Page 77 of Beautiful Lies
I glanced at Lana, sitting next to me, as she sniped at Joe. “I told you I wanted one piece of turkey and a bite of stuffing. I can’t eat all this.” Joe accommodated her by transferring a slice of turkey and a heaping serving of stuffing to his own plate. The poor man waited on her hand and foot but got nothing but criticism for his efforts.
“Ava. What’s wrong with the food?” my mom asked, pointing her fork at me. I wouldn’t put it past her to skewer me with it. “I’ve been cooking for three days. I woke up at six in the morning to get the turkey in the oven and you’ve barely touched your food.”
I stuffed a bite of sweet potato casserole into my mouth and ate a few bites of turkey to keep her happy. Then I guzzled my wine. Before I knew it, the glass was empty. I refilled it, thinking that holidays with my family would turn anyone into an alcoholic. I’d lost count of how many glasses of wine I’d already drunk. Enough to make everything fuzzy around the edges. But not enough to drown out my mom’s voice.
“Ava… his name is Nathan,” she yelled down the table. “When he calls you, I want you to be sweet and nice. Ask him questions about himself and tell him about—”
“Mom. Stop. Please don’t fix me up with any of your friends’ sons. Or anyone else. I’m not interested.”
“Why not? You’ve got a better offer?” my grandma asked.
I took another gulp of wine for liquid courage before I dropped the bomb. “Connor and I have gotten back together.”
My mother’s fork clattered to her plate. “Lars,” she said, waving her hands in the air. “Do something.”
“What do you want me to do?” my dad asked, his eyes glued to his plate of food.
“Tell her she’s making a big mistake. Tell her that boy is bad news.”
My dad cut a piece of turkey, topped it with stuffing and a dollop of cranberry sauce, put it in his mouth and chewed in silence.
“He worked for you that one summer, Dad. Was he bad news? I bet he did a good job. Worked hard. Turned up on time. Didn’t he?” I knew Connor had done all those things. He’d been grateful that my dad had given him work, and he’d thought it would bring him closer to my family.
My dad shrugged and muttered something unintelligible.
Stand up for him. Stand up for me, I silently screamed.
But he wouldn’t. Or he couldn’t. He was too much of a coward. It made me so sad because I loved my dad. I really did. But I’d lost respect for him so many years ago, and he’d done nothing to win it back.
I guzzled the rest of my wine and set down my empty glass. Then I pushed back my chair and stood, feeling lightheaded from the wine. Whoa. Headrush. “I love Connor,” I announced to the table.
“Who the hell is Connor?” my grandpa asked.
“Exactly,” I said. “You don’t even know him, and he’s been a huge part of my life for ten years.”
“He’s been nothing but trouble for ten years,” my mom said.
“I’ve always loved Connor. And I always will. I can’t imagine my life without him and I don’t want to. And I’m sorry that you hate him so much, but you know what? He believed in me when nobody else did. He loves me exactly as I am. And I want to spend my Thanksgiving with him because my family… they won’t welcome him into their home and that makes me sad and angry and hurt. So yeah, I’m going.”
I stumbled away from the table, somewhat deflated after my grand speech. A scene like that played out better in a movie. “Ava Christensen,” my mom called after me. “You get back here right now. You can’t walk out on Thanksgiving dinner with your family.”
I paused in the doorway, my back to her. If I looked at my mom’s face, I’d lose my nerve. “Watch me.”
I grabbed my parka from the hook in the entryway and pulled it on, my hands trembling as I tried to do up the zipper. I shouldered my overnight bag and walked out the front door, taking deep breaths of cold air as I walked toward the subway station. Someone needed to stand up for Connor. I was his person and he was mine. The person you called at three in the morning because you’d had a bad dream and you needed someone to reassure you that everything was okay. The first person you wanted to call when you got good news. Or bad news. Or when you just wanted to talk about everything and nothing and you knew they were the only person who would trulygetit. Connorgotme. He’d never tried to change me. Or turn me into an ideal of what he thought I should be.
I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket, all set to call Connor and tell him I was on my way to him. Unfortunately, my phone was dead.What? I never let my battery run out like that. I stuffed it back in my pocket. I’d just have to surprise him.
“Ava!”
I stopped and turned as Lana caught up to me. “Hey. Do you need a ride?”
I looked down the street, not sure what to say. “Um… I can take the train.”
“I’ll drive you. Wherever you want to go.”
“Why?” I asked, suspecting an ulterior motive.
“Just… let me drive you. I haven’t been drinking.”
