I hope an uncomfortable amount of time hasn’t passed as I force a smile and reach out for Gavin’s hand, both of us engaging in a crushing grip that tells me he’s threatened by me and whispers that I might feel the same about him, too.
“I didn’t realize Erin had a boyfriend,” I comment, and I want to kick myself for how petty it sounds.
“Yeah. From what she tells me, you two don’t talk much anymore,” Gavin comments. Before I can reply, he pulls his hand from mine and extends it for Becca. “Thanks for having us over.”
“It’s our pleasure,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Becca.” Then, her eyes land hard on me. “Bear’s girlfriend.”
I know that look. It’s the one that says why the hell didn’t you say this before I had to?
I clear my throat, rounding the couch to where Erin is standing with the casserole dish. I reach out for it. “I told you you didn’t have to bring anything.”
It comes out harsher than I mean for it to, and I internally curse myself. Snap out of it, big guy.
“It’s just a sweet corn casserole,” she says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear when her hands are free. “It’s my mom’s specialty.”
My stomach tightens.
It seems like everyone has a memory of their mother on this holiday, fond thoughts of cooking in the kitchen and famous recipes.
The only things my mom ever brought around on Thanksgiving were drugs and strangers.
At least, that was always the case when I was younger. But earlier this afternoon when Becca and I were cooking, I got a video call from my little brother, showing me that they were all gathered at Mac’s house — including our mother and my older brother and his family — laughing and playing games and getting ready to eat their own feast.
Without me.
“Well, thank you,” I say after a long pause, shaking off my own shit to focus on the whole reason I had this get-together in the first place. I owe Erin an apology, but not now. Not in front of everyone.
Erin and I watch each other, her shifting her weight before the gaze becomes too much for her, and she looks behind me.
At Gavin.
Who promptly returns to where she’s standing, putting his arm around her waist. What pisses me off most is it’s not possessive or territorial or aimed toward me at all.
It’s comforting and calming, meant for Erin only, and she leans into that touch with a sigh of relief that makes my chest tighten for a completely new reason.
“Alright, let’s get this into the kitchen and I think we should be ready to eat,” Becca says, taking the casserole from my hands with a warning glare. “Everyone grab your plates.”
It’s all laughter and catching up and getting to know each other as we fill our plates and gather at the table — a folding table usually used for flip cup and beer pong that has been disguised with a tablecloth, some flowers, and a few candles. The frat house always smells faintly of beer, but the candles help cover it a bit, and though it’s far from something Martha Stewart would approve, it’s not bad for a college Thanksgiving set-up.
I’m mostly a quiet bystander as everyone talks while we eat — Josh bragging about his IM football stats, Amber and Becca telling us stories from their raucous high school days, Erin and Pamela bonding over their shared love of well-organized planners.
And then there’s Gavin.
He’s almost as quiet as I am, chiming in time to time only to lay out a well-placed joke or to ask a question about something someone’s talking about. Like he cares.
And maybe he does.
Maybe he’s a perfectly cool dude with perfectly good intentions with Erin.
But after what she’s been through, I can’t help but watch him like the big brother she never asked me to be — arms crossed, gaze hard, jaw ticking as I fight back the questions I really want to ask.
Like:
Do you have a criminal record?
How many girls have you cheated on or broken up with?
When was your last serious relationship?
What plans do you have for your life?
What makes you think you deserve the most amazing girl in the world?
I shift uncomfortably as that last thought flitters through me, chugging half my beer in one swallow with Becca’s eyes watching.
“So,” I say when I set my glass back down, staring at Gavin. “Gavin. How did you and Erin meet?”
Erin smiles at him when he turns to her, and even without being able to see it, I know he grabs her hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.
“She was walking on the beach at sunrise, her hair and skirt blowing back behind her in the breeze as she watched the horizon. And I watched her. I mean, how could I not, with the morning glow on her face like that? I was just out surfing, but I didn’t care about the waves once I saw her. I had to know her name. So, I paddled in and hopped off my board and walked straight up to her and said…” He pauses, looking at Erin with a bent brow and making his voice deeper. “Hello, my queen. It is I, your King, and I have searched this world high and low for you.”