downfield and get open. I’ll do the rest.”
We break from our huddle with a clap and spread out on Mom and Dad’s sprawling lawn, facing the other team.
This is the last play of the annual Jennings family day-before-Thanksgiving game. It’s me, Mom, Jason, and Q against Dad, Rhys, Evie, and Drew. We’re winning since we have Jason, obviously, but not for lack of effort from Drew—who is playing like it’s his life goal to beat Jason. Without Lucy and Charlotte and their husbands, our family is incomplete, but it’s their year to be with their in-laws, so I can’t be too sad.
Rhys stands in front of me, and I make my best tough-girl face: narrowed eyes, pinched mouth. He chuckles, and I try not to let my game face slip.
Jason calls out an official-sounding play, though not one of us knows what it means, and Q hikes him the ball. We run as fast as we can down the field, but I don’t make it very far because Rhys won’t let go of my waist or stop tickling me.
“I think that was holding,” I say.
“I think you’re right.” Rhys winks at me.
We get back into position a few yards from where we started, and Jason calls another play—this one just as ambiguous as the last. Something about blue and red and numbers. Whatever. Jason throws the ball to Q, who takes his offensive position a bit too seriously and sprints to the end zone for a touchdown.
Evie joins him in celebrating, despite the fact that they’re on opposing teams.
Dad checks his watch. “Should we start the movie soon?” he asks Mom. “We have to get up early to start the turkey tomorrow, right?”
Mom raises an eyebrow, and Dad not so subtly looks over his shoulder at Evie and Q.
“Right,” Mom says. “The turkey. We should probably start the movie soon.”
Dad nods, pleased.
We start to walk inside, even Evie and Q, but I hold back Rhys on the wraparound porch. It’s cold in Utah, but here in California, it’s unseasonably warm. Mom says we can thank the Santa Ana winds—the warm front blowing over from the desert—for that.
“I used to come out here to stretch sometimes,” I tell Rhys. “Silly, but after long hours in the studio, it felt so nice to be outside. It was Evie’s idea, actually.” I smile. “Want to watch the sunset?”
“I’d love to.”
We sit on the wooden porch swing. I curl my legs up, and Rhys lazily rocks us. Today has been perfect. Exactly what I had hoped it would be. The football game was fun. Even Jason and Drew behaved. Mom and Dad were cute together. There’s no way Rhys doesn’t understand just how great having a forever family can be.
“Your family is great,” Rhys says, confirming my thoughts. “Thanks for inviting me. I’ve never had a Thanksgiving like this.”
“They like you too.” A warm feeling fills me, and I’m so happy I could burst. “Have you talked to your mom?”
He nods. “Last night and this morning. She said I’m worrying too much and she’s going to block my number.”
I smile. “Your mom is awesome.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
Rhys continues to lazily rock us using one foot. The other is propped on his knee, relaxed. We enjoy the warmth, the lingering light, and each other in silence for a moment.
“I’ve been wondering something,” Rhys says.
“What’s that?”
“Have you told your parents I’m not Mormon?”
The moment evaporates. “No,” I say quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because . . . I wanted them to get to know you first.”
He nods, but his gaze drops below the horizon, and his jaw sets. “Okay.”
I’ve never seen Rhys upset before, but he definitely looks it now. He must think I’m ashamed of him. That I’m embarrassed of him. But I’m not. I only wanted Rhys to have a glimpse of what being part of an eternal family felt like because I knew if he saw it, if he felt it, he would want it. I love Mom and Dad, but I’m not sure they could have put aside what they want for me—a temple marriage to a returned missionary—to give Rhys a real chance.
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Of course. Yes. I am.”
“When?”
“I-I’m not sure. Not because I’m putting it off but because I wanted this weekend to be perfect. I wanted to introduce you to my family without having to explain your beliefs. I wanted things to be perfect so that you . . . wanted to be a part of this,” I admit.
He looks up, and our eyes meet, any trace of hurt in his gone. “You want me to be a part of this?”
“More than anything.” How does he not know?
He reaches for my hand, laces our fingers, and stares down at them. “I want this, angel.”