I find the game on in the living room, which is where everyone moved to while we were outside talking. Indi glances over to me, looking a little worried, but I shake my head, and give her a watery smile. Now is so not the time. I take another deep breath, deciding to join everyone when I see that Smithy has the formal tables all pulled together in here too.
Then I notice the tablecloth.
My throat thickens as tears prick my eyes. This is too much right now. This entire day is too fucking much. I rub the heel of my palm against my chest, trying to ease some of the pain that tears through me, praying for the strength to get through today without breaking.
Smithy enters the room, looking more than a little concerned when he sees me. “Miss Octavia, what’s wrong?”
“The tablecloth…you remembered?”
He smiles softly before moving toward me and hugging me. “Of course I did. It’s tradition. I figured we’d keep it up, especially with so many of your friends here.”
He rubs my back up and down before releasing me. I move toward the table, barely able to stop the tears from falling as I take it all in.
The messages from my dad from the last Thanksgiving we spent at home. It was a silly tradition my nana started when I was young. Each year at Thanksgiving, we’d write what we were thankful for on the table cloth and sign our name with the year until that cloth was full, and then we’d start another.
Trailing my fingers against my father's spider-like writing makes the tears fall down my face.
I am thankful to be surrounded by the people I love. To be graced with a daughter as talented as she is graceful, and a wife who loves us both so much.
I wipe the tears from my face as I feel someone at my back.
“Are you okay?” Finley asks, and I lean back on him, just for a second while I compose myself, stealing some of his quiet strength.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper, taking a deep breath just as Smithy announces that the food is ready.
As I take my seat, Finley moves to sit in the chair to my right as my found family take their places around the table. I know that, despite everything, I have a lot to be thankful for. Selfishly, I just wish for more.
Indi sits to my left and clasps my hand, squeezing tight. She has no idea what’s wrong, but I know she’s there for me no matter what.
Smithy, East, and Mav appear, carrying dishes to start loading up the table and laughter sounds at the other end where Mac and some of the other roadies are sitting. The corners of my mouth lift in a watery smile and I close my eyes, thanking my dad for giving me these people, even if he can’t be here with me.
Life might not always be sunshine and rainbows, but today, I’m going to be thankful for all of the grace in my life. Starting with these people.
Even the ones that lied to me.
* * *
After the emotional whirlwind of a day on Thursday, Indi and I relaxed for the rest of the long weekend. At least until her parents came home a day early. I swear all we’ve done is eat the entire time she’s been here. I’m going to need to run every day this week just to recover from it. I’m not opposed to some extra curve on my ass, but damn, eating this much pie and not running is going to ruin me.
Indi left here yesterday afternoon, giving me my Sunday to myself. Which is exactly why I’m still in my pj’s, curled on the couch under blankets with Smithy, watching crime documentaries. What else is to be done over the weekend but chill after eating my own weight in turkey and all the trimmings? That and putting off calling P. Stupid move I know, but I need to process the shit that Thanksgiving brought back to the surface before I dive into that cesspit. That and the thought of him not answering my questions or lying to me again isn’t something I’m sure I can handle right now with my grief gripping me just beneath the surface.
I’m not ready to discover if our entire friendship was one giant lie. Not yet.
A knock at the back door has me pausing the TV and Smithy gets up to see who’s there. Since it’s the back door, I can only imagine it’s one of four people. Everyone else is civilized and uses the front.
I take a deep breath and prepare myself to deal with whichever one of them it is. I haven’t spoken to any of them since Thursday.
“Master Saint! What brings you by?” Smithy’s voice carries through, making me turn on the couch, just as a sweater-and-jean-clad Lincoln enters my house.
What the fuck have these boys been eating, and why do they look edible in fucking everything?
Why are the assholes always so pretty?
And why does my kooch seem louder than logic sometimes?
“I was hoping Octavia would be free. I was going to head to the range, and I figured with everything going on, she could probably use the extra practice.”
Goddamn, why does he have to be so well-mannered to Smithy. Manners cost nothing and are fucking hot, too.