by A. E. Wasp
“Watch out for Lori, Jules,” Bryce called from the stairs. “She has violent tendencies.”
“That’s okay, I like ‘em feisty.” She pointed her pen at Bryce. “Where have you been hiding?”
Bryce looked guilty. “I was trying to stay out of the way.”
“You’re part of this family, get the hell in here.” Julie waved him in. “You’re on bonfire duty with Dakota, Dustin, and…” She waved her pen across the crowd, “Keith.”
“I feel like that’s sexist,” Keith objected. “What if I want to decorate or cook?”
“You will. Don’t worry. But for right now, I need you to go lift heavy things.”
Keith shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“Atticus!” Julie called.
Amy’s youngest jumped up from the corner of the couch where he’d been curled. A quiet boy, small for a six-year-old, he often got overlooked in the chaos of the family.
Bryce hoped to spend more time with his nephew. Something about his shy smile and the intense way he watched everything around him made Bryce want to get to know him better.
“What can I do, Aunt Julie?” he asked. He stood straight up, blushing a bit at all the eyes on him, but ready to be put to work.
“You have a very important job. I need you to gather eggs. Without eggs, there is no cake. You know Aunt Kelly will cry if there is no cake, and she is an ugly crier, and nobody wants to see that.” Julie looked down to hide her smile.
From the back of the room, Kelly gave Julie the finger. Josh and Ophelia muffled their laughter behind their hands.
“But I can’t go to the store myself.” Atticus’s brow furrowed. He looked so concerned, Bryce wanted to go over and just squeeze him or something.
Sometimes the way he loved his nieces and nephews felt too big for his heart to hold. How did parents do it? How did they live every day knowing anything could happen to their kids?
A drunk driver, a psychopath, a too-big bite of food could kill them. Babies sometimes just died in the middle of the night, and no one knew why. Bryce actually clutched his heart at the thought.
“Not the store, babycakes. You are going to go get eggs from actual, live chickens.”
“Really?” Atticus’ eyes opened wide. He started to say something, then closed his mouth and looked down. His sister crouched down next to him.
As Bryce watched, Dakota caught his eye. You okay? he mouthed.
Bryce remembered that Dakota’s birth parents had given him up, or had been so awful that the state had to take him away. He’d never asked for the details. How could someone do that? How could you hurt your own kid? The thought was incomprehensible, and Bryce was grateful. He never wanted to be someone who could understand that.
He nodded slightly to Dakota. Fine.
Ophelia stood up, holding Atticus’ hand. “Aunt Julie, can I help with the eggs, too? I wanted to see the chickens, too, but I’m kinda actually scared of birds. So I thought if Atty went with me, it would make me less scared.” She smiled down at Atticus, and he gave her a blinding smile of gratitude.
That’s it. Bryce was going to cry in the kitchen in front of everyone.
When Bryce had left home and moved to Canada, Julie had been the same age Ophelia was now. The twins had been barely five. Leaving them had been harder than leaving his mom.
His mom worked long hours, and the kids had banded together to make sure everything got done. Homework and meals and laundry.
Kelly and Keith had grown up at ice rinks, running up and down the stairs, toddling unsteadily on double-bladed kid skates.
Amy had made up songs and games to keep them amused, coloring and finding cheap crafts they could do with paper bags from the store and anything else she could find. No surprise she had grown up to be an art teacher in an elementary school.
He missed his siblings more than he had realized. The thought of going back on the road for three more years, three years of being away from everyone he loved, made him ill.
“Of course you can.”
“I can go with them,” said Brian.
He was an old friend of Tommy’s who had spent the last twenty-six Thanksgivings on the farm and said he wasn’t about to stop now just because Tommy was gone.
“You kids ever gathered eggs before?” Brian asked Ophelia and Atticus.
They shook their heads in unison.
“Well, that rooster can be a bit of a bastard. So I’ll keep him away from you, okay?”
Ophelia looked genuinely alarmed at that, and Atticus looked like he was regretting his life choices.
“Hey, O. When you’re there, say hi to Clarice. She’s my favorite chicken. And Atty, you are going to laugh so hard at the Polish ones. They look ridiculous.”
“You have a favorite chicken?” Julie asked incredulously.
“Oh, yeah, he does.” Dakota pulled his phone out and showed it to Ophelia and Atticus, both of whom burst into giggles.
Amy made grabby hands at the phone, and Dakota passed it over. The phone made its way around the room until it ended up with Julie.
She snorted. “Clarice is a beautiful chicken, Brycie. I’m posting this to your Facebook fan page. Dakota, can you email me that?”
“No problem. There’s more where that came from.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Bryce said flatly.
Everyone laughed and then dispersed to handle the many chores that needed to get done so tomorrow could be more about enjoying each other’s company than working.
Dakota hung back until Bryce caught up with him.
“Thanks for that,” Bryce said. “Atticus is a good kid, he’s just a little nervous sometimes.”
“Who isn’t?” Dakota stuck his phone in his pocket, and they walked slowly outside. “He’s a good kid. They all are.” Dakota stopped on the porch, staring off into middle distance.
“You know, I was exactly his age when I came to the farm. I was terrified of the chickens. And the rooster? Forget it. I wouldn’t go near him without a broom. Don’t even get me started on the cow.”
Bryce grabbed Dakota, fingers clenched around his bicep.
Dakota looked at him as Bryce struggled to find the words to say what he was feeling. I’m sorry your parents were dicks. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you somehow. I’ve never been so glad for a blown tire in my entire life.
His throat clenched with emotion, and the words I love you beat against his lips. If he opened his mouth, the words might slip out, and then what?
“Thank you.” He hoped Dakota understood everything he couldn’t say.
From the soft look on his face, he did. He turned to face Bryce, hooking one finger into the front pocket of his jeans. “I like your family a lot. They’re great.”
The front door opened. “And we like you, too,” Connie said from behind Bryce.
Bryce’s heart pounded in his chest, and his muscles tensed as he fought not to leap away from Dakota like a teenager caught making out on the porch, which he would have been if his mother had come out five seconds later.
Connie kissed Bryce on the cheek and patted Dakota on the arm. “You’re like one of the family,” she said with a pointed look at Bryce.
“Julie’s got me on a shopping trip to the root cellar.” She lifted up her arm to show the basket hanging from her elbow. “I can’t tell you how tickled I am that we’re having this homegrown Thanksgiving. Amazing. Like from a storybook.” Her eyes shone.
Dakota smiled back. “I’m glad you like it, ma’am. I know I love it here.”
“Well, I can see why.” She gave Dakota another pat. “You two better get to work before Julie finds you malingering.”
Bryce laughed. “She does hate malingerers.”
Julie had gotten the word in a spelling list in fifth grade and quickly adopted it into her vocabulary, hurling it as an insult to her siblings when they didn’t work fast enough for her. The fact that she hadn’t changed soothed a tiny ache in Bryce’s soul.
Connie rai
sed the basket again and almost skipped down the stairs. They watched her go.
“She totally knows,” Dakota said.
Bryce ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Yeah. She doesn’t seem to be upset about it, does she?”
Dakota laughed. “She practically gave me her blessing like she was the Godfather. You have to talk to her. She’s your mother.”
“I’ll talk to her. Later tonight when there aren’t so many people around.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“Fine. Let’s go build a bonfire. I have an urge to throw logs at Keith.”
Dakota clicked his tongue. “That boy is built.”
“If you hit on my brother…” Bryce couldn’t think of a threat dire enough.
Dakota laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite Lowery. I like my men a little less dudebro and more,” he raked his eyes over Bryce’s body in a way that made Bryce want to drag him away, “grown up and smoking hot.”
“Good,” Bryce growled, pulling Dakota down the stairs with a hand around his upper arm. Laughing, Dakota let himself be dragged away.
Twenty-Eight
Dakota
As he sat thumbing through a seed catalogue and drinking his second cup of coffee, Dakota had to admit that Julie’s organizational skills had made for the least stressful Thanksgiving morning he could remember.
His twenty-first-century hippie friends were wonderful. Kind, earnest, sincere, and great for things like saving the earth and supporting gay marriage. But when it came to organized activities, getting them to agree on something was like herding cats.
Julie didn’t do anything by committee. She looked at the job that had to be done, looked at her resources, human or otherwise, and made it happen.
The kitchen in his house had been delegated to turkey roasting, dessert staging, and playlist creation.
All he’d had to do was wake up early and put the already dressed turkey into the oven, then hang around and make sure the house didn’t burn down.
He felt a little guilty at not being part of the larger chaos of the big house, but truthfully he needed some alone time. Over the years, he’d gotten used to spending a lot of time alone. The last few months before Bryce, he’d gone days without speaking to anyone but the dogs.
He’d made a decision to be happy in the moment, as his parents had taught him. There was no sense letting worry about future pain spoil the present. Real pain might lurk in the future, but right now, everything was fine.
He just had to keep telling himself that.
Bryce kept a steady stream of texts coming throughout the morning to make him laugh or asking him where some kitchen implement might be. He sent snippets of arguments between his siblings and pictures of the ever-growing pile of food and drink.
One picture was of the three oldest Lowery off-spring sitting on the couch looking unhappy.
I hate to ask this, Bryce wrote, but the kids are bored and underfoot. I think Julie’s going to make them clean the bathrooms if I don’t hide them. Can they come down to you? I’ll make up an excuse.
Of course, Dakota sent back. Have them bring some eggs, somehow I ended up with none and I’m hungry.
**You’re** hungry? I got woken up at 6am and all I was allowed to eat was cold pizza.
Bryce did love his emojis.
They’d had to sleep apart last night. With the whole family in town, each of the five bedrooms held at least two Lowerys. Bryce didn’t really have a good excuse for not sharing his room with Keith, so there hadn’t been a chance for him to sneak out.
Ophelia, Joshua, and Atticus showned up at his door a few minutes later, bearing eggs and accompanied by Maggie.
The old dog stood quietly while Beezy and Lu sniffed all over her and tried to get her to play.
Dakota was a little worried about entertaining three strange children, but it turned out they entertained him.
They had a million questions about the farm and the orchard. While they ate more food than Dakota felt was prudent this close to Thanksgiving dinner, they regaled him with stories of Lowery family gatherings of the past.
“Are you sure you aren’t going to spoil your dinner?” he asked, sliding more bacon onto Ophelia’s plate.
She raised an eyebrow at him in a move so reminiscent of Bryce that he had to cover a laugh. “Fine,” he said. “But if your Aunt Julie says something about it, I’m going to tell her it was all your idea.”
Uncle Bryce was clearly loved even though he couldn’t be there as much as they liked. Ophelia especially, with her eye already on Olympic gold and a pro career, held him in almost god-like status.
They talked about the family vacation Bryce took them on every year. Mexico, Disney World, and camping on the islands off of Vancouver.
“Will you come next summer?” Joshua asked.
“I doubt it,” Dakota answered as he fired up his computer. “I’m not family.”
“I thought you were Uncle Bryce’s boyfriend,” Atticus said carefully picking any white parts out of his scrambled eggs.
Very deliberately not reacting, Dakota made a mental note to scramble the eggs more thoroughly next time, and to be more careful about checking for tiny people who might be watching before he touched Bryce in any way.
“No. We’re just friends.” Dakota rolled his eyes internally at the hoary phrase.
“Oh,” Atticus shrugged. “Friends are good. I have a friend named Ben. He has pretty eyes and works at the coffee shop, and I’m going to marry him when I grow up. Boys can get married. Did you know that?”
“I did know that. Sounds like Ben might be a little old for you though. Does he have a little brother?”
Atticus’s mouth dropped open like the thought had never occurred to him, and Ophelia laughed.
“Are these all the songs you have?” Joshua interrupted. He’d pulled Dakota’s laptop around towards him and was scrolling through his music choices.
“Do you have Spotify?” Ophelia asked.
“I don’t think so?”
A few hours later he had Spotify, a half dozen playlists he would probably never be able to find again without a kid’s help, and a perfectly cooked turkey.
They loaded up the turkey, the laptop, and some of the bottles of hard cider into an old red wagon and headed up to the big house.
Lu and Beezy barked like crazy as a white SUV with rental plates drove slowly up the road. “Race you,” Josh said, breaking into a run. Ophelia took off without a word, Lu and Beezy hot on her heels. Maggie opted for the slower pace of Dakota and Atticus.
Atticus looked up at Dakota. He put a hand on the little guy’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s up to you and me to make sure the turkey gets there in one piece. You with me?”
Atticus nodded seriously and placed his small hand on top of the towel-covered roasting pan. Maggie walked next to them as they slowly made their way to the house.
An eclectic mix of tableware and decorations covered the tables set up on the screened-in porch. Ceramic turkeys and pilgrims, mismatched plates and silverware, some from Tommy’s collection, some heavy Fiestaware Connie dug from her boxes. Fall arrangements of leaves and flowers interspersed with fat candles and wreaths of walnuts hot glued to cardboard made by some child or another in the years past.
Voices raised in excitement carried out the windows.
Dakota carried the turkey carefully up the stairs. Rainbow, a tall, dark-skinned woman in her late forties with a disco-worthy afro, grabbed the box of cider bottles and followed Dakota up the stairs.
“How are you doing, honey?” she asked Dakota as he tried to open the screen door to the porch without dropping the turkey.
“Doing good, Rainbow,” he answered.
She reached over his shoulder and grabbed the door, holding it open. “Uh-huh. You sound it. How about you come over soon and talk with me and Harry. We miss you.”
Rainbow and her wife Harriet had been two of his parents’ closest friends. He rememb
ered them taking turns sitting by his bedside many nights in a row after the accident.
Two more people he had let drift away or pushed away over the years, and yet, here they were for him still. His heart filled with gratitude for the friends he had who hadn’t left him despite his issues.
He set the turkey down on the nearest table and turned to her. “I miss you, too.” He ran his hand through his hair. The curls were below his ears now. “Do you think…” He took a deep breath. “Do you think I could have a hug? I could use a hug.”
With a face-splitting smile, she dropped the box on the table and spread her arms. “Anytime, baby.”
Between Connie’s hugs and Rainbow’s hugs, a hole in Dakota’s heart was getting filled. He really needed to do this more often.
A burst of male laughter came from the house. Dakota frowned, remembering who had just shown up.
“Come on,” he said, picking the turkey back up. “We’re probably ten seconds behind Julie’s schedule. She might not let us have dessert.”
He deposited the food safely in the kitchen, made sure the crew didn’t need him for the next few minutes and went to find Bryce.
He followed the sound of male voices into the rarely-used great room.
Bryce stood in front of the fireplace with his arm around a stranger. A tall, good-looking woman and a guy about Dakota’s age with pale skin and striking auburn hair stood nearby, drinks in their hands. Bryce’s family clustered around the newcomers, laughing at some story the new guy was telling.
Dakota’s breath caught at the sight of Bryce. God, he was gorgeous. His hair was down, thick and shiny, just brushing the top of his shoulders, and his dark eyes sparkled with happiness. His blue jeans, cuffed over ankle-high brown leather boots, fit him like they had been cut specifically for him, which they probably had been.
A dark blue jacket over a white dress shirt open at the throat made his chest and shoulders look wider than they were. An expensive-looking watch on a leather band, the same color as his shoes, flashed on his wrist as he moved.