Page 87 of Pucked Up Plans
We clean up the rest of the mess and head for bed. I get little sleep, and visions of Walsh invade the rest I get.
Like him, I don’t have a crystal ball, but what I have is faith in him being who he’s shown me. Even if I can’t put all my trust in him yet, I have way more trust in myself than ever before. And my gut says to trust him.
Thanksgiving morning, we all huddle on the couch together after devouring a breakfast of baked French toast. Aubrey’s enthralled with the parade. She’s at the age to sit and watch it, only bored when the announcers come on to chat.
Aunt Marsha and I share in the meal's cooking. Thanksgiving’s always been one of my favorite holidays, but I had come to terms with it being just Aubrey and me this year, aslonely and sucky as that would be. My parents don’t like to fly and didn’t want to make the drive.
It’s been such a great day of working side by side in the kitchen with Aunt Marsha, not having to forgo the tradition. I’ve let her know how happy I am multiple times. It seems the feeling’s mutual.
Her friends arrive around two p.m. Introductions are made, and while they all seem nice, the kids are a lot to handle. All older than Aubrey, the minute she tries to engage them—which is huge for her—they run off, leaving her wondering what she did wrong.
After we eat dinner and dessert, they all leave, and the usual post-Thanksgiving calm settles over the house. Both Aunt Marsha and I are too tired to do much of the cleaning, but I packed up the leftovers so they won’t go to waste. We’ve got enough food for the rest of the weekend.
Around six, my phone rings. Aunt Marsha’s closest to it, so she answers it.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Raymond. How’s Kansas?”
Aubrey appears in the room, and seeing my dad’s face on the screen, runs immediately over to say hello.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Gramps!” she coos excitedly into the phone.
They talk for a few minutes, Aubrey telling them all about the parade. They’ve still got food on their table, but it’s an hour later there.
“Hey, Tate. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom. How was your day?”
“Quiet, without you and Bree. But that’s most days.”
Ah, laying the mom guilt on thick today. I won’t ever mention that to her. She’d probably stop speaking to me. If she had her way, there would have been a compromise made with the Melansons so we could have stayed in Kansas.
“At least you have Robbie and Reyna.”
There’s a definite change in her demeanor at the mention of my brother and his girlfriend. “They’re expecting. Did you hear?”
“Saw it on Facebook. Exciting.”
The news was a bit shocking, more so because I had to read it on social media rather than my brother sending a text. I shouldn’t have expected more. When I told him I was pregnant, his exact words were, “Guess you couldn’t learn to keep your legs shut, huh?”
Despite the strain in our relationship, he’s a pretty good uncle to Aubrey. At least once she could talk and was out of diapers. I can’t wait to see how it plays out with his kid.
Mom’s prattling on about something, but I’ve tuned her out. And when the notification of WALSH comes across my screen, I rush her off the phone.
“Glad you had a nice day. I’ve got another call. Tell Dad goodbye for me. I love you both.”
Swiping to Walsh’s call without a response, I put it up to my ear, answering with a smile on my face.
“Hey.”
“Tate, it’s Millie Keeley.”
My elation fades quickly. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Keeley.”
“Millie dear. Or Mimi. Your choice,” she politely reminds me. My disappointment lessens. I’ve only met her a handful of times, but she’s an exceptional woman. Even beyond raising Walsh to be the man he is. “Walsh is itching to talk to you, but I had to compliment your cookies. They are simply mouthwatering divine. My husband and son are currently fighting over the last one.” She laughs as if it’s the funniest thing.
“Thank you. Your praise means a lot since I’ve tasted some of the deliciousness coming out of your kitchen.”
“It’s well warranted. Okay, here’s Walsh. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.”
