Before I can offer reassurances or at the least a wan smile of agreement, I hear the front door open and a man's voice yell out, "Marilyn Fournier, your favorite son has arrived!"
That is not Max's voice, although there's the same understated accent that Max has. I'm going out on a limb and say it's his brother Lucas.
My guess is proven correct when Max walks into the kitchen, and a man that could pass as his twin walks in behind. Lucas Fournier is almost the exact spitting image of Max, except he wears his wavy hair much longer. But past that, their facial features are almost identical, as well as their body size and height.
Unreal.
Lucas locks eyes on his mother, who puts the spices on the counter and rounds it to greet him. He opens his arms and scoops her up from the waist and spins her around until she cries out, "Stop it, Lucas. I'll get sick."
Max comes to stand beside me, his hands going to my shoulders and his lips to the back of my head briefly.
When Lucas sets his mother down, he turns immediately to me and grins. "And this must be the angel that is rocking my brother's world?"
"Hi, Lucas," I say as I step around the counter and start to reach my hand out for him to shake.
But he's having none of that, also grabbing me around the waist and spinning me like he did his mother. My hands grab on to his shoulders and I hang on for dear life until he puts me down and gives me a smack of a kiss on my cheek. "And you can call me Luc. Only my mom really calls me Lucas, but I will answer to both."
He steps back, runs his eyes up and down me--not lewdly but more in an analytical way--and then he turns to Max. "I approve, bro. Totally approve."
"I'm so glad," Max says dryly and then points into the den. I look over and notice the kids are not watching TV but are instead turned around, all three staring at Luc with their mouths hanging open.
"That's Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco, in order," Max says to introduce my brood to his brother.
Luc takes one look at them, then the TV screen, and says, "Dudes...The Incredibles. I love that movie."
He walks into the living room and plants himself on the couch right in between Levy and Annabelle. The kids only take a moment to accept his presence then they turn and resume watching TV again.
All but Annabelle. Her gaze slides back to Luc and she says, "You look just like Max."
Lucas winks at Annabelle. "Not true, princess. I'm way better looking than he is."
"I don't think so," she says solemnly.
Luc grins at her and then says, "I'm way more fun though."
Annabelle glances at Max, then back to Luc, trying to ascertain if this is true. She can certainly tell from a glance that Max is absolutely better looking than Luc.
Hands down, in my opinion.
She's not so sold on the fun aspect yet.
"What can I do to help?" Max asks me and his mom.
"I think we're all good," I say as I push past him, giving him a tiny pat on his stomach as I do. I open the oven door and peel back the foil on the turkey to check it out.
When I stand back up, Max is leaning his hip against the counter and his arms are crossed over his chest, and he's blatantly staring at me.
I close the oven door and ask him in an affronted voice, "Were you just staring at my butt?"
"Yup," he says with no remorse.
His mother snickers.
"And it's a damn fine butt too," he adds.
I roll my eyes at him and point to the fridge. "Get a beer for yourself and your brother and go away. You're only in our way."
Max grins at me, but rather than do as I command he merely pulls out the barstool next to him and plops down. He crosses his forearms on the counter and leers at me. "I'd rather watch you."
"Pervert," I mutter under my breath.
"Is your friend Hawke still coming?" Marilyn asks Max.
He glances at his watch and says, "I think so. He told me when I talked to him last night that he'd probably make it."
"How's he doing?" I ask as I pull a pot out from a cabinet beside the oven before setting it on the stove burner and filling it with water from the totally awesome pot filler Max has built into the wall. It's time to get the potatoes going.
"He tries to act like everything's okay but I know it's not," Max says, and I can hear the worry in his voice for his friend.
"What happened?" Marilyn asks, curious.
"His girlfriend broke up with him last week," Max supplies, but doesn't elaborate. While I got full details, I think that's only because I'm Max's girlfriend, and I believe there's some rule that you share shit like that or something. But moms probably don't need the minute details.
"Oh, that's so sad," Marilyn says. "Holidays are a tough time to be alone."
Wiser words.
I wonder what my dad's doing. He totally backed out of Thanksgiving dinner, telling me by phone a few nights ago that the load he'd expected to be driving east from the West Coast got delayed and he wouldn't be able to make it. But he's going to try to come in sometime before Christmas.
I wish I could say I was angry he's not coming but I'm not. We've never been close, and because he was away so much of my time growing up, we just sort of have this very casual relationship. If I see him, great. If I don't, that's fine too. He checks in with me a few times a month, lately a little more frequently since Melody died. He took it really hard, I think perhaps out of regret for not having a better relationship with his daughters and then his grandchildren. But as Melody told me once when he would miss yet another holiday or birthday with us, "You can't really miss what you never had."
So true.
Now, Max, on the other hand?
I've only had him for just about two months. I've known my father infinitely longer than Max, and yet I think if Max walked out of my life, I'd never get over that loss. That's how deep my feelings are where he's concerned.
So sit on that little barstool, Max, and stare at me all you want. You can even think you're being cute and annoying me in that adorable boyfriend kind of way.
Only I know the full truth, that I like having you close by because that's when I'm happiest, so sit on that stool all day long, Max.
I like it.
I look across the room at Hawke, and while he's facing the TV in a slouched, casual position, looking on the verge of a post-turkey coma, I can tell he's not into the football game at all. In fact, he's radiated nothing but tension since he got here. His outgoing personality is completely dampened and it was painful watching him try to interact with all of us when you could tell his mind was hundreds of miles
away.
In Sydney, Nova Scotia, with Vale.
I've texted her a few times since she left, and she's responded quickly. All surface stuff, and I don't quite have the guts to ask her point-blank how she's doing, because our friendship has not extended that far. But Hawke's different and I don't have any such qualms.
My gaze slides over to the couch where Luc is conked out, snoring deeply in complete submission to the meal we just had. My mom and Jules took the kids up to the small park in my neighborhood that has an elaborate jungle gym set as well as swings, slides, and other fun things for the kids to climb on. This was my mom's suggestion and I know she did it only so she could spend more time getting to know Jules. My mom and I stayed up pretty late last night talking about her, and I didn't hold anything back.
I'm not a mama's boy by any means, but I am very close to her and I very much respect her opinion. I respect her opinion because she and my father have an incredibly close relationship that has maybe become a little comfortable over the years, but it has never dulled. They're the type of couple that displays affection and shamelessly flirt with each other, even after almost thirty years of marriage. They still joke and laugh together. They still talk. Deep, long discussions.
That's what I want for my future, and I think Jules is the woman I could have that with. It's why I want my mom to really get to know her as best she can while she's here, so I can have her perspective too.
My eyes slide back to Hawke and I say quietly, so as not to wake Luc, although that would be sort of like waking the dead the way he's snoring, "Dude?"
Hawke's head turns my way, eyes completely flat, but one eyebrow raised.
"Want to go play some pool?" I ask.
He doesn't look enthused but he nods and pushes himself up out of the deep cushioned chair he occupies. I push myself up out of the same type of chair, which sits opposite him, and head into the kitchen, grabbing us two beers to take with us. I pop the tops and hand one to Hawke, then he follows me down the back staircase to the basement.
When I reach the bottom landing I turn right into my billiards room. To the left is another sitting area with massive leather furniture and another big-screen TV. On the other side of that room is my home gym, but I rarely use it during hockey season as I do all my training at the arena. It's mostly for me to keep in shape during the summer.