19
Alex calls out to his brother as he pushes the door open without knocking and goes in ahead of Ben. They’re early but he’s still relieved to see his parents aren’t here yet. The house is warm and filled with the smell of roasting turkey. The living room is decorated in bright, modern, geometrics that make it cheerful and warm. Claire comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishcloth.
“Hi guys.”
She takes the bowl of potato salad from him and puts it on the table, then turns back to hug him. When he’s finally able to pull away, she runs a hand over the soft stubble on his jawline and raises an eyebrow.
“Who knew you could rock the scruffy look, brat? I like it.”
Smiling and self-conscious, Alex takes the bag of wine from Ben and watches as Claire wraps him in a hug. She’s wearing a purple dress and heels that he knows his mother will find inappropriate for Thanksgiving lunch and wonders if she chose them deliberately to try and distract Janice.
“I like it too,” Ben says. “And, I like your dress.”
“Thanks, so do I,” Claire says, eyes dancing and Alex knows his guess was correct. She looks at him. “You okay? You’re very pale.”
“He’s spent most of the morning in the bathroom,” Ben says with a sigh. “I was starting to think we weren’t going to get here.”
Claire reaches up and strokes Alex’s face again.
“It’ll be okay.”
He nods and tries to smile. The kitchen door swings open and Matt comes through, holding a platter of crackers, olives, and chips. Sets them on the coffee table and turns back to hug Ben.
“Potato salad and wine are on the table,” Alex says when it’s his turn.
“Great,” Matt says, rubbing his hands together. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before they get here, how about a bit of Dutch courage?”
Alex groans and sinks on to the couch. There are two bright pink spots high on his cheekbones and damp patches are appearing under his arms; he just wants to go home. There is no way he can see today going well. Ben rubs his shoulder and repeats his comment about his upset stomach to Matt.
“Too nervous to shave, I see,” Matt says opening the drinks cupboard.
“Your wife likes it,” Alex retorts.
“Yeah well, she doesn’t always have great taste,” Matt hands him a vodka orange, “Here, this will help.”
Claire passes a glass of scotch to Ben and asks how his mother and Polly are.
“They’re good. Looking forward to Christmas,” he says.
Alex gulps his drink. They’ve found a new apartment and Ben has insisted it is time they front up to Alex’s parents and take whatever may come from it. After days of going in circles arguing about it, Matt stepped in and took Ben’s side, suggesting they do it at Thanksgiving lunch at his house; the chances of a major dispute might be at least minimized even if they aren’t entirely cancelled out. Alex thinks he’s wrong. The best they can hope for in his opinion is that their mother simply walks out.
“We should have just told them on the phone,” he says after he’s gulped half of his drink.
“They won’t show up if they know,” Claire argues, “and I don’t think you should let them off that easy. Come on, it’s going to be okay.”
Alex doesn’t care if it’s easy for them or not. He’s had no appetite for a week, stomach cramps and diarrhea for three days, and has lost five pounds. He just wants the day to be over. Ben’s fingers comb through his hair, and he drops his head back so he can look up at him.
“She’s right, it’ll be okay,” Ben says. Alex closes his eyes, nods, and finishes his drink. “How’s your stomach?”
Alex stands up and holds his glass out to Matt for a refill.
“It’s fine,” he says, ignoring Ben’s raised eyebrow. Oh God, can today be over?
A car pulls up as Matt brings out the turkey. Mom and Dad are on time to eat but not to help at all, as usual. Shaking his head, Alex takes a deep breath and goes to stand by Ben, willing his stomach to continue cooperating and his fingers stray to his watch strap when he hears his parents’ voices. Claire shoots Alex a sunny smile, gives him a thumbs up, and opens the door.
“Hello,” she says, voice loud and cheerful. “Happy thanksgiving.”