by Colet Abedi
“He’ll get over it.” Kerri rolls her eyes. “Tell him we’ll see him for breakfast tomorrow morning, and if he really wanted to see us, he shouldn’t have planned a work dinner.”
“You know how work can be, dear,” Mrs. Harrington says as she stands. “But if that’s how you feel, I know from experience I can’t get you to do anything you don’t want. Do you want me to have Jessica bring you guys dinner, or will you order in?”
“Depends what’s for dinner,” Kerri says dryly.
I try not to laugh. Kerri really has no idea how lucky she is. The closest I got to having a “Jessica bring me food at the guesthouse” is my mom bringing me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread out to the tent I put up in the backyard. And that rarely happened.
Talk about reality check.
“Your father’s favorite of course, bison ragù over penne along with many other dishes she’ll prepare for the guests,” Mrs. Harrington explains. “We have to keep our vegan and pescatarians in mind.”
“Sounds good,” Kerri says. “We’ll take it. One of each.”
Kerri stands, and I take it as a cue we’re leaving. I get up with her.
“Perfect, I’ll have them bring it over for you. See you in the morning then.” She waves us off. I mean, we are going to another wing of the estate now, and it’s kind of easier to get there in a golf cart than walk.
We walk down the steps of the veranda and grab Kerri’s cart. Seriously, it has her name on it, and it’s pink. We hop in, and Kerri drives it across the perfectly manicured grounds and straight toward the family guesthouse. I honestly don’t really believe it can be called just a guesthouse because it has four bedrooms. One’s an office, and the building is three thousand square feet. It’s bigger than the home I grew up in.
Once she parks, we hop out of the cart and walk into the house. I note Edward had already come by and put our luggage in the correct rooms. He remembered where I stayed over the summer and pretty much knew which bag was mine—the one from TJ Maxx. Kerri’s is designer and worth Lord only knows how much.
The miniature version of her parents’ house has the same lux feel with an open floor and comfortable, spacious furniture. Everything is larger than life. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice as well as a few bottles of red on the countertop in the kitchen and a card that says “Enjoy” from her mom. There’s also a beautiful arrangement of flowers addressed to both of us. She filled the kitchen with fruit and goodies, obviously over the moon we would be here for the holiday. It’s really sweet of her.
“Pop open the champs,” Kerri commands as she throws her purse on the counter and walks directly to the fridge.
“One sec.” I pick up my large tote and grab my cell phone. I forgot to bring it with me when we went in the house.
I have two missed calls from Jamie. I quickly dial him back.
“Aren’t you in the air?” I say when he picks up, noting the time. He’s not supposed to arrive at the Cape until 9:00 pm.
“I am up in the air,” he says. “And I’m very annoyed you’re not up in the air with me. I wanted to initiate you into the Mile High Club.”
I grimace. “Initiate me?” I say annoyed. “I take it you’re already a part of this club?”
Kerri shouts with laughter. She obviously knows what club Jamie is referring to. I give her my best stink eye.
“A few times over.” He has no shame. None. Whatsoever.
“Nice.” It’s all I’m able to say.
“I’m going to keep talking about my past so much, baby.” His voice is husky, and my heart can’t help but pick up its pace. “That eventually it’s going to become just that in your mind too—my past. Just like a book one of a trilogy, something you’ve read and finished and are done with, and all you want is to get to the next in the series.”
“How Freudian of you,” I scowl, but he’s kind of right. I am getting less and less Wolverine angry. I’d never tell him this, but I even think some of his stories are kind of funny.
“I’d like to think I’m as smart as Freud.” He’s dead serious.
I’m not even going to dignify this with an answer. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s fine.” There’s an awkward pause, and I hear an angry voice in the background and then some rustling. Jamie covers and says, “She says hi, and she can’t wait to meet you.”
I can’t wait to tell the bitch off is what I think I hear. I ask Jamie if I’m right.
“No!” He sounds so nervous that I know I am. My guard is instantly up. Just what did I ever do to his precious best friend of a sister?
Annoying woman who’s currently acting like a see you next Tuesday – what? She’s rude.
“I think I’m losing reception,” Jamie lies, and it annoys me. “I’ll text you later.”
I think I heard his sister getting more and more animated and throwing around F-bombs—all directed at me. What the hell?
Kerri’s leaning against the counter sipping on a glass of champagne, staring at me like I’m some telenovela she can’t stop watching.
“I am dying,” she drawls incredulously. “Seriously, Wyld. Dying. Did his sister just call you a bitch?”
“She did.” I walk to the bottle and pour myself a healthy glass.
“What a cow!” Kerri’s eyes are wide with admiration. “I like her already.”
“Excuse me?” I say insulted.
“You stood her and her big brother up when she was supposed to meet you,” Kerri explains to my disbelief.
“What are you talking about?” Honestly?
“Your birthday.” Kerri laughs. “Jamie didn’t tell you… One of the surprises he had was for you to meet his sister as well. So in actuality, you ended up standing them both up.”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter as my head drops.
“More like diarrhea.” Kerri doesn’t sound sarcastic at all. “Montezuma kind.”
“You’re really not helping,” I mutter in anger.
“I’m not trying to,” she says honestly. “Come on, grab the fruit and let’s just go binge watch Game of Thrones. That will for sure take your sorrows away.”
Possibly.
“’Kay,” I say. “I’m going to put my sweats on first because I have a feeling we’re not going to move from the couches until tomorrow.”
“Your idea has merit because no, I don’t think we are either,” Kerri says with excitement. “This is my favorite kind of night!”
Mine too. I walk in my room and grab my sweats out of my bag and then remember my mom. Shit. I grab my phone and quickly call. It rings twice before she picks up.
“Honey!” My mom’s frantic voice squeals with her usual frantic energy. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“Mom,” I say, feeling horrible. “I’m sorry, but I did text you.”
“A text is not a call.” My mom starts to cry. It’s a weak, “poor me” type of cry. I know this because I have all of her breakdowns categorized. “You’re all I have now.”
I grit my teeth.
“Now?” Honestly, I don’t even want to know.
“Your father is spending Thanksgiving with that whore!” My mother wails into the phone, and I feel instant hives coming along.
“Mom—”
“I’m all alone!” She screams into the phone. “I’ll just die all alone as well. I might as well die now.”
“Mom!” I shout at her in anger. “Just stop! I couldn’t afford to come see you. What do you want from me? I barely make any money to get myself food, let alone gas or pay my rent. I’ve never asked for anything from you guys. Anything. Give me a break.”
“You don’t love me,” she mutters in an angry voice.
I close my eyes in sadness. As usual, she never hears anything I say.
“I do love you, Mom,” I say after a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I hope you don’t do this to me over Christmas as well,” she says in a hysterical voice. “I’ll never survive it, because
Lord knows your father will be with his whore—”
“Then leave him,” I tell her in a hard voice, the same way I’ve done a million times before.
She goes on like she didn’t even hear me. “He just doesn’t even care about me. He comes and goes as he pleases—”
Or didn’t want to hear me.
“Mom,” I say, interrupting her because I can’t take any more. I was actually in a really good mood. “I’ve gotta go. I stepped out of a movie to call you.”
“Oh, all right,” she says after a second. “I guess I’ll talk to you later. Will you call me tomorrow, Wylder?”
“Of course I will,” I say. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Good night, love,” she says.
“Good night.”
I close my eyes again. Talk about morbidly depressing. Every single time I talk to my mom, it’s like I’m hit with a tsunami wave of images from my past.
I look at the door, and Kerri’s leaning against the frame, staring at me. The look she gives me is a mixture of anger, sadness, and love.
“I love you.” Her voice is filled with sympathy.
“I love you.” And I do. She’s like my earth angel and fairy godmother all wrapped up in one pretty amazing package.
“She doesn’t mean to be the way she is,” I say to Kerri because I feel the need to defend my mom. I don’t want her to hate her.
“I know, Wyld.” Kerri’s voice is sad.
“It’s a disease, you know.” I try to keep my shit together and not cry. It would be too easy to do. “She’s addicted to him.”
“I know.” Kerri walks forward and grabs my hand. “But she doesn’t need to bring you down the spiral of darkness with her. That’s the part that kills me.”
She pulls me out of the room and then orders me to down my drink. I do as she commands. Kerri then grabs a bottle of Patrón Platinum and pours us both small shots.
“Happy fucking Thanksgiving,” she says as she lifts her cup and stares at me.
“This could go bad really fast,” I tell her, then look at my shot and shrug. “Fuck it.”
We down the shot, hit the table, and suck on a lime she sliced and then she pours another.
“To amazing sex!” We pound another.
“We should slow down,” I warn her and hold my hand up. “Grab the bottle, and let’s get to the couch and start watching TV. We won’t make it until eight if we keep this up.”
“Fine,” Kerri seems disappointed. “So let’s not talk about your mom but about Jamie’s having-every-right-to-be-annoyed sister.”
“Fiii-oooo-na?” I drawl out her name as I roll my eyes.
“You’re gonna have to kiss and make up with her,” she tells me. “She’s your man’s sister.”
My man.
I like the sound of that.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug even though I full well know I’m going to have to do exactly that.
The theme song for Game of Thrones starts to echo through the surround sound in the room, and Kerri and I squeal. Before I settle in to watch the show, I grab my phone to send a quick drunken text to Jamie.
ME: I don’t like your sister.
Oh. My. God. I totally just texted him that. She’s his best friend! I blame the tequila, even though I’m now reaching for the bottle to pour another.
It’s a second before Jamie writes back.
JAMIE: She doesn’t like you either.
“Bitch!” I gasp out loud. Kerri looks at me and smiles.
ME: She has no right.
My phone indicates Jamie is typing back.
JAMIE: She was protecting her older brother. She loves me. What can I say? I’m just that lovable guy.
Ha. But let’s be honest, he is.
My heart stops.
Oh, no. He is.
Reality starts to sink in, and it’s not very pretty. It’s exactly the thing I never wanted to happen, and it’s scary as hell.
I’m in love with Jamie fucking Donovan.
Chapter Eleven
I wake up to the hangover from hell.
Champagne and tequila are not a pretty combination. It’s way past ten, and I know we have to be at the main house at eleven thirty to begin the festivities. Kerri says Thanksgiving is a big deal for her family, and they always go all out and invite a ton of people to the party.
Jamie already texted me a turkey gif. I send one back, then tell him I’ll call him after I shower since I don’t have much time to get ready. I don’t wait for the lewd, sexual remark I know is about to follow. I take my time in the shower, and it actually does wonders for my headache. When I’m done, I get ready for the day.
I blow out my hair and fix my makeup, then slip into a long-sleeved, fitted brown cashmere dress Kerri gave me for my birthday. It comes above my knees, so I match it with the brown, knee-high suede boots she bought for me as well. They’re both famous designers so I can only imagine how much she spent on them. Though I’m all covered up, the dress is sexy, and paired with the boots, it’s next level. I put on the pearls I received from my mom when I graduated college. They belonged to my grandmother, and they are the only expensive piece of jewelry I own. They’re probably not even worth that much, but sentimentally, they mean something.
Because I’m feeling pretty good about myself, I decide to FaceTime Jamie.
He picks up after two rings. He looks really handsome and very east-coast preppy. Or maybe it’s the whole scene going on behind him. He’s holding his phone far enough away from him that I can see what’s going on in the background. He has what looks to be a huge family. I can see kids crawling around each other and screaming—as they tend to do—lots of young people walking around, and a large table that probably seats around twenty-five is set in the back. It’s exactly the way Thanksgiving should look.
I can feel the fire in Jamie’s eyes when he looks at me.
“You look gorgeous.” His gaze sweeps over my face in admiration. “I’m jealous. You’re not all dolled up for me.”
I bloom from the compliment. “But you get to see.”
“Seeing is not touching,” Jamie grumbles.
A really attractive woman walks by behind him and looks at the phone with a scowl, like one of those weird people during live news broadcasts who wave at the camera while the reporter is talking and don’t realize how creepy they look—exactly like that.
“Who’s that?” I ask, even though I have a pretty good idea who it is.
Jamie turns his head and gives me a ghost of a smile. “Fiona.”
“Ahhh.” It’s all I can bring myself to say out loud since I don’t want to insult her.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” Jamie asks, changing the subject.
“Going over to Kerri’s parents place now and probably just—”
“Going to eat and drink all day.” Kerri chimes in as she walks up behind me and waves at the phone. “Hi, Jamie. Bye, Jamie. We’re late.”
Jamie gives Kerri a dirty look. “I thought I liked you,” he scowls.
“You do,” Kerri assures him with a wink. “We gotta go.”
I laugh and wave at Jamie.
“I’ll text you later,” I tell him. He looks so jealous, it makes my heart happy. Especially now that I know what kind of emotions I’m dealing with on my side of the equation.
We hang up, and Kerri and I take off for the party.
Kerri’s dressed elegantly in a pair of skintight green suede pants and an oversized matching cashmere sweater. Her hair is slicked back, and the only jewelry she has on are a pair of enormous diamond studs that are so big you can probably see them from outer space. Gold heels finish off her look.
“You look really good,” I tell her in admiration.
“Was going to say the same to you,” she says. “Can you drive the cart?”
“No problem,” I say in surprise. She usually needs to be the one in control. I know why a second later when she lights up a joint.
“Hello?” I shake my head
at her. “We’re walking into your parents Thanksgiving party.”
“That’s exactly why I need this,” she tells me with a roll of her eyes. “Want some?”
“No, thank you.” I’m not into it.
When Kerri’s done, she puts out the joint on the side of the cart.
“Get ready for the circus of crazies,” Kerri mutters as I pull up to the veranda and park. The party is already in full swing, and we’re not even that late. There must be at least fifty people standing around, while servers pass around cocktails and hor d’oeuvres. This is definitely unlike any Thanksgiving I’ve ever been to, and to be honest, what was going on at Jamie’s family’s house seems a lot more my speed.
We walk up the stairs and get admiring looks from a bunch of the men in the crowd. Many of the older men, I’m assuming her father’s friends, check Kerri out, but she acts like she doesn’t see.
“Let’s get a drink,” she says and nods a few hellos to some of the people we pass in the crowd. “I’ll be back, Aunt Julia,” she says to an impeccably dressed older woman.
Aunt Julia looks a lot like Mrs. Harrington with the same kind of demeanor.
Kerri walks off with purpose. When I woke up, I didn’t think I could take another drink, but now, looking around at this crowd, I can’t wait to have one to take the edge off. Kerri doesn’t disappoint and hands me an exotic-looking martini from a station they have going.
“You realize it’s not even noon,” I scold her and myself but take the drink anyway.
“Trust me,” she says with a knowing smile. “You’re going to need it.”
Kerri’s eyes flicker toward someone standing behind me, and I watch her groan right before taking a long sip of her drink. She pops an olive in her mouth.
“It’s creepy Uncle Vern,” she says in disgust. “Let me go say hi so he doesn’t think he can come over here and start to hit on you.”
“What?” I laugh, wondering which one the creepy uncle is, then—
Oh. Ew. I see him. He definitely looks the part.
“I’ll be right back, Wyld,” she tells me. “And you’re welcome, by the way… just don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be here.” I laugh at her annoyed face and take another sip of the best martini I’ve ever had. Since I’m going on an empty stomach, I should probably eat some type of carb so I don’t get sick or drunk—whichever comes first. I make my way to a long buffet table filled with all sorts of appetizers and assortments. I pick up a small plate and start to fill it with yummy-looking pastries.