by Dahlia Adler
“They offered. I told them not to.” I take a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and just kinda fiddle with it. I don’t know why talking to Nancy is making me antsy, but it’s just too…weird. I love Nancy, but she’s not my mom.
My mom’s met Cait and Frankie—last year, when she came up for parents’ weekend and we did a whole girls’ night thing because my dad had to work. My mom would’ve asked me about boys by now, would’ve dragged every single detail about Connor Lawson out of me the second she walked through the door.
But she won’t be walking through the door, no matter how long and hard I stare at it. And, I realize as I feel Nancy’s hand on my arm, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
“Lizzie,” she says softly, and that’s all it takes for me to dissolve into a flood of tears.
Nancy immediately wraps her arms around me while I cry, but it only makes it worse. She doesn’t wear my mother’s perfume, her shoulders are broader, and her arm muscles are more prominent. Every soothing word she says in not-my-mother’s voice is a stark reminder she’s the most maternal person in my life right now. And while I really, really appreciate that she’s here….
You’re not Mom. Tyler said it to me last night, and I want to say it now. But I know how much it hurt when he threw it at me, and I have no desire to inflict any pain on Nancy.
The thing is, I realize as I use the napkin I’d been toying with to blow my nose, I’m not trying to be. And neither’s Nancy. I had a mother, and she was wonderful, and she’s gone.
I can’t help wondering if Connor understood that being with me wouldn’t have meant he had to be a dad.
“Better?” Nancy asks quietly as I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and reach for another napkin.
“Relative term,” I sniffle as I clean up the mess of my face, take a deep breath, and walk over to the sink to rinse off.
She waits until I sit back down and covers my hand with hers. “Talk to me, Lizzie, please.”
So I do. I leave out the parts about Trevor and Sophie—the parts I probably wouldn’t have told my mom either—but as I go on about forcing myself to pick up my grades and learning the wonders of carpool and meeting with the boys’ therapists, I realize there’s no way to omit Connor. He’s been a part of everything for the past few months, and though I meant it when I told him I felt like we were surviving rather than living, I’m not even sure the former would have been possible without him.
“He sounds…torn,” Nancy says when I finish.
I roll my eyes. “I guess that’s a nice way of putting it. Anyway, he’s not anymore. Decision made.”
“Which sounds like it’s for the best, given that he’s your teacher,” Nancy points out.
“He’s just my TA,” I mumble.
She raises an eyebrow.
“He is! I have a professor for that class. Seriously, it’s not that big a deal.”
“Spoken like a girl who hasn’t quite let go of the idea of a relationship with this guy,” she says wryly. “I thought that was off the table?”
“It is. I’m just saying, whatever’s happened…it’s not so bad.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna lie.” She squeezes my hand. “If he’s made you laugh at any point in the past few months, I don’t care if he’s Genghis Khan. But if he’s hurting you….”
“He’s not,” I assure her, but I’m not sure it’s true. “I mean, he has a right to say he doesn’t think I’m worth the trouble. And I have to respect that, even if I think it’s bullshit.”
She laughs. “It is bullshit,” she says, keeping her voice low, “and if he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”
“That’s exactly what Mom would’ve said.”
“Your mother was extremely wise. Good taste in friends, too.” She grins and clinks her mug to mine before downing the rest of her coffee. “Now come on—if we’re going to make perfect pie crust, we’re gonna need some practice rounds.”
• • •
It takes four hours, but by the time Nancy goes back home, we have gorgeous-looking apple and sweet potato pies, the latter of which is covered with perfectly golden marshmallows I know will make my brothers very happy. We also chopped up the vegetables for the stuffing to save time tomorrow, when I would attempt to cook my very first turkey.
But first….
I dropped both Tyler and Max off at friends’ houses, and now it’s just me, standing in the doorway to my parents’ bedroom, looking around with dread at all of the belongings they’ll never touch again. I don’t want to let anything go, but Nancy keeps gently pointing out that other people can put the stuff to better use, and I know she’s right.
I start with my dad’s closet—the easiest. It’s full of suits, and there’s an organization that takes professional attire and gives it to people who can’t afford it so they have something to wear to interviews. I don’t want them, and Max and Ty have no use for them. No-brainer.
Only it’s not. Because I recognize the suit he wore to my high school graduation, the gray one he often wore with a white shirt and my favorite lavender tie. And there’s the navy one my mother always teased him made him look like a politician. And that pinstripe one would be perfect for Tyler someday….
No. I shake my head, hoping it’ll clear out all the doubts, and then grab as many suits as I can and haul them onto the bed, repeating the trip until all the suits, shirts, and ties are laid out and ready to be wrapped up. After another moment, I rescue the lavender tie. Next up is shoes, but I already feel so exhausted from the effort of purging my father’s everyday existence from the house that I curl up next to the suits instead.
I don’t even realize I’ve spaced out into a light nap until the cell phone in my pocket pings with a new e-mail. Fumbling with it, I squint into the bright light of the screen. The subject line is “Notes from today.” The only message is, “Here’s what you missed. –Connor.”
Fuck you, I think immediately, surprising myself with my venom. He’s the one who decided we were nothing but teacher and student. He’s the one who walked out on me while I was asleep. I told him to stop being my white knight and he’s still fucking doing it. It’s like some crazy addiction, one that’s supposed to be helpful but instead just turns my already fragile heart into a tortured mess of a bloody organ.
Thanks, I write back. But you need to stop. I’m about to hit Send, and then I add a Please.
I stare at my phone for a long time, waiting for his response, but when none comes after five minutes, then ten, I realize he’s listening. He’s backing off.
And I hate it.
On the bright side, now that I’m dying for a distraction, the idea of still having most of the room to go through no longer makes me want to claw my eyes out. I manage to separate my dad’s shoes into ones in good enough shape to donate and trash—he loved his old slippers so much the right one had barely half a sole left—and then I do the same for my mother’s.
I keep working—dividing, examining, hugging, crying—for hours and hours, getting lost in memories of the way my mother’s dark waves looked in this white dress or wrapped in that blue scarf. And I’m lonely, so lonely that I can’t stop myself from glancing at the dark screen of my phone every few minutes, praying that Connor will disobey my request while knowing he won’t.
Eventually, the boys come back, and we order a pizza while we go through more stuff until we’re too drained and exhausted to see straight. We all go to bed, and judging by the fact that I don’t hear Tyler’s computer or Max playing with his toys, the boys pass out right away.
I, of course, lie awake for what feels like forever, unwelcome images and memories of warm lips and hands running through my brain. If Connor’s rejection hadn’t hurt so badly, I’d almost be grateful for how much of my thoughts he’s consuming, given that at least it’s a break from mourning.
But it does hurt, and so does not being able to call him, and so does knowing that when I go back to my campus in just a
few days, my biggest support system will be gone. I love Cait and Frankie, but life for Cait is Lacrosse Über Alles, and Frankie’s a great friend, but it would never in a billion years occur to her to offer something like to watch Max for an hour.
At least it’s looking hopeful my grades will keep me at Radleigh for another semester—straight As on my mid-terms.
I know being able to stay there is a good thing. I’m just having a hard time remembering why at this moment, when the very thought of being there, with things as they are now, makes me want to throw up two slices of Meat Lovers’ Special.
Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. It used to be my favorite holiday, and now I can’t think of a damn thing on earth to be grateful for.
We start even earlier the next morning, and this time we have all hands on deck—turns out, it’s been a really, really long time since Nancy’s made a turkey. “I did it when Sam and I first got married,” she says, eyeing the defrosted bird every bit as warily as my mom used to eye Nancy’s ex-husband before she got actual proof he was cheating on her. “But your mom’s been making it for so many years, I’m just…out of practice.”
“It can’t be that hard,” says Tyler. “Don’t we just, like, stick it in the oven?”
I consult the recipe in front of me. “Was this turkey pre-brined?” I ask Nancy.
“I have no idea. I think so. Maybe.” She frowns. “What if it wasn’t? Do we have to brine it?”
“What does that even mean?” Tyler asks.
“I have no idea,” I mutter, examining the massive thing as if the information is stamped on the skin somewhere. “I think we should probably just proceed as if it was.”
“So then what?” asks Max, obviously eager to get his hands dirty.
“Then we need to take the giblets and stuff out of the turkey,” I say, reading the next step. “I think that’s gonna be your special job, Max.”
“Aren’t we supposed to preheat the oven?” asks Nancy.
“Not yet,” says Ty, looking over my shoulder.
“Well how does that make sense?” I ask.
“It says—”
“Yeah, but—”
“I think my hand is stuck!” yells Max.
“Max, your hand can’t be stuck,” Nancy says patiently, though her eyes widen and she watches him attempt to pull it out and fail.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Max,” I mutter as Tyler goes to work freeing him.
“Shouldn’t someone be making the stuffing now?” Nancy muses.
“What about my hand?” cries Max.
We all start talking over each other, but then the doorbell rings, and we all fall quiet. “Ty,” I sigh. “It’s really not a good time to have one of your friends over.”
“I didn’t invite anyone,” he insists.
“I’ll get it,” says Nancy. “You two work on getting Max’s hand free.”
It takes both me and Tyler, but we get Max’s hand—and the giblets—loose just as Nancy calls, “Lizzie? Someone here for you.”
“For me?” I mutter, giving my hands a quick rinse with a squirt of soap. I dry off on a hand towel and walk out. “Who—”
And then I freeze. Because there’s nothing I can possibly say at the sight of Connor Lawson, standing in my entrance, a sheepish smile on his face as he says, “Any chance you’ve got room for one more at the table?”
• • •
It’s fucking freezing outside. Connor’s already offered me his coat, but other than telling Nancy I’d be right back before yanking his arm outside before the boys could spot him, I can’t even form any words. All I can do is shiver and glare.
Connor’s not doing much better than I am in the speaking department, but he’s the one who finally breaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is so raw it hurts my throat. “I didn’t mean to ambush you. I just…I got in my car, thinking I’d drive around to clear my head, and I was an hour south of Radleigh before I realized I knew where I was going all along. Calisse.” He scratches his head and looks away, anywhere but at me. “This was a stupid thing to do.”
“It really was,” I mutter, apparently getting my voice back. “What the hell, Connor? How did you even know where I live?”
His cheeks flame at the question. “It’s on the copy of the sublet agreement you gave to me with your keys.”
“Oh.” I fall silent again.
“That’s it? I show up at your door and that’s all you have to say?”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from arguing with you, it’s that I never get the answer I want,” I point out coldly. “You’ve done a ton for me, and I’ll always be grateful, but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck with my head like you do. To hurt me like you do.” I start to storm back to the house, and then whirl around.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here,” I declare, feeling my entire body shake, and not just from the cold. “But I don’t want to have another conversation about how I’m too young, how I’m your student, how I come with too much baggage. I don’t want to do this shit anymore, Connor.”
“Good.”
I blink. “Good?”
“Good,” he affirms. “I don’t either.” He walks up to me, and before I can protest, he slides his coat off and wraps me in it. “I don’t want to come up with reasons not to be with you anymore. I just want to be with you. Period.”
“And I’m supposed to be believe that now? After everything?” There’s an edge in my voice, but the truth is that I want to, so badly that it hurts.
“I understand if you can’t,” he says, his breath turning to puffs of smoke in the air, “but I’m gonna do whatever I can to prove it. I thought driving five hours was a pretty nice start.”
“What happened to not being able to handle my being a guardian?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them. “Emergency session,” he says, and my stomach drops at the tinge of shame in his words. Shame I put there, when I had no business to. Especially when I see how much stronger it makes him, and has made Max, and maybe even Tyler. “You know what they say about daddy issues.”
“You don’t have to be their dad,” I say softly, my earlier conversation with Nancy ringing in my ears. “I’m not trying to take her place, and you don’t have to try to take his.”
He nods wordlessly, but I can see he’s still struggling with the idea. To be honest, though, so am I. “My shrink said the same thing. It’s just hard to feel like I won’t suck at it—whatever it is—when I have no idea what a decent father looks like.”
“You’re great with them,” I remind him, seeking out his hands and bringing them to my waist, inside the warmth of the coat. “You’re already everything you have to be to be with me, if it’s what you really want.”
“Is it what you want?” he rasps.
“You showed up at my house on Thanksgiving morning and I haven’t kicked you out yet,” I say teasingly. “What do you think?”
He rests his forehead on mine. “I think it would be really nice to continue this conversation inside.”
“Fair enough.” I turn back to the house, but before I can take another step, I’m spun back around. And then his cold hands are on my cheeks, and his warm lips are on mine, and I swear, I’m melting in the thirty-degree air.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when he pulls back just enough to speak. “I used up all my restraint waiting the last ten minutes to kiss you. That was all I had in me.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said we were in trouble,” I murmur against his lips. “But if you come inside with me, you aren’t gonna be able to run again. You don’t have to be their dad, but you can’t confuse the shit out of them either. And Nancy…she’s the closest thing we have left to a parent.”
He nods. “I can…I don’t know…sit in my car or something while you talk to her, if you want.”
Now it’s my turn to feel my cheeks flame. “I think she’s already got a pretty good idea who you are, given that we talked about you f
or a while yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
I smile at his attempt to hide how pleased he is, like a kid on Christmas morning trying to pretend he hasn’t sneaked a look at his present. “Yeah. But I should warn you—unless you know how to cook a turkey, I might have to trade you in for a guy who does.”
“Well then,” he says, laughing, “good thing I’m a fast learner.”
• • •
The trembling isn’t entirely out of my system as I walk back into the house, hand-in-hand with Connor. This conversation is far from over, and I know I’m letting my happiness that he’s shown up cloud my judgment.
It’s just really fucking hard to care.
I pause in the foyer and close my eyes, feeling his fingers intertwined with mine, the faint scent of his aftershave drifting to my nose, unobtrusive, just strong enough to remind me he’s here. When I open my eyes again, he’s watching me. “That nervous?” he asks softly.
I don’t know how to tell him about the conversation in the car, that Ty and Max might not have the best feelings toward him right now. I’m not sure he realizes I’ve told Nancy he’s my TA, nor do I know how he’ll feel about her knowing.
But life doesn’t give a shit about perfect timing, or perfect circumstances; it just happens. And by now, I’ve lived enough to recognize that when something pretty damn good is coming your way, no matter how inconvenient, you should just fucking embrace it while you still can.
“Nope.” I squeeze his hand and pull him into the kitchen. “Hey, boys, say hi to our guest, will you?”
“Connor!” Max’s face lights up, and he turns to Tyler. “I told you he likes me.”
Ty isn’t quite as welcoming, and the grin elicited by Max quickly drops when Ty asks Connor stonily, “What are you doing here?”
“Tyler!” Nancy scolds. “That’s no way to greet a guest.”
“He doesn’t even wanna be here,” Ty mutters.
Connor turns to me, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s he talking about?”
“Ty,” I say, clasping Connor’s forearm. “Again, I’m sorry for what I said in the car. But he just drove all the way down here to spend Thanksgiving with us. You don’t think maybe he’s thought about it a little more and changed his mind?” Please have genuinely thought about it more and changed your mind, I mentally impart to Connor.