Page 69 of An Unexpected Turn
“Iguess we’ll just come here for Thanksgiving from now on,” Uncle Keith quipped after I’d set out all the desserts. I’d made an apple crumb pie and brownies, and Mom brought cookies along with my birthday cake from our favorite bakery back in Brooklyn.
“No, you can have it back next year,” I said, laughing as I fell into a seat at my table. “This was mostly to thank you both for letting me stay with you, and I wanted to host a holiday since this is the first place I’ve actually owned and not rented, but I’m perfectly fine bringing a pie and being a guest.”
“How many times do I have to tell you,” Uncle Keith said, “we loved having you stay with us. There is no need to thank us at all.”
“I remember when you used to beg to live with Uncle Keith when you were little,” Mom said, her eyes narrowed but stifling a smile.
“Because I’m awesome. Peyton was just the first one of you to realize it.”
Mom rolled her eyes at her brother.
“Once, you even packed a bag and told me to call Uncle Keith to pick you up so you could live with him, remember? You put on a jacket and waited by the door until I got him on the phone.”
“I remember that,” Uncle Keith mused. “You were five, I think. I was still living in a dorm at Binghamton, and your mother”—he nodded to Mom next to me—“called me and said I had to be the one to tell you no since you wouldn’t believe her.”
“You told her you’d see her when you came home each month. And every weekend, all she would do was ask, ‘Is it Uncle Keith’s weekend yet?’ and ‘How about now?’”
She laughed, but I spied a little hurt in her eyes. What I did remember from when I was that age was trying to get my father’s attention during the day while my mother was at work. He’d go through long periods between jobs and would be home with me most of the time, but he hardly interacted with me. Whenever I saw my uncle, he’d scoop me up and I’d be attached to his side. We’d laugh and talk for hours, playing games at the table until my grandmother would shoo us away so we could eat. He’d leave and I’d cry, already waiting for the next time I’d see him.
Even if I didn’t remember trying to go live with him that day, I did recall it being exactly what I wanted.
“Can we have ice cream, Peyton?”
After the reminder of how much Uncle Keith always meant to me, Brian’s innocent question triggered a new pang in my gut over what I was doing with my uncle’s best friend behind his back.
“Yes. Why didn’t you put that out? You have five containers,” Mom said before pushing off the table and heading toward the freezer.
“Claudia ate that much ice cream when she was here?” Uncle Keith’s rumble of laughter only made me feel worse.
I noted a “Hmm” from my mother as she ran a scoop over the top of one of the containers and packed the ice cream into a cone.
I shrugged at Uncle Keith, praying we’d all just eat and drop it.
“Unless Claudia changed her name toJ, the box was from someone else. I guess there are things your favorite niece doesn’t even share with you, Chief.”
Mom gave Brian a cone and set the open container down on the table, her handful of spoons falling next to it with a clatter.
“I guess you read the note in the box that was supposed to be just for her. I can’t imagine why she wanted to come live with me when she was a kid, can you?” He turned to Aunt Maya and arched a brow.
“It was open, and I happened to look. I figured she’d explain eventually.”
“She shouldn’t have to,” Uncle Keith said, his gaze on me. “She’ll tell who she wants when she’s ready.”
I sucked in a long breath through my nostrils, sneaking a glance at Aunt Maya before escaping to the kitchen to grab the coffee. I never participated in my mother and uncle’s squabbles, especially when they squabbled about me.
I reached into my cabinet, stacking mugs into the crook of my arm, when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Need any help, kiddo?”
“No, Uncle Keith. I’m good, thank you.”
His warm smile added to my growing remorse.
“You don’t have to say anything to anyone until you want to, even me.” He took the mugs from my hands. “But whoever he is, it looks like he’s making you happy, and that’s all I care about. And all your mother cares about, even if she keeps it hidden under all that ball-busting.”
Here was my chance. Jake wanted to tell him together, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I just came clean now. After a lifetime of telling my uncle everything, why was I holding back something and someone this important to me? The words were lodged in my throat, fear holding them hostage.
After thirty-three years of having my uncle on my side no matter what, thinking of the alternative was too paralyzing to find it in me to do the right thing.
