“Maybe five or seven. It’s all guys except for my buddy Beaux who got married last year. He moved away after college, but always comes back for Brosgiving.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Brosgiving?”
Tyler might actually blush. He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s what we called it in high school. But girlfriends are welcome, so you’re coming. This will be Marcus’s second year since we decided he was old enough to tag along.”
“Sounds fun,” I say. “Should I bring anything?”
I watch his gaze as it goes down my body and then back up to my eyes. “Just yourself.”
Miranda sulks in the passenger side of my car, her arms crossed over her belly. I can almost feel the flames of hatred rising off her, trying to light the car on fire. Okay, so I probably shouldn’t have forced her to go back to Houston with me for dinner with her mother who kind of hates her right now. I also probably shouldn’t have told a tiny little lie, saying that Maggie sounded cheerful and really wanted Miranda to come.
If I were Miranda, I’d hate me right now, too.
“Look,” I begin, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as I stare straight ahead on Interstate 45. “We were invited. That has to mean something, even if it’s not much. If Maggie hated you as much as you think she does, then she wouldn’t have called. Maybe this can be a good thing.”
“You hate her just as much as I do,” Miranda counters. “So why are you okay with this?”
I take a deep breath. She doesn't realize it, but I’m the grown up in this little two person family unit we’ve created. Pretty soon there will be a third member of our family and it’ll be tiny and defenseless and need to be taken care of every single second of the day. It’s time for me to wear my metaphorical grown up pants and make some grown up decisions around here.
“You can be pissed off all you want, but we’re going to your grandma’s for dinner and you’re going to see your mother and you’re going to suck it up and deal with it.” Miranda groans but I ignore her. “You’re a mother now, too, and you have to realize that I’m doing this for you. You need to make amends with Maggie and you need to start out your baby’s life on the right foot. Trust me, if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t be going today. I’m sick of Maggie and my mother is just an older clone of her. I’m doing this for you and one day, you’ll thank me.”
Miranda shuffles in her seat, the frown never leaving her face. I think about trying to pat her arm but she’s so angry she might just bite it off. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry we’re doing this. But I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Maybe it won’t be so horrible,” she mutters, turning to look out the window.
I sigh and risk having my arm bitten off by patting her arm. “That’s the spirit.”
It’s only been three months but the entire city seems like it’s both changed and stayed exactly the same. The air smells weird now, like pollution and greasy fast food and metal and burnt rubber. Strange how I never noticed those things before. Like how the other drivers are total assholes on the road, weaving in and out of lanes without a single freaking care about any other driver on the road. It’s not like in Salt Gap, where people take turns letting other cars go ahead of them at a four way stop sign. No one waves at you as they drive by in Houston. People just pretend you don’t exist.
I’m feeling okay until I turn off the main highway and make a left into Mom’s neighborhood. It’s a community of older homes that were once the best homes in the city but are now in need of repair and mostly covered from view by massive oak trees. Now my stomach clenches and although I’m hungry after the three hour drive—starving actually—the thought of eating is the last thing on my mind.
Maggie’s Subaru is parked outside of Mom’s house. I pull up behind it and cut the engine. Miranda slumps down in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t want to do this,” she says.
“It’ll be fine.” I push open my car door and step out onto the driveway, feeling a little nostalgic for the place I spent my childhood. Maggie was hardly ever here because she’s so much older than I am. My adult memories of this town may not be so good, but at least my childhood ones are. Grandpa’s watch sags down my wrist as I close my car door and step around to the other side. I don’t even try to pull some kind of good energy off of the heirloom because I can’t think about Grandpa right now. This is the first Thanksgiving without him. It is too hard to think about that. So I don’t.
Miranda and I walk up to the front door. My niece practically vibrates with fear and I give her a little smile right before I ring the doorbell. Yeah, Maggie is a bitch but this is her daughter. She has to forgive her at some point. This will all be okay.
The door opens. The first thing I notice is the strong smell of wine. Then my sister appears, wearing a sweater dress that’s a little too tight, and too short. She’s holding a glass of red wine in the same color as her stained lips.
“Hello,” I say, trying to sound cheerful as I break the ice. Maggie’s lips press together while she takes in the sight of me and then her pregnant daughter. She lifts her wine glass to her lips.
“Well,” she says, taking another sip. “If it isn’t the quitter and the whore.”
Miranda stiffens. My mouth falls open. In the seconds that follow, Maggie steps to the side and opens the door wider. “Are you going to come inside or just stand there like idiots?” she says.
Miranda draws in a breath and takes a step forward, relenting to her mother’s command and hating every second of it. I grab her hand and pull her back. Before Maggie can say another wine-induced word, I push Miranda behind me. “Get in the car,” I say quickly, starting to run behind her.
“What are we—” she says, her eyes wide.
“Go!” I shout. “Get back in the car!”
Maggie’s voice calls after us. “What the hell..?” But I ignore her and grab my keys out of my pocket.
No one who insults us like that deserves our company.
And it’s time my sister learns that.
Chapter 11