Page 66 of Pour Decisions
“Is it messed up that I want him to remember who I am? He had such a big impact on my life.”
JD winces. “I know. I don’t think he cares to file people’s faces and names away unless they’re directly benefiting him. Especially since he only knows your name and probably won’t recognize your face from the photo he saw a decade ago.”
I run my hands over his chest, savoring the softness of his sweater against my palms. The way he talks about his dad has changed a lot. He never spoke about his father with warmth, but he didn’t have so much contempt for him before.
“Areyougoing to be okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says.
I don’t want to doubt him, but this pit in my stomach is growing. My gut feelings are rarely far off.
We head over to his parents’ house, Bubba in tow. It’s a gorgeous ranch-style home, sprawling across a big plot of land. Bubba knows where he is, and goes running up to a bush near the front for a sniff before going back up the front steps.
JD takes my hand and pushes open the screen door. The smell of hot food wafts toward me, making my stomachgrowl. How did I forget about the food part of Thanksgiving? Everything smells delicious.
“Mom?” JD calls out.
“Hello, hello!” Mrs. Stryker appears around the corner in a beautiful, dark blue sweater covered with an apron. Her hair is up in an elegant chignon like she just walked off the set of a cooking show.
“Hi. Thank you for having me,” I say. Thankfully she goes in for a hug instead of a handshake because my palms are drenched.
“No problem at all. I love hosting.” She takes the pies from JD. “And call me Delia. Here, let me give you a little tour and a drink.”
Delia walks us through her home, which is impeccably decorated in a faux-rustic style. Her art style is very Southern Mom, especially her big wall of family photos and mementos. His younger brother, Waylon, is slightly overrepresented, with his awards and accomplishments taking up a big percentage of the wall. But I also get to see a few baby pictures of JD, looking very stern but concerned in the way that only babies can look.
We end up at the back of the house, which has a huge deck overlooking the yard. Everyone seems to be out there, and for a moment, my heart seizes. But I don’t see JD’s father—just his brothers, the women I assume are their partners, and their dogs.
Bubba is already out there, frolicking around with a big stick in his mouth. Another dog, maybe a husky mix, grabs it from his mouth and darts off.
“And here’s everyone,” Delia says. The deck is toasty warm from heat lamps. “Excuse me—I need to put the finishing touches on dinner. And no, I don’t need help.”
“She absolutely needs help,” Wes says as soon as she shuts the door. He looks older, of course, but I’d recognize himanywhere. He has a big, charming smile and his hair is similar to JD’s, dark and a bit wavy.
“She wouldn’t take it even if you walked in there and started doing stuff,” the woman sitting in his lap says. She’s petite and Black, with long braids that pool in her lap. “Hi there.”
“This is my girlfriend, Katrina,” JD says, putting a hand on my lower back.
He introduces everyone else—Wes, his wife, Rose, Waylon, his fiancé Bianca, and Ash. Waylon has the same, open friendliness as Wes, but more wholesome in a way I can’t clearly define. Maybe it’s the fluffy Pomeranian in his lap, Sadie. Bianca is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in person—tall and willowy, with luminous brown skin and a bone structure that’s almost scarily symmetrical—but I get the sense she’s shy just by looking at her.
Ash looks so similar, but so different to JD. They have the same dark eyes and hair, and similar noses. But the sleeves of his long-sleeved henley are pushed up, revealing gorgeous, colorful tattoos. His eyelashes are the kind of long, dark ones that men have and rarely appreciate.
“Girlfriend? JD’s girlfriend?” Ash asks me, looking me up and down. “Are you okay? Tap out help in Morse code if you need it.”
“Shut up, Ash,” JD says, going over to the bar cart on the corner of the deck.
“Morse code? Not blinking?” I ask. “Who even knows Morse code these days? It seems like you don’t actually want to help, unless you happen to know Morse code.”
Ash laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, and it sounds exactly like JD’s. The visual contrast between the two of them is even more jarring despite the similarity.
“You’re with him and you have a sense of humor?” Ash sits down and Bubba comes running up to him. “This Thanksgiving is already interesting.”
JD pops a top onto a shaker and starts shaking, glaring at Ash.
“Where’s Dad?” JD asks, pouring me a drink.
“Working.” Wes rolls his eyes.
I sit down in one of the chairs, relief washing over me. He’ll have to come around at some point today, but I can ease into dinner this way. The drink JD made me is perfect, a not-too-boozy margarita that doesn’t match the season at all.
