But the little thrill that zipped through my body from his call made it impossible to worry about how much I was falling for Max.
“It’s late back there. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I said when I picked up.
“Who says I’m not?” The deep tenor in his voice, laced with sensuality, sent a sizzle through me, straight down to my core.
“How about you? Am I calling too late?” he asked.
“Not at all. I just climbed into bed to read a book.”
“You’re in bed.” He said it like he was pleased by it. “Then I called at the right time.”
Okay, so this call was going to be about sex. I was okay with that. Despite my feelings, I couldn’t want any more than that.
“The right time for what?”
“Crossword puzzles.”
I laughed.
“What is a six-letter word for sensual pleasure?”
“Hmm... not sex... not come... orgasm?”
“You’re good.”
I smiled, but it was bittersweet. Max was proving to be just the sort of man I would have liked to have a relationship with if only the timing weren’t so bad. That and he lived across the country.
Late-night phone sex over the last few nights was great, but not enough to alleviate the tension I felt as I walked into my father's house on Thanksgiving. Other people from dysfunctional families might have shown up with a few drinks under their belt to cope, but I didn't dare have a drink when I visited my dad. I needed all my wits about me when I was around him. For my dad, everything was transactional, and he’d find a way to use any little tidbit of information he obtained to his advantage. Even when it involved his kids. I didn't want to give him anything that he could exploit. In particular, my accidental marriage to Max.
When I was escorted into the living room, I was glad to see that James was already there. He held a glass with clear liquid which could've been vodka but was probably water. He knew as well as I did that it was important to stay sober and on our toes around Dad.
My dad sat in a wingback chair looking like he was the king on his throne. He checked his watch. "You just made it."
If I were braver, I would've responded with something snarky about not wanting to keep His Majesty waiting. But I wasn't brave enough to put him on my bad side, which was why I arrived right on time, which he was pointing out by checking the time.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Amelia.” James came to me, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He whispered into my ear, “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can leave."
I smiled. "Happy Thanksgiving, James." I turned to look at my dad. "You too, Dad."
My father grunted out a Happy Thanksgiving to me.
Luckily, we were saved from small talk by being called to dinner. Once we were seated and the traditional Thanksgiving turkey was served, my dad asked, "Have you talked to your mother lately, Amelia?"
I chewed my first bite of turkey slowly as I tried to figure out why my father would be asking about our mother. When she'd left eight years ago, he'd pretty much cut her out of his life, and she did her best to cut us out of hers as well. While she wouldn’t have earned mother of the year, she wasn't a bad mother either, so it was a surprise that she never reached out to me and James, especially after we were out of the home. I told myself that she worried that by being in touch with us, somehow, our dad would be able to get to her. James's take on it was a little bit different. He felt that she had only been biding her time until I graduated from high school and then escaped not just from Dad, but from us as well. He believed she had us only out of duty to my father. When he first told me that, I didn't want to believe it, but I think deep down, I knew it was true. It was difficult to believe that neither of our parents wanted to be parents. Sometimes, it was work to tell myself that their indifference to us was a reflection on them, not on me or James. He and I were worthy to have loving parents. We just hadn't been blessed with them.
"No. You know, we don't talk to her, and she makes no attempt to talk to us," I said.
He shrugged nonchalantly as he cut his turkey. But he didn't fool me. His question meant something.
"I just thought maybe you had some news to share with her or something. Something a daughter would want to talk to her mother about."
I looked across the table at James, wondering what my father was talking about. James looked at me and shrugged. Apparently, he was clueless too.
"No.”
My father picked up his wine, taking a sip, his eyes studying me over the rim. I wanted to squirm at his scrutiny. I turned my attention back to my food, hating that I was letting him know he made me uncomfortable.
"Are you sure about that?"