Page 106 of Stolen Hearts
My stomach drops at the sight of an empty table in the lounge area.
“Valentina. Do we have chips and dip?” I frantically head toward the kitchen. How could I be so dumb as to forget the snacks and drinks for the NFL game before dinner?
“I don’t think so,” she says, walking to the pantry.
A quick check confirms her suspicions, and the doorbell sounds at the same time.
Great.
Now I’m down snacks, not fully dressed, and out of time. My cheeks burn with indignation.
“Valentina, could you get that while I change?”
I squeeze her shoulder and run through to my walk-in wardrobe, flinging my clothes on the floor as I desperately try to find that damn Christmas sweater. I spot it up on a high shelf and reach up to get it. My big toe hits the bottom of the wardrobe, forcing me to bite my lip to hold in the pain.Damn it.
My parents’ voices echo down the hall as I contort my body to get into the Rudolph sweater. I really should get the same one in a size up. My dad will never know.
Right. Just the snacks and we should be good to go. I fire off a text to Christopher, asking him to pick some up on his way back, and join my family back in the lounge.
“It smells divine in here.” My mom grabs me and pulls me into her.
Their overnight bags litter the floor by her feet. Valentina takes the pumpkin and key lime pie from Harrison to put on the kitchen counter, as Harrison and my dad head to the couch to fight over the remote without as much as a hello.
“What’s up bro? Can’t believe you’re wearing that,” Harrison says, smirking at me in his white Supreme T-shirt and shorts. His outfit is much more appropriate for the eighty degree weather than mine is.
Bitterness coats my mouth as I realize I’m the only one wearing the traditional Christmas sweater dad got us ten years ago. I push my frustration down. I’ve committed now.
My dad closes the blinds and the room goes dark.
“Why do you have so many remotes?” He reaches for another one, turning on the TV this time.
God, this is going to be a long day.
Valentina places empty bowls on the dining table. “Would anyone like something to drink?” she asks.
“I could murder a beer,” my dad says, already lost in the New York Giants vs. Dallas Cowboys game.
“Me too!” Harrison shouts. This is the first Thanksgiving he’s able to legally drink.
“Don’t you think we should skip alcohol this year?”
My mom’s head nods not-so-subtly at me when they both turn toward her.Ugh. I knew it wouldn’t be long before her smothering ways showed up. I know she means well, but it’s not always helpful. I just want things to be normal.
“I’m fine, Mom. Let them drink if they want.”
Valentina heads off to fetch them both a drink as my mom and I go to the outdoor kitchen to grab Sprites. We sit down on the two sun loungers by the pool.
“Did you catch any of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade before you left?”
“No. Your dad insisted leaving early because he was worried about traffic down the PCH. Even though I told him it’d be betterto go down I-5. And what do you know, the traffic was bad and we ended up on the freeway.”
Typical dad. Always thinking he’s right.
“How is he?” I ask, opening my Sprite. I quickly hold it to my mouth when it fizzes.
My mom shuffles uncomfortably and plays with the hem of her red dress.
“You know your father.” She rolls her eyes.
