Page 66 of Back for Seconds

“How about a glass of wine?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and blinked at the screen. A glass of wine? So now I was a fifteen-minute beverage break shoved into the middle of his day? The same way he’d shoved family meals in between shifts at the pizzeria or nights out with people far more important than spending time with us. He added, “I know you’re a busy lady.”

My jaw muscle jumped. “Whatever works for you and Melinda.”

“Melissa. And she’s, uh, not coming with me. I’m just taking care of some business.”

That’s what we were to him—business. That needed to be taken care of. “Well, so great to hear from you, Dad. I gotta go—”

“Junie, I know you’re pissed at me. I know you’re a momma’s girl. I’m not a fucking idiot. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck this morning. But I’m your dad, dammit, and I love you kids. I don’t want it to be like this. I sacrificed my whole fuckin’ life for you guys. Not because… What I mean is, I love all three of you—”

He couldn’t see me, but sometime around “sacrificed,” I’d started waving my free hand in the air. Enough, I wanted to scream at him. Just shut the fuck up for once in your life. “Dad, if that’s how you feel—then you should call Vin. You should call him and you should talk to him about everything. No, actually you should let him talk to you. Not just about the divorce—I mean about everything.”

“Sweetie.” Another dismissive laugh in that big booming voice of his. “I’m not lookin’ for a lecture—”

“I’m not lecturing you. I’m trying to help you. I agree, you sacrificed a lot for us and all three of us are so grateful, but that can’t be the extent of our interactions. We are people. Your son is a person. And he deserves an apology. Now, I gotta fucking go, ok? Merry Christmas.”

And then I hung up on pizza royalty.

On the man who would sit at the head of the table and frequently pontificate about the importance of respect for the entire duration of a Sunday dinner.

I stared at my phone screen for a moment, mind blank. Then, I swiped up, opened my text thread with Vin, and hit record on a voice note.

“Vinny, hi! I miss you. Merry Christmas. I’m sorry…for not being a better sister this year. I love you so much, and I want to catch up soon, ok? By the way, Dad called and I chewed him out. You might get some sort of weird, cryptic message from him. Fuck, maybe he’ll even call. Call me when you can, ok? Ok.” I chewed my lip for a moment. “Bye.”

Then, I opened the trash can and stared down at the corporate thermos, nestled among the rest of my garbage. “You,” I pointed at the mug, “are not a metaphor for second chances. And I refuse to feel guilty for putting you where you belong—in the trash. I cannot constantly feel bad for wanting and needing from the people around me. I can’t.” And with that, I let the lid slam shut.

***

I tried to put my dad out of my head, but the hours leading up to Joey’s Christmas Eve dinner passed in that slow, exasperated way that tended to proceed big events. I had just enough time to wash my hair—and lose my mind.

I shook off my dad’s phone call by agonizing over my outfit for the night—red really wasn’t my color. I was way too much of a Deep Autumn; gold was a great color on me, but at what cost? My only gold dress made me look like a fucking road sign—before settling on a classic combination: tailored, dark-wash jeans and a simple white sweater destined to be splattered with tomato sauce.

I made a fresh batch of vegan blondies—which came together much quicker the second time, even though I took extreme care to perfectly melt the sugar into the gently browned margarine.

Behind her closed and locked door, I could hear Mimi scuttling around and singing along to music in her velvet voice. We were maybe too good at respecting each other’s privacy, because sometime around two in the afternoon I found myself lingering outside her door like a confused puppy.

After an eternity, Mimi, my blondies, and I piled into my car and took off toward the cabin.

I followed the instructions Joey had sent me, combined with my memories from the last time I’d driven out here. I followed a winding suburban path, cut over onto the expressway, took it one exit, then bounced down a poorly paved, two-lane road. When I spotted his muddy cut-in, I pulled off the narrow, nearly pitch-black highway directly into the mud-slick opening I now knew led to Joey’s.

Through the magnolia trees and evergreen pines, the road opened wide and suddenly, there the cabin was—ablaze with a warm, twinkling light that poured out of the picture-frame windows and drenched the wooden beams that made up the outside of his home. It spilled out of the front door and out onto the grassy lawn. Cars had parked in a haphazard line leading from the front steps all the way to his property entrance. Around the glowing cabin, the bare-branched trees swayed in the wintry ocean wind. I put the car in park and cut my eyes to Mimi.

“Well?” I looked at Mimi, eyebrows raised, awaiting her judgment.

“Well, this is darling as fuck.” She smirked, wagging her eyebrows at me. “Cozy vegan cabin sex.”

I grimaced. “What difference does vegan make?”

She gave me a wicked look. “Raw.”

After practically carrying Mimi across the wet lawn—cursing Joey’s stupid name for not even adding a gravel path or some stone pavers—we made it to the front door, only slightly frazzled, all twelve inches of Mimi’s stilettos intact and mud-free.

I gave the cuffs of my jeans a quick glance and made sure the tips of my leather boots weren’t soiled before making eye contact with my best friend and taking a synchronized, fortifying breath.

She brought her fingers together into little raindrop points, holding them in the space between us. “Tonight is going to be fun.”

“Tonight’s going to be fun,” I repeated, blowing out a shaky breath. “And I love fun.”