Ace
It had been years since Ace had actually celebrated Thanksgiving. The Register allowed off for the day, but making the trip to Wilmingson and back would have been too much for Ace to handle, and he didn’t have any close friends to celebrate with. So he generally ended up ordering takeout from one of the few restaurants still open and watched the football game. He didn’t necessarily love the sport, but when he’d been growing up, he and his dad had always watched it together. Only on Thanksgiving, though.
At the time, it hadn’t seemed all that strange. But sitting in the living room of Sam and Ben’s apartment, surrounded by people, he realized just how much he had been missing out. Faith was there, along with Joel, and so were Peter and his wife Emily. Phoenix sat beside him, Lucy at his feet. He seemed just the slightest bit on edge, but that was only natural. No matter how well Phoenix knew the people here, it was still a crowd, and the apartment was fairly small.
It was well-decorated in grey, black, and red. An abstract charcoal piece took up much of the wall above the sofa, and Ace turned to Phoenix.
“Is that one of yours?” he asked, even though he knew it was.
Phoenix nodded. “One of the first pieces I sold at the Wechsler. I was trying some new techniques and I didn’t know if it would be something people liked. Apparently they did.”
Every time Ace released an article, he always got a squirmy, pleased feeling that somewhere, his work was in someone’s home, being enjoyed. He wondered if Phoenix felt the same way, knowing his art was being appreciated.
He didn’t have time to ask, though. Ben stepped through the kitchen doorway, holding a giant roasted turkey.
“Who’s ready to eat?” he asked with a grin.
He set the turkey down on the edge of the table and Sam took over from there, slicing and carving efficiently. Ace looked down at Lucy, surprised that she hadn’t moved.
“I’ve never met a dog who could resist turkey,” he said.
Phoenix shrugged. “I trained her well. I didn’t want to have to worry about her stealing my food, so I made sure she learned not to.”
“That must have taken a while.”
“Not really. She’s a good dog.”
Ace leaned down and scratched her ear. “A very good girl.”
He couldn’t help but notice the way Phoenix smiled at his words, but he didn’t blame him. If he had an animal, then it would be important his partner got along with it.
“Okay guys.” Ben clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Now before we eat, you know what’s coming.”
A chorus of groans sounded around the room, and Ace had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what was coming.
“Let’s all take our turn and say what we’re thankful for,” he continued. “I’m thankful that I agreed to stand in as Sam’s boyfriend for his family reunion, and that Faith knew what she was talking about.”
“You’re damn right I did,” Faith said with a grin.
There was clearly a story there, one that Ace wanted to learn. But before he could ask, the baton had been passed to Sam.
“I’m thankful that Ben agreed to pose as my boyfriend. And that he’s more forgiving than I had any right to ask him to be.”
Wrapping his arm around Ben, Sam pulled him in for a quick kiss.
One by one, each person in the room took their turn, until at last it was Ace’s turn. He scanned the room, trying to think of something to say. Phoenix probably wouldn’t appreciate the attention being placed on him if he said he was thankful for their relationship, but he didn’t know what else he could possibly be thankful for. And then it hit him.
“I’m thankful that Ben and Sam took it upon themselves to invite me today. Otherwise I would have been stuck home, watching the game.”
He swallowed thickly at the thought of spending the day in the house he’d grown up in, taking part in a tradition without his dad. The thought only got worse as he contemplated spending every birthday and Christmas there. Even if he did stay in Wilmingson, he couldn’t stay there.
“It was our pleasure,” Ben said with a smile. “Couldn’t have you all alone, now could we?”
That was the thing, though. They absolutely could have. Aside from being Phoenix’s boyfriend (however unofficially) and Faith’s childhood friend, they didn’t know him. They had no reason to invite him. No one in Boston would have done this.
He didn’t argue, instead just smiling and nodding graciously, and then it was Phoenix’s turn. Beside him, Phoenix tensed, no doubt feeling the pressure of having everyone staring at him. He kept his eyes trained on Lucy.
“I’m thankful that I have a support system who accepts me for who I am and doesn’t try to make me be something I’m not.”
The tail end of his sentence was tinged with bitterness, likely toward his parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Phoenix was spending Thanksgiving here, instead of with them.
“And that’s everyone,” Sam said. “So if you’ll form the most orderly line you ca—you know what, fuck it. Come eat.”
Ace held back, along with Phoenix, as the majority of the party headed toward the table. There was a good spread. Better than Ace was expecting. Ben and Sam had provided the turkey. Faith had made sweet potato casserole; Joel had chipped in a pie; Peter and Emily had brought fresh baked bread, green bean casserole, and macaroni and cheese. Ace had contributed stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce, and Phoenix had brought enough snickerdoodles to feed everyone three times over.
Once everyone else had been through, Ace and Phoenix filled their plates. Ace heaped his full, his mouth watering. He’d gotten used to cooking for one, but most of the time, his dishes weren’t nearly this good.
“I will never get over the number of casseroles you Yanks make for Thanksgiving,” Joel said.
Ace grinned. He had spoken briefly with Joel when they first arrived, and found him to be incredibly entertaining.
“Yeah, well, we don’t get why you call everything pudding,” he teased. “Although I have to say, your Yorkshire puddings are fantastic.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had Yorkshire puddings?”
“Yeah, I found myself in London for a story a couple of years back and treated myself to a roast dinner at a pub.”
“That hardly counts. You need to try them homemade. Come ‘round to mine and I’ll show you what a roast dinner’s supposed to be. Phoenix can tell you.”
Phoenix nodded. “Joel’s a good cook,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“What part of London did you find yourself in?” Joel asked.
“Near Islington.”
“Really? Up in my neck of the woods.”
Ace had to force himself not to gape. Joel was from London? What had possessed him to move to Wilmingson, then?
“I don’t mean to pry, really—”
“I have a feeling you’re going to anyway,” Joel said wryly.
“Well, it’s just… how did you end up here, of all places. You lived in London.”
Joel set his fork down. “I grew up in London, yes. When I was looking into university options, I started looking at the best art programs in the country. I’m a sculptor, along with being the executive director of the Wechsler. The Yale School of Art stood out to me. For one, it’s Yale. Everyone knows Yale. So I applied, I was accepted, and I came here to study.”
“Why not stay in New Haven? Or go to New York? Surely if you were good enough to get in to Yale, you’d be good enough to make it in New York.”
“I suppose.” Joel shrugged. “My grandparents lived on the border of Surrey and London. It was a fairly small town, but there was loads of green space. They had a garden and neighborhood cats, and I wanted that. I wanted a quiet life where I could do my art and get to know people in a community. When the Wechsler advertised for an executive director, I applied without a second thought. Wilmingson became my home.”
He paused, pursing his lips. His gaze seemed to penetrate down to the very depths of Ace’s soul, and Ace squirmed uncomfortably.
“When you’ve lived your entire life somewhere, it can start to chafe. It can feel as though there’s nothing good about it,” Joel continued. “But you should know that Wilmingson is a special town. You should be proud to call it home.”
Ace let out a slow breath, mulling over Joel’s words. Somewhere along the way, he had planted it in his mind that cities were superior to small towns. Far superior to Wilmingson, at least. But Joel had given up living in London—one of the largest cities in the world—to run a community art center. There must have been something to Wilmingson after all. And he thought he was starting to understand what that something was.