Chapter Thirty-Three

LARA

I answer the door when Ethan and his parents knock, and I say a little half-conscious prayer to myself that everything will manage in the end to come out all right. It’s not even addressed to anyone, apart from maybe my dead sister. Please just let us all get through this without someone losing a limb or an eye.

Right away the tension in the living room is so much higher than I would have even imagined possible. Ethan’s parents take their seats and Ethan and I are on the couch between them, while Riley runs around, wanting to get moving after sitting in the car for about fifteen minutes. But in a matter of minutes, as my dad and Ethan’s dad exchange bland small talk, Riley starts to notice, already, that something is wrong.

At first, she’s just going from person to person, asking them to pick her up, and then squirming and wriggling in discomfort once she’s on someone’s lap. This happens one after the other to all of us, even Ethan, as Riley tries to figure out, in her smartest two-year-old thoughts, what the hell is happening. I can see her trying to piece it together but there’s nothing I can do, at least for now.

I get up and get the turkey out of the oven, and keep an ear open for the conversation in the living room. Ethan’s parents brought some corn casserole and some sweet potatoes to add to the big feast, already way bigger than all of us can even think to consume, spread on the table. Once the turkey joins everything else, I try to imagine what it’s going to be like divvying up leftovers. It’s going to be ridiculous. But I can’t stay too long in the kitchen or dining room. I know that with tension like what’s going on between my dad and Ethan’s parents, if I’m gone long enough something is bound to come up. Besides, I can hear Riley beginning to whine in the way she does when she’s tired and confused.

“We just have to wait for dinner to cool off and then we can all eat,” I say, coming into the room. I scoop up Riley and suggest that she might want to play with some of my old dolls. I hate to leave Ethan alone to make sure that my dad and his parents don’t start arguing, but the need to keep moving is too strong.

We go into my room and I find one of the few remaining boxes of my old toys. Most of them were given away when I’d grown out of them, and I find a couple of dolls for Riley to play with while she’s waiting for the rest of us to get dinner served. I come back into the living room as quickly as I can, and I can feel the tension has ratcheted up. For the moment, at least, both my dad and Ethan’s are still talking about the game, or the dog show on later, or things like that. We may be able to get through this whole ordeal without things getting too serious.

“Josie, would you help me out with the last few details on the table?” I cock my head to the side to give Ethan’s mom a little look. I know she’s not all that fond of me since the situation with my dad has been developing, but when Ethan and I dated, she liked me well enough. I can only hope that eventually she remembers what kind of woman I actually am.

“Sure thing, Lara,” she says, and I know she’s probably less than thrilled to help me, but it at least gets her out of the room. I’m pretty sure that Ethan can handle just his dad and mine for a few minutes while I finish setting things up with his mom.

“I appreciate that you were willing to come to Dad’s house for Thanksgiving, for Riley’s sake,” I say as I get the last of the place settings down on the table and start pouring water into glasses. Riley’s in her high chair, playing with the dolls I got for her, almost oblivious to what’s going on, but I can almost see the tension in her shoulders, in her jaw, like she’s waiting for something to change.

“We wanted to be with our granddaughter on the holiday, and this seemed like the easiest way,” Josie says.

“I’m glad that we can all be here, be around Riley, on a day like this,” I tell her. It’s stilted and awkward, but it’s what I can manage at a moment like this.

Finally, I call the others into the dining room. I figured that any discussion over who would carve the turkey would just be an opening to a fight, so I have the meat fork and the carving knife in my hands before anyone can even make a claim.

Ethan takes the dolls away from Riley to start serving her food, and she fusses. At first it just seems like the normal fussing that kids do when they have to put their toys down for anything, but when Ethan’s dad makes a sharp comment to my dad, something about toys being taken away, Riley’s upset deepens.

“I think this is enough white meat and dark meat to start with,” I say, pitching my voice as lightly as possible and just loud enough to cut through whatever my dad was about to say back.

“Let’s all get settled in, and have some of this delicious food,” Ethan suggests. I agree with him and he and I end up settling ourselves at the end of the table, on either side of Riley, while his parents take up a position opposite my father, and all three of the older people in the room have this vibe of tension between them.

“Where Mommy?”

I look at Riley quickly. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, since the last time I can remember her asking for her mother.

“She’s not here, peaches,” I tell her softly. “But we’re all going to have a good Thanksgiving, right everyone?” I turn away from my niece and send a hard look around the table to remind these grown men and woman that their two-year-old granddaughter is watching them and reacting to them.

“We are surely going to try,” Josie says.

I make sure that Riley has a little bit of everything, and Ethan takes over helping her get the food to her mouth, while I serve myself. His parents and my father take pretty ample portions of everything, but I notice right away that Dad’s barely taken enough of anything that Ethan’s parents brought to qualify as a serving. Ethan’s parents, in turn, have skimped on the turkey, of all the things they could have gotten as little of as possible.

I start in on my food and try to rack my brain for what to say, how to get a conversation going that won’t have anything to do with the court case or the vicious, toxic drama going on all around us as a family.

“These greens are excellent, Josie,” I say.

“Thank you, Lara, I know you’ve always liked them,” she replies.

It’s so tense at the table that you could almost chisel through the stony air between my dad and Ethan’s parents, and Riley starts to notice it again. I can almost sense her realizing the atmosphere without knowing how to explain it or what’s going on. Instead she just slows down in her eager eating and, once again, asks where her mother is, which of course just tightens everything around us all even more.