by LP Tvorik
For ten minutes, Nate and I knelt by the train table, playing along as the little kids guided the trains along the tracks, shouting dialogue at each other and laughing as the senseless story progressed and evolved. Before long, Paul was leaning over the table, grinning and giggling at Tom’s sound effects, racing his train along the tracks while Tom guided a Hotwheels car alongside.
Blinded by love as I was, I thought it was adorable how good my boyfriend was with his siblings. I thought it was sweet how he toted them around and comforted them and coaxed them into playing. I thought it was sexy that he was so responsible and grown-up around them. I marveled at the glossy facets of a diamond, too awed by the sparkle to ask about the pressure that had formed it and the steel blades that had cleaved those perfect, smooth edges.
“We oughta make our exit,” Nate whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “While they’re distracted.
I nodded, grinning, and Nate tapped Paul on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, I’m gonna head upstairs. Are you okay, here?”
Paul nodded distractedly, pushing him away. Before we headed up the stairs, Nate went to the sofa and stood in front of it, blocking Ronnie’s view until he paused the game with an angry curse. Then he bent close, face stern, talking to him so low I couldn’t make out the words. When he stopped talking, he stayed there, waiting for something. Finally, Ronnie growled, “Fine!” and Nate sighed and stood, meeting me by the foot of the stairs.
“What was that about?” I asked as we climbed back up to the ground floor.
“I was just telling him not to be an asshole,” Nate said casually. When we got to the top of the stairs, out of view of the kids in the basement, he stopped me from opening the door.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Al,” he whispered, turning to box me in. His hands grasped the rail on either side of my hips as he leaned in close, pressing me back until my shoulders were flush against the wall.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I breathed, raising my face for the kiss I knew was coming.
He let go of the handrail with one hand and, as always, brushed a thumb over the spiderweb scar on my temple. Then his hand drifted behind my neck, tipping my head up even further as he lowered his mouth to mine.
From somewhere beyond the door, my father called my name and we broke apart— Nate with a stifled groan and me with a giggle. “Serves you right,” I said jokingly, pushing him away. “That’s what you get for molesting me on this holy day.”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Nate said sarcastically as he followed me up the last two steps and back into the party. “Since when is Thanksgiving holy?”
“Since you started dating a preacher’s daughter,” I said over my shoulder. “Now come with me to the kitchen. We gotta get these dishes plated.”
It was another half hour before we settled down to the large dining table for dinner. First, I had to put the final touches on the food. Then Nate and I plated them and carried them to the dining room. Then the adults filed through, building plates for their children. Then came the odious task of peeling the kids away from their games and getting them to sit still at the little card table we had set up for them in a corner of the dining room. Then Daddy had to make sure all the adults had wine to drink.
My stomach was a growling, aching pit of emptiness by the time we finally bowed our heads for grace. While Daddy droned on about God and gratitude and blessings, I cracked one eye and glanced around the table. The Smiths had their heads bowed, brows furrowed with concentration as they magnified Daddy’s words and sent them up to heaven, hoping for some divine intervention in their lives. Harriet Popovich appeared to be on the verge of tears, lips pinched together and trembling, eyes squeezed shut. Her husband’s head was bowed so deep his chin was almost touching his chest.
Then there were my guests. Ronnie had dutifully joined hands with Jodie Smith, who sat on his right, but his head wasn’t bowed and his eyes were open, glaring around the table like the lot of us were responsible for war and poverty and death itself. Nate was sitting on his left, and both their hands rested on the table, close but not quite touching. Nate’s own left hand was wrapped around mine, and his head was bowed slightly, but his eyes weren’t closed. They were locked on the kids, who sat squirming at their table in the corner.
“... and finally, Lord, we ask that You continue to watch over us,” Daddy was saying, his voice strong and sure as he lead the prayer. He was in preacher mode, guiding his makeshift Thanksgiving congregation to gratitude. “We ask that You challenge us as you see fit, and protect us in our darkest moments when we can’t protect ourselves. We ask that You continue to love your children, forgiving our sins and guiding us through our mistakes. We pray that when the world becomes too much for us, and our spirits find our way to your embrace, that You welcome us into Your Kingdom and show us the peace we could not find on earth. Amen.”
“Amen,” I whispered, eyes stinging as I thought of my mother. Nate’s hand squeezed mine before letting go, and I knew he’d heard the pain in my father’s prayer and felt the loneliness in my own murmured acknowledgment. Unlike me, my boy never missed a thing.
After the prayer, there wasn’t much room for sadness or introspection. Solemn words and silence were replaced with groans of appreciation as the dishes were passed around. Plates filled and were emptied. Filled again and were emptied again. Wine glasses followed suit. Nate’s charges appeared at his side four times each with empty plates, tugging on his sleeve until he sent them off with a fresh pile of food to devour. I’d never seen little kids so willingly consume green beans and carrots, but Paul and Trish cleaned their plates of anything Nate gave them.
Unfortunately, the rapidly disappearing wine had a liberating effect on the gaggle of adults, and right around the second helping, they started grilling Nate and I mercilessly.
“So, Aly, the college application deadline is approaching,” said Mr. Popovich. He was the dean of admissions at the local university. “How many schools are you applying to?”
“Five, sir,” I answered. “I just turned the last one in on Monday.”
“Ahead of the game, as always,” my father said proudly, smiling at me. Of course he didn’t know about the five out of state schools I’d applied to as well. He definitely didn’t know about the early admissions application I’d sent to Caltech months ago. We’d been getting on so well, lately, I didn’t have the nerve to tell him about my real aspirations. He wanted me close to home, studying to be a teacher or a nurse— something respectable and employable and feminine so I could follow my husband and work anywhere. Daddy’s real dream was for me to go off to college and find a good Christian boy to marry. For all that he was kind to Nate and accepted our relationship, it was clear he thought it was some kind of phase. He’d come to grips with the present, but never asked about the future.
“And what about you, young man?” Mrs. Smith asked, smiling at Nate. “Where are you applying?”
“Oh…” Nate paled, setting his fork down on his plate and shaking his head. “I, um… I was gonna—”
“Nate’s planning to attend to the technical school in town,” I answered for him. “He already has a job at Red’s Auto and Services, down on Main Street. He’s really good with cars, so his boss promised to foot the bill so he can keep him on as a mechanic after he graduates.”
As much as I wanted more for him, I was proud. With no formal training at all, Nate had become an invaluable employee at the shop where he worked. So invaluable, his boss was willing to drop thousands of dollars into his pocket to hang on to him. To me, that was impressive.
Our dinner guests didn’t seem to agree.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Popovich. “That’s nice, dear.”
“Yes,” said her husband, but he was frowning. “I don’t suppose it’s terribly lucrative, though. How do you intend to support a family with a minimum wage?” He looked pointedly at me, as if asking Nate how he was going to take care of m
e when I was barefoot and pregnant with our fifth child.
Someone remind me of the year, I wanted to scream. It’s the 21st century, people. We can date without getting married and spewing out children. I can work, too!
“Neil,” Daddy said warningly.
“It’s fine,” Nate said easily, smiling at my father before turning back to Mr. Popovich. “I’m not too worried about supporting a family, sir. Al’s the only girl I have any intention of marrying, and she’s gonna be at college for at least four years and I don’t think she’ll be ready to settle down until a few years after that. That gives me plenty of time to save and work my way up the ladder. Plus, she’s crazy smart. She’ll probably be out-earning everyone at this table within a few years of graduating.”
I swallowed a mouthful of turkey and stared at my boyfriend, who had speared a few green beans as he talked.
“Even if she doesn’t, though, auto mechanics actually do make a decent salary. Modern engines are extremely complex, and half of what your mechanic does to your car looks more like computer science than grunt work. Red, my boss, requires us to stay on top of our certifications so we can work on a broad spectrum of makes and models, which translates to a considerable bump in our earnings. Not to mention, he’s getting old and his kids moved away and don’t have any interest in the shop. He and I have been talking about night classes and a business degree in a few years, so I can take over for him when he retires.”
Most of that was news to me, so I wore the same slack-jawed look of surprise as the rest of the adults at the table. They were probably hung up on talk of an MBA and business ownership, though. My brain had shorted out at ‘Al’s the only girl I have any intention of marrying.’
“But is your boss aware of your criminal record?” Mrs. Smith asked, her voice slightly slurred as she leaned across the table.
“Jodie!” her husband hissed and Ronnie snorted out a laugh, but Nate just smiled pleasantly, elbowing his brother in the ribs without look at him.
“He is, ma’am,” he said, nodding. “And I haven’t been in trouble since Al and I started dating. She’s kind of a taskmaster, with all the studying. I haven’t had a spare minute for crime. Not even a little casual shoplifting.”
Ronnie barked out a laugh, and I shoved another slice of turkey into my mouth and chewed, trying not to smile.
Unfortunately, Nate’s easy answers to all their questions just seemed to embolden them. By the time we finished eating, the adults had exorcised every rude, intrusive question they must have compiled on their drive to our house. I felt like I was escaping some kind of warzone when I finally found a quiet moment to rise and start clearing away everyone’s plates.
“Nate, can you help me?” I asked, loathe to leave him alone under the microscope, but he was already on his feet, gathering plates and silverware.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, as soon as we were in the kitchen and out of earshot.
“It’s fine,” he said with a grin, setting his armful of plates on the counter and taking mine. “It’s normal to be curious, and they’re right to worry. I mean look at you.” He set my plates in the sink and reached out, pulling me to him with a snap. “You’re so sweet and innocent,” he teased, leaning in close and brushing my nose with his. “You shouldn’t be dating some juvenile delinquent,” he whispered as one of his hands slipped down to my ass, squeezing hard.
I choked out a laugh and pushed him away. “Wash your hands and get out a mixing bowl,” I said. “We need to make whipped cream.”
“Right here?” Nate asked, raising an eyebrow. “In the middle of the kitchen? With your dad and all those adults so close by?”
I stared at him for a long second, confused, before I caught his meaning. “For the pie!” I said, shaking my head in disgust. “You’re nasty.”
“I just have my priorities straight,” he said, dutifully washing his hands.
He did, I thought, as I pulled the carton of whipping cream out of the fridge and cleared a spot on the counter. I’d had it in my head he was still drifting, just taking the easiest path without thinking about his future. It hadn’t occurred to me until the adults started grilling him that he might actually have thought about the future.
He didn’t want to be a mechanic because it was the easiest option. He wanted it because it meant job security, growth opportunity, and enough of a salary that he could save while I was in college. He wanted to marry me, and that idea was more appealing to me than it had ever been.
I’d always hated the idea of marrying young. Even after I fell madly in love with Nate, I still wanted to wait. I wanted to live a single life of adventure and freedom before I settled down and started crapping out grandbabies per my father’s wishes. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Nate knew that. He knew I wanted to wait, and he seemed like he was more than willing to wait with me.
Suddenly, eternity with a single person seemed less like a looming trap and more like a far-off dream. Suddenly, the thought of four years in California was more daunting than exciting. Four years apart. Would we survive that? Would we even want to?
Yes, I decided with all the confidence and gravitas of the lovestruck teenager that I was. Yes, we would survive. We would thrive. I loved him with all of my heart, and he loved me. What more did we need? What hurdles could possibly undermine a love like ours?
Chapter seventeen
nate
For the better part of six months, I occupied real-estate on the heaven-adjacent side of purgatory. My days were divine. My evenings were hellish. My nights were spent in restless sleep, waiting impatiently for the morning to come. For the first time, I did more than just survive my circumstances. Home didn’t change, but I no longer defined myself by what I suffered there. I defined myself by who I was and what I did in the daylight.
During the day, I was Alex’s boyfriend— the guy whose hand she held in the hallway without a trace of shame or fear. I was a straight-A student, with signs of something called ‘promise’ and my teachers and counselors talked to me like something other than a disappointing, hopeless statistic. I was a model employee with healthcare and life insurance and this crazy thing called a ‘savings account’ that was growing every day.
Even at home, I was stronger. Tim was just as mean as always, and Marsha just as useless. I still spent most nights staring at the ceiling, wide awake, trying to discern sloppy, pass-out drunk sounds from rage-filled, predatory drunk sounds. I still slept on the floor by my bed more nights than not, with Trish tucked beneath my covers so Tim wouldn’t get her. I still made a habit of goading Tim into fights to distract him from his more dangerous desires.
The difference was in how those fights ended. I was no longer a skinny kid with nothing to lose, curled up on ratty carpet getting the shit kicked out of him. I was man. A man with a girl who loved him, money for food, and a fierce and prideful sense of self. Even on the nights he caught me off guard, I never gave up and took it. I fought like hell, every time. I’d land a few punches, Tim would land a few, and when he got tired we’d walk away.
So the months ticked by, and I marked the time by landmarks.
In December, Alex received a thick packet in the mail from Caltech. She brought it out to the spot that night and we opened her acceptance letter together. She bawled her eyes out, caught somewhere between joy at her success, fear at the prospect of telling her father, and sadness at the knowledge that she’d be leaving me behind. It was adorable.
In January, a massive blizzard blew through town, shutting down schools for a week. Every day, I bundled the kids up in their Goodwill snow suits and drove slowly and carefully across town to Al’s house. She and Tom joined us outside, and we built forts and snowmen and had epic snowball fights. Then we’d sit in her living room while our socks dried by the fireplace and drink hot cocoa and watch movies.
In February, I celebrated my first birthday. Fortunately
, I thought at the time, a loophole in the rules let me stay with Tim and Marsha until I graduated high school. Technically, it was my eighteen birthday, but it was the first one I remembered celebrating.
When I showed up to pick Alex up for school, she made me come inside and have pancakes with candles stuck in the top. I had to sit still and endure her and Tom’s awful, off-key rendition of the birthday song. When Alex went to get her bag, Tom pulled me aside and pressed a small, jagged rock into my hand. In a loud whisper, he described a magical place where he and Alex went when they got sad. A spot where everything bad went away. He told me the rock was from that spot, and that Alex had one just like it.
Alex’s present was an uncharacteristic spurt of rebellion. She dragged me out the back door of our school before lunch and we played hooky together— albeit only for the two hours we usually spent at lunch and in study hall. She made me drive out to the lake outside of town and delivered up a surprise BJ right there in the cab of my truck. I could tell she’d done some research, because her technique was… creative. She used her teeth a little more than I would’ve liked, but in the end who was I to complain? I had a beautiful girl giving me a birthday blowjob in broad daylight. A beautiful girl whose family let me come around in daylight. What’s a little nerve-wracking toothiness in the face of all that awesome?
In March, Alex told her dad about Caltech. He was furious. He stopped speaking to her for three days. She was a nightmare to be around, oscillating every few minutes between sadness and anger, hurt and indignation, defeat and determination. At the end of the third day, I skipped out of my last period, drove to her father’s church, and stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.
I hadn’t spent much time in churches as a kid. In fact I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been in one. One of my foster families, way back in the day, were devout Catholics. I remembered the whole affair being very ornate. There were gaudy gold scepters and a dangerous amount of candles, and a man wearing wizard robes chanting from the dais at the front.