Page 105 of Reconciling With the Rival

For What?

Thanksgiving

“Lizzie, can you startpeeling the potatoes?” I ask my sister as she sits at the already set table. She nods, gets up, and goes over to the sink as I check on the turkey.

It still needs about an hour, so I turn my attention to the charcuterie board I brought and swipe a piece of salami. I’m starving; I’ve been cooking all day. I hear my Dad in the living room watching football.

I offered to host at my apartment since Leo and Alissa don’t celebrate American Thanksgiving, but Lizzie insisted on havingdinner here this year. I can cook anywhere, but it would’ve been easier to have them at my place since I have a bigger kitchen. It’s fine, though. As long as I’m with them, it’s okay.

Even when Lizzie and I were little, our dad never missed out on Thanksgiving. Even if we didn't have the standard turkey dinner and shit, he always made sure we were together as a family. I’ve learned over the years it’s not so much about the meal or the holiday, it’s about the people who sit around the same table as you—related to you or not.

This year has been tough—mentally and physically. Not only has there been a lot of huge life transitions happening, but I feel like I’m finally getting used to life and all the curveballs it throws.

Even if those curveballs are in the form of Leo fucking Zimmerman and his dick that’s holding me captive.

It’s not just that, though. My heart is slowly turning on me, and I hate that I’ve spent so much time lately thinking about Leo. I hate that I can’t get him out of my head. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many books I read, all I picture when I see the main male character is him. His stupid brown eyes, his fucking curly hair, his accent.

Just as my sister finishes mashing the potatoes, I hear a knock at the door, and before I can grab it, my sister does.

“I’ll get it!” she all but shrieks as she heads for the door. I know my dad mentioned something about one of his work friends coming for dinner since he didn't have anywhere else to go, but when I got here this morning, he told me he canceled.

So who the hell just walked in?

“Come in,” I hear my sister say, an unusual pep in her voice.

My stomach drops, and somehow, I think it knows before I do who just walked into my childhood home.

“Wow, it smells good in here,” a familiar but unfamiliar voice says. “Michael, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

I don’t want to move. Ican’tmove. Because there’s no way my mother walked in the door and is trying to make small talk with my father—the one she walked out on. Somehow, my legs move, and as I turn the corner, I see a stranger taking up space in our living room.

“What is she doing here?” She looks so unrecognizable to me right now. Her hair used to be lighter when I was younger, but now, it’s a dark brown. She’s a lot skinnier than I remember, and her brown eyes look at me with anger brewing beneath them.

Our expressions must match then, but that’s about the only thing we will ever have in common. Thank God I get all my looks from my dad. The only thing I got from her is a crippling fear that I’m not good enough and my eye color.

“Ella…” my dad cautions me. “Today is a day to be surrounded by family, and Lizzie invited your mother. Let’s not argue.”

This is the first time I’m seeing her in person after all these years, and I’m the one being told to calm down? No.

Suddenly, I’m not feeling so thankful.

“She’s the one who has missed out on a lifetime of Thanksgiving dinners, and I’m the one being scolded right now? Really?” I must have stepped into an alternate universe. How is he so okay with this? That’s his wife! They technically never got divorced because she just up and left, and he’s okay with this?

“Ella, please,” is all my sister says as she steps forward and tries to comfort me.

I step back.

“So this is why you didn't want it at my apartment this year? You figured it would be better to ambush me here, in our childhood home where she walked out on us.” I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “Get out.”

“Ella, stop,” my sister says as she grabs hold of our mother’s arm.

“Please just give me a chance, Ella. I’m here now—”

“But you walked out when we were kids! Am I crazy, or did you two just forget about that? Did you forget how she abandoned us to run off and do God knows what?”

“I’ve apologized, Ella. You just can’t seem to accept it.” My mother has a cold look on her face, and everyone else looks confused as to why I’m angry. Am I the only one who remembers how fucking hard it was back then? We had one income with my dad working, and that was barely enough to keep us afloat. Somedays, I was worried we were going to lose the house, and end up on the streets if we couldn't afford it anymore.

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