I'm Not in Love

Remi

Dinner itself is moreof a wild ride than appetizers were. Though explosive, it’s the most satisfying Thanksgiving Day meal I’ve shared in at least a decade.

“Not gonna eat that yucky bird!” Wendy is in prime form. “Just mashed potatoes floatin’ in gravy! Nothin’ else!”

“Little Wenny, the turkey’s not stringy like Mommy’s,” Tommy tells her.

“My turkey isn’t that bad,” Tara says, and all the kids groan. Tristan does too, but without rolling his eyes.

“Can I have more orange potatoes? Them things taste like candy,” Jared asks.

The server, who is standing beside the long side table laden with serving bowls, jumps to scoop out more sweet potatoes for Jared.

“Miss Emmie-ton, why can’t that poor lady sit down and eat food?” Wendy asks, pointing at the server with a chubby finger.

Dacia breaks into laughter. “The kids sure are little chatterboxes, huh?”

“I think they’re lots of fun,” Grandfather declares jovially.

“Maybe they should stop asking impertinent questions and concentrate on eating,” Grandmother replies. “Now, Tara, tell me about your position at Remington Plaza.”

As Tara describes the joys of her recent promotion, I lean toward Tristan. “You look nice today.” We haven’t had a chance to talk privately since I picked the family up to drive them here. And he does look nice, in khaki pants with sharply ironed creases down each leg and a white button-down oxford shirt. Brand new, I’d say. We’d be the ones looking like twins if not for the tight creases in his pantlegs. My pants are wrinkled, as always.

“I wanted to make a good impression.” His intense eyes appear brighter than usual, as if radiating hopefulness.

The truth is, to this point, my grandparents have barely noticed Tristan. The kids have stolen the show, Dacia knows how to get her spicy two cents in, and Tara works for our family corporation, so she has a built-in topic for conversation. Tristan has been background music.

“I’m impressed,” I reply with a wink.

“That’s what matters most.” He leans toward me and carefully wipes the corner of my mouth with his napkin. “Mashed potatoes,” he whispers with a shy smile.

“Don’t you gentlemen look cozy?” Grandmother calls us out, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Maybe we should keep our hands to ourselves at the dinner table.”

“Uh, I… I mean, he had mashed potato on his…” Tristan starts to stutter, his cheeks aflame.

I’m about to come to his defense when Jared offers too much truth for a formal dinner. “If you think they look cozy now, Miz R, you oughta see them all cuddled up in Uncle Tris’ bed.” Jared puckers his lips and blows me a kiss. “Right, Coach Remi?”

“They can’t stop smoochin’,” Tommy adds. “No matter how hard they try.”

We all glance at Wendy, expecting additional humiliating commentary, but she’s busy trying to feed her stuffed lamb a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“So, it isn’t the winsome Tara or the witty Dacia who has stolen your heart,” Grandfather remarks and takes a long sip of white wine.

“Well… uh, Tristan and I are dating.” This clearly doesn’t cover what’s happening between us, but it fills the expectant silence in the room.

“Dating, is it?” Grandmother repeats, lifting her eyebrows.

“Um, yes,” I confirm.

To save the day, Tara leaps into the conversation—and sticks both feet in it. “Tristan and Remi met at a life drawing class at LaCasse College. Tristan was the model.” She smiles at her brother with pride.

“Life drawing models usually work nude, am I right?” Grandfather asks. “Young Julian must have seen something he liked.” He waggles his bushy eyebrows, chuckles, and gulps down more wine.

“Grandfather, the kids don’t know that Tristan—” I start but am interrupted.

“Uncle Tris—you take off all your clothes and let people draw you?” Jared’s eyes are as round and wide as my grandmother’s autumn-themed dinner plates. “Like, butt naked?”

“Oh, Tris, I’m so sorry I brought this up…” Tara shakes her head. “I’m sorry!”

Tristan says nothing. He studies his grip on the napkin in his lap.

“I’ve seen the drawings, Mr. R. And let me tell you, I liked what I saw too.” Dacia’s comment isn’t helpful.

“Thanksgiving Day has been quite informative,” Grandmother quips as Tristan excuses himself from the table and heads for the doorway. “Excruciatingly so, hmm, Tristan?”

I need to say something to put an end to the downward spiral of this conversation. “He is the best life drawing model the college has ever hired. Nobody poses more… professionally. But he really wants to be a kindergarten teacher.”

“I hope he intends to keep his clothes on for that occupational endeavor.” Grandmother makes no effort to hold back her disdain. “Kindergarten teachers are encouraged to be fully dressed at all times, am I correct?”

Tara stands so abruptly her chair nearly topples over behind her. “None of you appreciates what Tristan does to make money, but I’ll have you know that he does it to support the kids and me. Until I got the job at Remington Plaza, he alone provided a roof over our heads, food, clothes—everything we needed.” She pulls in a breath and continues to ramble, “And he did it by modeling for art classes. And he’s beautiful, if you hadn’t noticed. The art students are as lucky to have Tristan as our family is. I will not listen to criticism of him!” Tara rushes from the dining room in search of her twin.

“That, my friends, is one heck of a loyal sister,” Grandfather states with a grin.

“But Mrs. R almost made Uncle Tris cry,” Tommy points out, dropping his fork on the edge of his plate and shooting eye daggers at her.

Wendy’s contempt is a match to her brother’s. She points at Grandmother. “You’re bein’ a big bully.”

“Young lady, I was simply stating facts—I am most certainly not a bully.” Grandmother can successfully manage a chain of hotels but is struggling to settle a dispute with a three-year-old.

Time to intervene. “Grandmother, Wendy is a child who loves her uncle, and you—”

“Be nice, Miss Emmie-ton! And say sorry!” Wendy cuts me off with her short series of rather reasonable demands.

Wendy can apparently take care of herself in the absence of her mother and uncle. “I’m going to check on Tristan.”

“Smart idea,” Dacia replies. “I’ll try to hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

“Do hurry back, young Julian,” Grandfather suggests and drains his glass.