Brady and I leave the safety of the airport to wait for my dad outside. The grip of Brady’s hand is tighter on mine than earlier. My dad pulls up along the curb in his sleek silver BMW and pops the trunk. As I walk to the back, Brady puts our bags in the car, giving me a sideways glance, confused as to why my dad never got out of the car.

I tell Brady to take the front seat, and I sit in the back.

“Hi, Dad, this is Brady. Brady, this is my dad,” I make the introductions.

My dad looks the same with dirty-blond hair brushed to one side and his too tan skin this close to winter.

“Nice to meet you, Brady,” my dad says cordially.

But, through the rearview mirror, I see the disapproving look in his emerald eyes that match mine.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.” Brady politely shakes my dad’s hand.

“Please, call me Junior,” he requests.

“Okay. Thank you for picking us up, Junior.”

“No problem.” My dad pulls the car out, driving to the freeway.

The ride is quiet. Other than my dad asking a few standard questions to Brady, none of us says much.

“What’s your major?”

“Engineering,” Brady answers.

I’m sure my dad isn’t impressed. Business would have made him happy, and pre-law would have made him happier, but he doesn’t say anything.

I still remember Theo wanting to major in Archaeology, but my dad told him he was better suited for Political Science. He told Theo he didn’t raise a bum of a son who was going to gallivant around the world, digging up fossils no one gave a shit about. He said that, with Theo’s charismatic personality, he was meant for a career in political science, joking that he might become president. All the talk resulted in a depressed and unhappy Theo.

We pull up to my house, and my dad parks in the garage, next to my mom’s white Range Rover. I see they still haven’t removed Theo’s car. It might be hidden under a cover, but I know it’s there, just a few stalls down. How they pull in and out every day amazes me.

My dad turns to walk into the house while Brady and I collect our bags. Nice of him to help.

Brady appears more relaxed now after meeting my dad. My dad’s always been a good bullshitter. He can make anyone feel like they matter. That’s why he’s in sales.

I give Brady a chaste kiss before we shut the trunk, and I thank him again for coming here and facing my parents. He takes our bags, and my mom opens the door leading to the house. She still has short blonde hair and an average, thin figure. Her look is typical to a high society mom who golfs and plays tennis at our country club, attending a few social charity events, at my dad’s request.

“I thought I heard you!” she exclaims, drying her hands on her apron and walking toward us.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, embracing her.

She holds me tightly against her, and I hear her sniffle.

Is she crying?

“It’s so good to have you home.” She backs away from me and then sets her attention on Brady. “You must be Brady. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, placing her hand out for him.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for having me.”

“The honor is all ours. Please, call me Maggie.”

I look at her and notice genuine happiness to have me home and meet Brady. I don’t notice any of her judgmental looks his way, and I think he notices, too. When I glance back at him, he gives me the first authentic smile I’ve seen since we landed.

“Let’s get you guys settled.” She hurriedly gestures for us to go inside.

The house is still elaborately decorated with statues and paintings worth more than my college tuition. I walk Brady upstairs and show him to his room. I’m thankful he has the guest room instead of Theo’s old room. His door down the hall is shut, and I don’t plan on going in there on this trip either. Maybe one day, but I’m nowhere near ready.

We lay Brady’s bags on the queen-size bed.

I take a seat on the edge of his bed. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“Fine. Sadie, stop worrying about me. I can handle this,” he says, reaching down to cup my face.

“You aren’t going to leave me if my parents are jackasses?” I ask. It’s been a fear since I first brought up him coming home with me.

“No.” He laughs. “That’s not a deal-breaker.”

“Okay.” I decide to let it go. “Hey, have you found any new ones yet?” I question as I grab his hand, leading him out of the room.

“I think I’m in too deep to start thinking about deal-breakers.” He smirks at me, kissing my forehead.

We enter the hallway, and my grandma’s voice booms in the foyer.

“Come on,” I say, yanking on Brady’s arm. “Meet Grandma Ida. She’s the only sane one in the family.”

I climb down the stairs and release Brady’s hand when we land on the tile in the foyer. My grandma is a petite redhead who speaks her mind.

“Sadie, darling, you look so beautiful,” she says, hugging me.

“Hi, Grandma Ida. It’s good to see you.” I take Brady’s hand, so he’s in front of her as well. “Grandma, this is Brady, my boyfriend,” I inform her, firmly holding his hand in my own.

“Let go, darling. Let the boy hug me,” she insists, extending her arms.

Brady doesn’t flinch, wrapping his arms around my small grandma. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.—”

“Ida. Just Ida,” she informs him.

He chuckles. “Ida, it is then.”

“Strong and gentle, good mixture.” She lets Brady go and winks my way.

“Mom, do you want to rest before dinner?” my dad questions her, trying to get her eyes off of Brady.

Brady smiles back to my grandma, unfazed by her admiring eyes.

“No, I sat on my ass the whole ride here.”

Brady and I laugh, and my dad rolls his eyes.

“Come in, Ida. Take a seat in the entertainment room,” my mom instructs her.

She turns to my dad. “Theo, be a dear, and get my bag. I have something for Sadie, and I brought my sweet potato and apple pies.”

Brady looks my way, his eyebrows scrunched.

“Sure, Mom.” My dad takes her keys and leaves out the front door.

“I told you I was going to make the pies, Ida. You didn’t need to bring anything.” My mom takes my grandma’s arm, guiding her into the other room.

“Darling, you can cook a gourmet meal that will melt in your mouth, but I’m not about to eat some store-bought pie on Thanksgiving, no matter what high-end bakery you bought it from.”

Brady and I chuckle, following them.

I lean into Brady, inching on my toes to whisper in his ear, “My dad is Theo as well. He’s Theodore Benjamin Miller Jr. My brother was the third.”

He nods his head to me in understanding.

---

I’m surprised how much Brady appears to be into football. I guess I never asked, but he’s sitting in the living room, cheering for the Detroit Lions along with my dad and grandma. My dad was born in Detroit but only lived there until he was three. My biological grandpa died, and Grandma Ida met and married Grandpa Pat, who brought her and my dad to live here in the east. Every Thanksgiving, they cheer on the Lions because they think of them as their hometown team.

After I help my mom peel the potatoes, I sit next to Brady and nuzzle into him, but he slides over, only holding my hand. I give him a quizzical look, and he shifts his eyes to my dad and then back to me. I smile, realizing he wants to be respectful. I guess I should be as well.

We all go into the dining room to have dinner. I instruct Brady to sit next to me. My grandma sits across from us, and my parents are at each end.

My grandma is right; my mom is a magnificent cook. The golden-brown turkey looks juicy and delectable. The potatoes are whipped to perfection with homemade gravy, accompanied by freshly baked rolls and butter shaped into leaves. My mom knows how to entertain, even if it’s just us.

“Great job, Mags,” my dad compliments her.

She gives him a tight smile back.

What is that about?

“Yes, Maggie, it all looks so tasty,” my grandma joins in.

“Thank you all. Please dig in,” she says as she motions with her hands out to the table.

We all start to pass the dishes, making small talk about school and my grandma’s senior condo building. My dad talks about his clients, and my mom fills me in on some former classmates of mine.

When dessert arrives, the game of Twenty Questions starts, all of which are directed toward Brady.

“So, Brady, where is your family this holiday?” my dad asks.

“I already told Mom that his dad and mom were busy,” I answer for him.

Brady squeezes my leg under the table.

“Sadie is correct. My mom lives in Florida, and my dad wasn’t available.”

“Where does your mom live in Florida?” my grandma asks.

“Um…Miami,” Brady stutters, as though he had to think about it.

“I go down to Melbourne Beach during the winter,” my grandma adds. “You and Sadie should come down during your holiday break.” She smiles up at us. “You could visit your mom while you’re down there.”

“I’m sure Sadie and I would love to visit you,” Brady says, leaving his mother out.

I’m guessing there are more issues.

“Come on down. Hell, I’ll pay for your ticket if you wear a Speedo.” She laughs.

“Grandma!” I shriek.

“Mom!” my dad screams.

My mom laughs along with my grandma.

“Oh, Sadie, you can’t keep that all to yourself,” she says. She winks at Brady, who laughs.

“Brady, what do your parents do?” my dad asks.

“My mom is a realtor, and my dad is a retired professor,” he says.

I try not to look surprised. These are things I should have already known.

“Oh, so was your father a professor at Western?” my mom asks.

“Yes, he retired last year.” Brady never looks up, moving his pie around on the plate.

“Wait”—my dad sets his fork down—“is your dad Dean of Contemporary Music?”

“Yes, sir, he was,” Brady says, his voice quiet and shaky.

I wonder what I’m missing. He should be proud of that.

“I have a friend whose son went there. He gives your dad credit for his son’s success. His name is Jack London, the producer for Heavensky Records.” My dad’s intrigue into this conversation says Brady might have just impressed him.

“Yes, I know him. He used to come by the house sometimes when I was younger,” Brady says. “He also attended my dad’s retirement ceremony last year.” Brady’s saying everything right, but his inflection is off.

“Isn’t your dad young to already be retired?” my mom inquires.

“He had taught there since he got his doctorate, so he retired early in order to work on some other projects,” he says, void of any emotion.

Mother and father issues, I presume.

“Why didn’t you follow in his footsteps and pursue music as a major?” my dad asks.

“I wanted something different.” Brady shrugs his shoulders.

“But you’re in a band, correct?” my dad clarifies.

The conversation is about to go south now.

“Yes, but that’s more of a hobby,” he answers.

I notice Brady is getting exhausted from all the questions. He isn’t an open book when it comes to his family.

“So, I think I’m going to take a year off next year,” I blurt out to change the subject, for Brady’s sake, and direct the firing squad my way.

“What?” my dad’s upset voice asks.

“Dad, it’s way too late for me to apply for my master’s. Not to mention, I don’t know where I even want to go to school,” I answer truthfully.

“You can go back to Drayton. I can pull some strings and get them to accept you.” He continues to eat his pie, as though he just solved the problem.

“I’m not going back there,” I spit.

“Junior, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my mom chimes in. “Maybe you could go to Western. I’m sure they’ll understand why you haven’t applied yet.” She directs her comment to me, disregarding my father for the first time I’ve ever noticed.

“I don’t want to. I want to take a year off,” I say, standing firm.

“Is this your doing, Brady?” my dad asks him.

I gasp.

“What? Are you going to follow him and his band around the country, living in some van and getting drunk?” my dad asks me.

“Stop it, Dad,” I respond through clenched teeth.

“Oh…you’re in a band. You just keep getting better and better,” my grandma adds, smiling at Brady.

His eyes are on my dad only.

“I promise you, sir, I have nothing to do with this.” Brady removes his hand from my lap.

“What are your plans after graduation?” My dad narrows his eyes at Brady.

“I haven’t decided just yet, but my band has nothing to do with my future.” Brady’s eyes still haven’t left my dad’s, as though this is a showdown and Brady doesn’t want to portray weakness.

“We can discuss these issues later. Can we please just enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner?” my mom requests.

Everyone quiets down.

After dinner, Brady and I help my mom clean up the dishes and then go for a drive. My mom offers me Theo’s keys, but I decline, taking her car.

Once we’re in the car, it’s nice to finally be alone with Brady. I drive him around my hometown, seeing Theo at every corner and on every street. Too many memories to hide from.

We stop at an ice cream place and walk over to a pond, cuddling up on a park bench.

“Sorry for my dad today,” I apologize.

“It’s okay, baby. I knew he expected the worst.” He pulls his arm around my shoulder tighter, kissing the top of my head.

“It isn’t right that he said that,” I say.

“He’s your dad, Sadie. He just wants what’s best for you. I want that, too.”

Although I disagree with my dad’s comments and I don’t believe he wants the best for me, it’s nice that Brady does. Theo’s words ring in my head that someone would love me for me one day, and that someone is sitting next to me on this park bench.

We walk back to the car, and Brady drives us back to my parents’ house. I’m happy the lights are off when we pull up. I’m not in the mood for another showdown on my life’s course. We tiptoe up the stairs, and Brady kisses me good night at my bedroom door.

After a long good-bye in the hallway, I disappear into my room. I’m half-afraid he’ll sneak out in the middle of the night, so he won’t have to deal with my parents anymore.