Page 19 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
Plate full, I take a seat at the family’s massive pine table. It’s so large it seats six people per side, and a pale sandy-brown cloth runner splits it down the center. Yet somehow, Zachary still manages to get a seat across from me. He’s staring me down, but I refuse to make eye contact. No matter how much I can feel him looking at me, judging me, I’m making the best of this super weird situation.
“Dad, would you say grace for us?” Mr. Marcus asks as I’m about to dig in.
I drop my spoon heaped full of broccoli casserole back to my plate and droop my shoulders, mostly involuntarily. Gods, I probably look sheepish. Usually I’d just bless my own food and dive in. The rest of my friends aren’t religious, so they don’t evenbother, and group dinners… I’ve not had one of those in a while. I about yelp when Super Old Gran’s cold soft hand grabs mine and holds it atop the table. Then Catina reaches out to me and does the same. I let her, giving her my best attempt at a gracious, not-at-all-horrified smile. The others do the same, forming a chain of people around the table.
“Let us say grace.” Gramps bows his head. The others mimic him and close their eyes.
For a moment I stare around the table, awkward and unsure if I should follow along or not. I’m not exactly religious, and I’m definitely not Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim, or whatever they are. Probably Christian, but you never know. That doesn’t matter anyway, people can be whatever they want and believe what they want, I’m just not in other people’s personal spaces enough to see it, I guess.
I bow my head and close my eyes. There’s nothing wrong with respecting their faith as long as they don’t use it to hurt me, and I don’t see them being the type. So I quiet my mind and listen as Gramps prays.
“Lord, we come to you on this Thanksgiving day to give thanks for all that you have provided us, for the health you’ve given us, and for the joy of family that you’ve blessed us with.”
He goes on, speaking each request and thanks in that gruff old country voice. I learn that Holly had gotten better from an episode of bronchitis a few weeks ago—Mr. Marcus joined in on that one with a sighed, “Amen”—Zachary got his first ever raise at work this week, someone named Delilah had beaten breast cancer years ago and a recent scan confirmed she was still cancer-free. It took me a second to realize Delilah must be Super Old Gran. Then come the words I was expecting.
“And Lord, please be with Hayden in this hard time. We know you know what he needs, and we trust and pray that you’ll see him through this coma and bring him back to us better than before.” Gramps coughs and continues his prayer.I know these can go on for a while, but there is hot food waiting for me, Gramps, so let’s speed it up.Immediately I regret the thought. “Lord, we also would be remiss not to thank you for sending Kenzie into our Hayden’s life, and for putting him in the right place at the right time to look over him. May you please bless them both.”
That last part brings a smile to my face, despite Gramps calling me ahe. I can let that pass. At the same time, it causes a lump of guilt to build below my Adam’s apple.
Gramps says, “Amen” and my eyes open to everyone else raising their heads and letting go of each other’s hands.
There’s no delay between the prayer and the family digging in, and honestly, now that I’ve finally sampled the broccoli casserole I understand why. As quickly as hands go for their forks, conversations start up around the table. I try not to be nosy, but little bits of their exchanges drift over the table and right into my ear. Something about a cousin stealing a television from the local electronics store. Mr. Marcus says he’s in jail now. Oh wow. I try to tune out that conversation. Holly’s telling Catina she thinks her mom might have gotten her a new phone for Christmas.
“He’s a piece of shit,” Super Old Gran blurts, grabbing my attention.
I clamp my teeth together. Super Old Gran? I can’t say I expected anything like that to come out of her mouth. She looks so innocent and sweet.
“Grandma!” Mary-Anne eyes her down.
My eyes slip to Zachary sitting next to her. He scoops another helping of green beans, not fazed in the slightest. He sees me looking, though, and his brow raises. I yank my eyes away, back to Mary-Anne and Super Old Gran.
“He is, we all know it, y’all just don’t say it.” Super Old Gran shrugs, and like Zachary, goes back to eating.
“But we have”—Mr. Marcus alludes to me—“company.”
Yep, me. Super Old Gran looks at me and grins.
“I’m sure you have some lowlifes in your family too, darling,” she says.
At first, I’m not one hundred percent sure how to answer. It has all eyes on me at once, and I definitely know lowlifes—Dad’s side of the family is full of them—but how do I answer?
“Mother,” Kiki scolds, patting her hand across the table. “Maybe not now.”
“I do,” I blurt finally. “I do. My dad’s side of the family. Most of them.”
Smiles transform into grimaces around the table, and I catch a fewawws. I’m past needing sympathy, but I don’t mind calling them out now and then. Is that spiteful?
“They all abandoned us after my dad died.” I hold back a grimace of my own. Why did I decide that would be the first thing I talk about tonight? It’s a real downer topic. Today is a celebration of Thanksgiving. You’re supposed to be thankful. Especially around Hayden’s family.
“I’m so sorry, Kenzie,” Mary-Anne says in a calm, soothing tone, smiling warmly.
“No, no. It’s okay.” I try to be upbeat and bring things back around. “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”
A few nods make their way around the table, and before anyone else can say something—or worse, ask about my mom’s side of the family—I divert the conversation.
“So how long have y’all lived here?” I look around to signify the house. It still amazes me I’m in such a place. “It’s beautiful.”
“We built it in 2011. Hayden was only four back then.” Mr. Marcus smiles, reminiscing about when his sleeping boy was a child. Hayden as a toddler. I can’t imagine it. In my head he’s only ever been the dreamy six-foot-tall guy who could throw me around.
