Beth says she’s going back to the kitchen to help, and my little brother follows after her, murmuring facetious, furtive admonishments about how misogynistic the other guys are to let the women do all the work while they stand around and bullshit.
Tucker places his hand over his heart and smirks. “Damn, he’s doing me proud.”
“Can he do you proud on someone other than my fucking little sister?” Cap grumbles, but his eyes smile with amusement.
I use the distraction to make my way to the guest restroom, where I quickly retouch my makeup, fixing the minor smudge caused by the tears that pooled but never fell. It takes me no more than five or so minutes to pull myself together—at least outwardly—a testament to my talent at concealing my feelings.
Shortly thereafter I join the others, and I’m welcomed warmly by the Caplans and friends. It’s weird seeing Mitch—Cap’s dad—here. I haven’t seen him since Cap’s parents divorced back when we were in middle school.
Billy stays within five feet of Beth, attentive and helpful, and while I’m fully aware that he’s mostly motivated by Beth’s pretty smile and tight sweater, I also know most guys his age would go about flirting in a decidedly different manner, what with chivalry being dead and all.
While the guys park themselves in the den to watch football, Rory and I offer to finish setting the table, and when the last glass is set down, she pulls me aside in the dining room.
“Are you okay?” she asks, careful to keep her voice contained to the otherwise empty room, and I swallow anxiously, wondering if Cap told her what happened last night, and what the hell would possess him to do such a thing when she still has her own demons to deal with.
“I know it must be weird to be here with Tuck, but Sam said you guys were trying to be friends, right?”
I breathe a subtle sigh of relief. “Yeah,” I agree. “Friends.”
Rory smiles in sympathy. “It seems to be going okay so far, right? I mean, you drove over together…?”
“So far so good,” I reply noncommittally.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs.
“Me too.”
We spend the next thirty minutes catching up, and when we notice that the boys have been enjoying bottle after bottle of beer, I ask Elaine how she feels about us having a glass of wine. She starts laughing, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to offer. We’re only eighteen, but she’s fully aware that a little drinking is par for the course for college students. Or more than a little drinking, depending on the person and situation. Frankly, between last night and spending a family holiday with my ex today, I could use a glass or two.
Or four.
The end of the third quarter sends Tucker into the kitchen to retrieve more beer and snacks. He reaches for the artfully arranged platter of Elaine’s famous butternut squash mini quiches, and starts stacking them three deep on an appetizer plate before her spatula meets the back of his hand with a resounding thwack.
“Ouch!” he whines through his chuckle. He manages to snatch two more before she lands another smack, and he grins smugly as he sidesteps her to escape mostly unscathed back toward the living room.
His gaze meets mine as he flees with his haul, and my eyes return his bright smile, even if my lips can’t quite manage it. I can’t banish the memory of hearing him so sure that Cap wouldn’t let his girl go for anything, knowing that Tucker did.
But his eyes drop to the maroon liquid in my glass, and they go instantly stern, delivering some silent message I don’t receive. Rory hands me some cloth napkins to take to the dining room, and when I turn back to where Tucker stood, he’s gone.
By glass number two, thankfully I’m starting to relax. But it doesn’t last long. Tucker corners me on my way from the bathroom and tugs me into the empty study.
“What’s wrong?” I gasp, startled.
He shakes his head, expression impassive. “You need to stop drinking.”
I narrow my eyes, programmed to react to his bossiness only one way. “I don’t need to do anything, Tucker. What is your problem? How many beers have you had today?” Apparently he’s decided to go all hypocrite on me, and I’m just not up for it right now. I turn on my heel and walk out the door, but he catches me in the empty hallway no more than three steps later.
Tucker sighs, raking his hand exasperatedly through his soft, dark blond locks, and my own fingers itch with the memory of how his hair feels against my skin. The feel of it locked in my grip, against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs…
I blink the memories away, shocking myself with my own wayward thoughts. What has gotten into me? Maybe I should cool it with the wine after all.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick,” he says, suddenly sincere. “Just, after last night, maybe you should take it easy, you know? Those pills could still be in your system,” he warns.
I shake my head. “They were gone after a few hours. I Googled it.”
His look of disappointment makes me suspect he already knew that. He was just hoping I didn’t. But why the hell does it matter to him if I drink?
“Still, Carl—”
“Look, Tuck, last night is the whole point. Or part of it. I’m stressed the fuck out, and right now I want to forget it ever happened.” I sigh. “And being here with you…I almost turned Cap down when he invited me for today. Even when he said you were cool with it. But I couldn’t exactly turn down the chance to give Billy a real Thanksgiving. I doubt he can even remember ever having one before, since he was only a toddler when my dad, you know, went away. But with us…” I gesture between the two of us. “I’m still figuring out just how to be around you now, you know? And it means so much to me that you’d consider us maybe being friends again at some point, and I don’t want to fuck that up, and even that is stressing me out. And look, I just want to have a good time, in a safe place, with people I know I can trust, okay?” And apparently I’ve been reduced to a rambling idiot.
Tucker reluctantly considers me, fighting the urge to dig in his heels. But I suspect it’s my earnestness that gets him. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees halfheartedly.
“And not that I’ve been stalking you or anything, but you’ve had more than your standard couple of ‘good time’ beers,” I point out, belatedly realizing that I probably shouldn’t have admitted I’ve been paying him enough attention to notice.
He runs his lip between his teeth, considering. “I guess I’m kinda stressed, too.” He lets out a short, ironic laugh. “You know what? I think last night traumatized me more than it did you.”
I frown, remembering his implied threats to Ben. “I’m fine,” I remind him.
“Thank God for that,” he murmurs. Then, that quickly, he shakes his head as if to rid it of his grim thoughts, and locates a half-smile. “All right, Carl. My bad. Do what you want. Just be careful, okay, friend?”
I find a small, bittersweet smile of my own. “You got it, buddy,” I whisper.
Chapter Nineteen
Carleigh
Present Day
An hour later, we all sit around the beautifully set dining table. There’s no preamble to dinner, just everyone digging enthusiastically into the impressive meal, talking with full mouths, laughter echoing off of the damask-papered walls.
The ringing of silverware against glass resonates across the room, and we all turn to where Mitch Caplan stands at the head of the table, holding up his glass of sparkling mineral water with a contented, sober smile. I noticed that he’s the only one in this house—besides Beth and Billy of course—who hasn’t had any alcohol today. The rest of us are all brightly buzzed, and we hold up our glasses in turn when Mitch makes his toast.
He thanks his “beautiful wife”—strange, since last I checked they were long since divorced—and “her mini-me, Bitsy” for the beautiful setup and incredible meal. Beth beams up at him from her adjacent seat, obviously thrilled by the compliment. Observing her makes me feel wistful, because while I’m happy for Beth, I can’t help but think o
f a time when I used to look at my own father like that.
We all raise our glasses and exchange clinks and cheers, and then Elaine offers her own toast to her family and friends, thanking her guests for coming.
“Ooh, let’s go around the table and say what we’re thankful for!” Beth exclaims, suddenly seeming much younger than her near-seventeen years.
Cap rolls his eyes and there’s a collective groan.
“Oh come on, it’s a good idea.” Billy, who sits to Beth’s right, smiles indulgently. “Nothing wrong with being a little cheesy on Thanksgiving,” he offers, and I can’t help my burst of laughter. If I’d been the one to suggest it he’d be groaning along with the worst of us.
Beth pushes her lips into an exaggerated pout, and at that, Cap is the first to surrender.
“Okay, brat, put the lip away,” he teases, and she grins triumphantly. “I’m thankful this year for…being wrong, I guess. I had some preconceived notions about…some things. And it’s humbling when people come into your life—some new”—he looks adoringly down at Rory—“some not so new”—he meets his father’s gaze across the table—“and completely redraw the picture you had of your life in the course of just a few months.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but the people he’s speaking to obviously receive the message, and Rory blushes scarlet as he wraps an arm around her and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead.
Tuck thumps his fist to his chest and slips on a mask of mock sentimentality. “That’s deep, bro,” he teases, wiping an invisible tear from his cheek. “I love you too, man.”
A chorus of laughter erupts, and Cap tosses a pumpernickel roll down the length of the table in a perfect arc, hitting the target of Tucker’s face in true quarterback form.
“Okay, Rory’s turn,” Beth interrupts.
Rory’s not a fan of being the center of attention, and her voice is low and tentative. “I’m thankful for new beginnings, new friends—”
“And sexy-ass boyfriends!” I add for her, reviving the laughter around the table.
Rory blushes but smiles widely, peeking sideways at Cap. “Yeah, those too,” she agrees, burrowing into his side.
“Okay, me now,” Bits announces. “I’m thankful for having the whole family together. Including those who aren’t technically related. I’m thankful my manwhore of a brother finally got put in his place by a girl, and—”
“Okay, next.” Cap cuts her off and she sticks her tongue out at him.
We all look to Billy, who blinks back at us. “Oh, me?”
“Not so into the idea now, are you, Billy boy?” I tease.
“Yeah, kid. Let’s hear it. It’s cool to be cheesy on Thanksgiving, right?” Tuck goads.
Billy shrugs, all cool and smug, obviously for Beth’s benefit, and I suspect that if he were older, she’d be eating it right up. But it’s me he directs his smile to. “I’m thankful for my smartass big sister.” He turns to Beth on his left. “And for the seating arrangements,” he smirks.
This time Cap’s roll hits Billy square in the jaw.
Rory’s mom and Elaine go next, followed by Mitch, who is thankful for “second chances.” Yeah, we don’t all get those, Mitch.
Then it’s Tucker’s turn, and I’m careful not to make eye contact. After listening to Cap and Rory essentially thank the universe for each other, I don’t really feel like watching Tucker not do the same of me.
“I’m thankful for all of you losers. It’s good to have you all as friends.” He subtly emphasizes the word all, and when I peek up, he’s looking at me.
And then it’s my turn, and somehow I’ve managed to be caught off guard. This whole time, I forgot to think of something to say. “I’m thankful for my friends, and for my annoying kid brother, who keeps forgetting he’s still a kid. And for you guys inviting us today. We really appreciate it,” I murmur, and I glance at Tucker, because even though I’m here at the hospitality of the Caplans, it was Tucker who could’ve revoked my welcome—who had fair reason to—and who blessed it instead.
His warm smile makes my heart flutter, like it has for as long as I can remember, and I look away, reminding myself that it’s no longer an appropriate response.
Dinner continues like that, with jokes and laughter, and increasing inebriation. I have more than a few glasses of wine, and I feel the stress of the past day float into oblivion, where I’d very much like it to stay.
We all help clear the table and set out dessert, and by eight o’clock the parents have left us to our own devices in the den, where Cap, Rory, Tucker, and I continue drinking—Tucker and me most of all.
Rory and Cap’s earlier argument resolved itself when her mom got up after dessert, and started saying her good-byes.
Rory stood, startled when her mother said good-bye to her as well. “Uh, I thought I’d come with you, Mom. Stay the night at home,” she murmured.
Her mother was obviously surprised. “Oh…uh…really? I thought you’d stay here with Sam,” she stammered.
Cap stood behind Rory, where she couldn’t see him nod his encouragement.
“Oh. I mean, I could. I just thought—”
“Actually, Rory, honey…I wasn’t planning on going home just yet.”
Rory’s puzzled look was priceless.
“Well, you see, Mark’s just finished dinner with his kids, and we thought we’d get together.”
Rory’s jaw fell slowly before she caught it. Mark is the man Amy’s been seeing. He’s divorced and, according to Rory, remarkably handsome.
“Oh, okay. That’s cool, I guess. You’re sure you don’t mind me staying here?”
“Why would I mind? You stay with Sam every other night. And anyway, you’re all coming over for brunch tomorrow, right?”
“Of course,” Rory replied, turning around just in time to catch the tail end of Sam’s self-satisfied smirk, and jabbing his side with her elbow.
“Carl, if you and Billy aren’t busy, we’d love you to join us. Just a small, casual brunch. Noon.”
I accepted, because why not? Lord knows I sure don’t have any parents looking to spend time with me this weekend.
Now we sit around doing much of nothing. Billy and Tucker battle it out on the Xbox, while Beth shows me pictures on her phone from a post-season Mets game Mitch took her to last month where she got to meet David Wright, her favorite player, who also happens to be her father’s client. Cap reaps the spoils of his win, even if Amy handed it to him, his arm possessively glued around Rory’s waist, which she doesn’t seem to mind in the least.
“Oh yeah!” Billy hoots suddenly, in time with Tucker’s “Goddamnit!”
“Take that, Mother-Tucker!” He jumps onto the couch like Tom Cruise professing his love for Katie Holmes to Oprah, and punches both fists into the air in celebration of his digital victory.
“Billy,” I halfheartedly chasten.
He ignores me. “Totally just kicked your ass,” he boasts.
Tucker does some maneuver—I can’t tell from my vantage behind the back of the couch—that has Billy falling out of nowhere and landing sideways onto the cushions. “Want to see if you can kick my ass in real life?” he smirks, knowing that Billy isn’t stupid enough to even pretend to consider that challenge. Billy may have grown a lot in the past year, but Tucker is still six foot two and one hundred and ninety pounds of pure lean muscle. I shake my head, trying to rid it of the image of the way those muscles flex with certain physical exertions. God, why do I keep going there?
“Billy, it’s cool if you want to bring a friend to brunch tomorrow,” Rory says. It’s nice of her. We’ll all have each other, so it would be nice for Billy to have a friend of his own there as well.
“That’s a good idea,” I tell him. “Why don’t you invite Kyle?”
Billy rolls his eyes. “Fuck Kyle,” he murmurs.
I gape at him. Billy and Kyle have been inseparable since kindergarten. “What do you mean, ‘fuck Kyle’?” I ask.
He shrugs. “We’re not
really talking right now.”
What?
My glare demands an explanation, and I’m surprised when he seems hesitant to give me one. He’s always confided in me about everything.
Finally he sighs. “We got into a fight after he said something that pissed me off.”
“Elaborate,” Tucker interjects.
Another sigh, this one of reluctant resignation. “He was sleeping over a few weeks ago, and he was in the bathroom—showering, I thought. I left my phone charger in there so I go in to get it and he’s holding a TV guide with a picture of Daenerys from Game of Thrones—”
“Who?” Rory asks.
“Khaleesi,” I explain. “The one with the dragons.”
“Yeah,” Billy continues. “Anyway, he was totally jerking off to her.”
“Jesus, Billy,” I practically squeal. This is not where I saw this story going. Somehow I still see Billy as my sweet little boy in his Batman costume begging me to play with his action figures.
“You wanted to know!” he whines.
I gesture for him to continue, though suddenly I’m not sure I actually want to hear the rest of this story.
“So obviously I left, and then later when he came downstairs, I started making fun of him.”
“Naturally,” Tucker agrees.
“I joked that he was pathetic because he had to jerk it to a fictional character because he couldn’t get a real girl. He said the girl he was thinking about was very real, and some other things…”
“I don’t get why that would get you into a fight. You guys bust each other’s balls all the time,” I admit.
“You remember he was there on Halloween,” Billy murmurs, his cheeks flushing.
“Yeah…”
“Oh, that motherfucker!” Tuck growls before falling into a bout of hysterical laughter.
In Ruins Page 21