Bailey smiles tremulously, and I can’t help it--I do, too, because I mean what I’m saying. She kisses me again, and I feel her melt into my arms.
“We’ll work it out somehow,” she murmurs, and I believe her. “Together.”11BaileyExcitement to come home for the holidays was a feeling I never understood until I went away for college. Now, I’m beyond glad to be back in my own room, my own bed, and my own house. Everything I took for granted for so many years--my mattress, our dishwasher, home-cooked meals--now seems like the very height of luxury. Even better, today is Thanksgiving, meaning that savory scents are wafting throughout the house, thanks to my dad’s delicious cooking.
Most exciting of all, Christopher is coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, like he always does.
Less exciting, and more terrifying: we’re going to tell my dad about our relationship.
We’ve agonized over this decision for weeks, discussing it over many texts and late-night phone calls. Kara was the first person I told while we walked to class one day, and she was so stunned that she ran into a wall. Since then, however, she’s been nothing but supportive, albeit often gently ribbing me for not telling her sooner. It seems natural that the next person we disclose our relationship status to should be my father.
I put down the book I’ve been reading, leaning back against my pillows. Checking my phone, I grin when I see I have a text from the love of my life.
Looking forward to mashed potatoes tonight… And you, of course.
I laugh. That man sure has some gall to tease me for my appetite when his is even more gargantuan.
Another text comes in before I can respond. You’re still okay with the plan, baby?
I swallow hard, listening to Rick whistle in the kitchen as he cooks. There’s no use imagining his reaction; it’s impossible to gauge and could go an infinite number of ways. I’ve tried putting myself in his shoes, but I just can’t quite conceptualize it. Christopher confessed to me that he, personally, would probably be livid in a similar situation, and warned me that my dad might not take it well. I’m as prepared as I can be.
Definitely, I type back to Christopher, and he responds with a thumbs-up and a heart. I laugh again--I had to teach him how to properly use emojis.
“Bailey,” my dad calls, “will you come help me with the corn casserole?”
I skip into the kitchen, eager to help make one of my favorite dishes. My dad is wearing an old, tattered apron that says “Kiss the Cook,” and I oblige by kissing him on the cheek. He grins at me, placing some sprigs of rosemary in the turkey.
“You’re in high spirits today, Bails,” he observes.
“You know me,” I say, rolling up my sleeves to prepare for greasing the casserole dish. “I love Thanksgiving food.”
“Who doesn’t?” my dad asks. We work in amiable silence for a bit, him dressing the turkey and me assembling my casserole. I sometimes miss my mom at times like this--we used to all help out with Thanksgiving together. But I know I’ll see her at Christmas, and I enjoy getting to spend one-on-one time with my dad, too. We’ve always had a special bond.
Will that bond be broken irreparably tonight?
“You’ve been in a better mood in general, lately,” my dad says as I put my casserole in the oven. “You seem much happier when I call you at school. What happened?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I demure, wiping my hands on my sweatpants. I’ll have to change into something much cuter for when Christopher comes over. “I think I’m just adjusting to classes and stuff.”
“You haven’t met a boy, have you?”
“Uh, no, definitely not,” I say, truthfully. “I promise I’ll let you know when I do.”
“You’d better,” my dad says darkly. “I need to make sure he’s good enough for you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say hurriedly, while trying to look nonchalant. Then my dad changes the subject.
“So how’s your friend, Kara? The crazy one with the blonde hair?”
I laugh.
“She’s not crazy!” I admonish. “In fact, Kara is very sane, and a very good friend to me.”
My dad’s eyebrow arches.
“Is she?”
I nod.
“Yes, definitely. And she’ll be dropping by maybe tomorrow or the day after. She always does, Daddy. Kara and I have been best friends for years. You know that.”
Rick goes silent, but I notice that the air in the room is a bit charged. I sneak a slight look at him. Is there something that I don’t know? But then, the oven dings, and I go to get the casserole.
“Almost ready,” I say with satisfaction before closing the oven door. When I turn to look at Rick, I notice that he has a dark flush on his cheekbones, and that he’s stirring rather slowly. “Everything okay?” I ask.