Page 75 of Riot Reunion
“I don’thaveto do shit,” Pax grumbles, pulling a face at Dash. “What would you know, anyway? You’re English. You people don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“Just say something so we can go around the table,” Dash huffs, rolling his eyes.
I look around the dining table, an unexpected warmth washing over me. I haven’t done anything for Thanksgiving since my mother was alive. It was usually just me and her. My father was never around for the holidays, no matter where we were, and that’s exactly how we liked it. Mom and I would make giant roast turkey subs and go eat them on a beach, or in a park, or at a lake. At Christmas, we’d eat popcorn, watch movies, and give each other dumb little gifts that we handmade for each other. After she’d died, I did my best to go home with friends at the holidays. It was safer than trying to hide in my room with my father prowling around the house, drunk.
Today, I’m with friends, and for the first time in forever, I have a beautiful future to look forward to. Before us, the table groans under the weight of all of the food that we’ve made.
Unbelievably, Wren stepped up and took charge of the turkey. Not only did he not burn it, but it looks and smells amazing, the meat already carved off the bone and stacked high, ready to eat. Dash and Carrie made the green bean casserole and the cornbread. I roasted some potatoes and carrots, and sprouts. Pax dropped Presley off at her dad’s place and they stayed there most of the morning—a compromise Pres had to make to keep her father happy—so they got out of most of the heavy lifting when it came down to the food prep, but Pax still managed to mash some potatoes, and Presley made a gallon of gravy that smells so good, I want to pour it into my wine glass and damn well drink it.
“Fine,” Pax says, scowling around the table. “I’m grateful that I only have to do dumb shit like this once a year. And…I’m grateful that I get to do it withyouidiots,” he adds begrudgingly.
“That’s sweet,” Carrie says. Sitting on the other side of Pax, she clinks her beer bottle against his, teasingly saying, “My sentiments exactly. I’ll word it a little more delicately, though. I am grateful for friends who are as dear to me as family. I’m grateful for amazing food and a beautiful house to gather in. I’m grateful for all of the adventures to come—”
“All right, all right. You didn’t win an Oscar. This isn’t a fucking acceptance speech,” Pax grouses. “Jacobi. You’re up.”
“I’m grateful my asshole sister isn’t here.” He’s deadpan. Means it with every fiber of his being. He shared some other, far more graphic things he was grateful for this morning, whispering them into my ear while he fingered me until I came. His hair is tamed for once, swept back in thick, lush black waves that fall artfully around his face. The flecks of paint that normally dot his skin are nowhere to be seen. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his shirt black, of course. His features transform as Dash says something, his mouth lifting into a genuine smile, his startlingly green eyes dancing with mirth, and my heart performs a backflip at the sight of him like this. Carefree. Easier than he has been in weeks. He’s been in a good mood ever since it was announced in the news that Wesley Fitzpatrick was taken back into custody yesterday morning.
It's my turn. I have so much to be grateful for, but really it all boils down to two things for me: “I’m grateful my father packed me off to Wolf Hall Academy. If he hadn’t, I never would have met any of you. And now, I’m very, very,verygrateful that he’s dead.”
Some people might balk at such a macabre statement, but the people sitting around this table understand what it’s like to suffer at the hands of people who are supposed to care about them. Each and every one of them has overcome dark, fucked-up shit in their pasts, and each one of them has come through the other side of it, still swinging.
“I’m grateful for Jell-O,” Presley says, spooning a tiny amount of the dessert into her mouth. She’s been craving it for the past few days. It’s actually all she’s been able to eat. She came down to breakfast looking extra pale this morning. Her dad had tried to guilt her into eating a bunch of food for lunch, and she’d returned to Riot House, very green around the gills. The Jell-O seems to be helping, though.
Dash clears his throat, raising his glass of champagne in the air, holding it aloft. “I’m grateful that Pax has already volunteered to do the dishes.”
“I fucking didnot.”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Dash continues, ignoring the vile look Pax hurls at him. “Let’s dig in before it gets cold!”
In following with the trend over the past week, the weather outside continues to worsen as we dive into dinner. Rain hammers at the windows, wind buffeting the house. Out of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining room, the forest rocks and sways, the sea of trees cavorting in the storm as lightning flashes and thunder snarls in the distance.
“Looks like the end of the world out there,” Carrie notes, as we all clear the plates and dishes into the kitchen when we’re done eating. “Thank god this place is on a hillside. The ground floor would be under a foot of water by now, surely.”
“The school’s probably swamped,” Wren says. Right as he says this, forks of lightning ripple across the sky, illuminating the clouds…and an explosive BANG! Rocks the very ground beneath our feet. A brilliant flare of light rips through the kitchen, seeming to come after the ear-splitting sound, and a bolt of lightning lashes the top of the mountain.
“Holyfffffuck!” Pax yelps.
“Jesus.” Presley holds her hands to her face, covering her eyes. “I was looking right at that.”
I was, too. I can still see the outline of the jagged filament of electricity lancing down from the heavens, burned into my retinas.
“That touched down,” Dash observes. “No way it didn’t. I think it struck the academy.”
“Seriously?” Carrie looks concerned.
“Awesome.” Pax doesnotlook concerned.
“Think we should go up there and make sure no one was hurt?” I ask. Fair enough, I can’t say my time at Wolf Hall was easy. I was thrilled at the prospect of never laying eyes on the place again after graduation. You couldn’t bribe me to go up there under normal circumstances, but if lightning did just strike the school and someone’s been injured, I’d never forgive myself…
Wren goes back through to the living room. We all follow after him, watching as he stands at the window, cupping his hands against the glass, peering out into the stormy night. “There’s probably no one up there,” he says, his breath fogging up the glass. They don’t let boarders stay over the breaks anymore. New policy. I bet the place is deserted.”
“There’sgotto be someone up there. A night guard or someone from maintenance carrying out repairs while there’s no one around,” Carrie says. “I’m with Elodie. I say we should go check it out.”
Dash joins Wren, squinting into the dark, but the glass just keeps fogging, blotting out the view up the mountain. “I say we make sure the place isn’t onfire, at least,” he says.
“I say wesetit on fire if it isn’t,” Pax counters.
No one humors him with a response.
