Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I met Don’s mother, Charlotte. His brother and sister-in-law, Chris and Mandy, their adult children Carter and Allison, Allison’s husband Frank and their twins Abbie and Carson.
“And these are our neighbors who are like family, Bob and Sherry Denton and Austin Lawson.”
Austin was playing pool, and he took a break to rest the end of his cue on the floor and grin at me. It was the first time I’d seen him since the awkward ending of our evening at The Hideout, but he looked as smooth and confident as ever.
“Hey, Avon,” he said. “You up for some pool? This is my first time playing.”
The man at the other end of the table, Bob Denton, cackled. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a hustler.”
Harper appeared beside me, saying, “She’s coming upstairs anyway.”
Austin shot her a quick, disapproving look, then shrugged. She led me back toward the stairs.
“Let’s go have some wine,” she said.
“You’re not an Austin fan?” I whispered.
She laughed bitterly. “No. He got to you before I could warn you that night at The Hideout. He’s a revolving door of dick—just spins around and sticks it in everyone he can.”
“Oh. So have you—”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
I was even more glad Grady had driven me home that night at The Hideout because I didn’t want to sleep with anyone my cousin had a history with.
“Okay, so…wine would be good,” I said.
“Wine would be very good.”
A couple of hours later, I sat between Harper and Laura at the long, oak dining table in Don and Laura’s dining room, the table crammed full of every Thanksgiving dish I’d ever heard of and more.
Don had proudly carved up the turkey in the kitchen with his electric knife. It was funny that I’d been nervous about meeting him and Laura because they were the nicest people I’d ever known. Don was always laughing, sometimes at his own terrible dad jokes. I saw in him a contentedness that my father never seemed to fully find.
“You got some lutefisk, right, Avon?” he said, eyeing my plate from the other side of the table.
“I did.”
“Best in the Beard,” he proclaimed. “Made it myself. Try it.”
The white fish, which he pronounced loo-te-fisk, was unlike any fish I’d ever eaten. He’d made sure I scooped some onto my plate, and my first clue that something was off was the large serving spoon in the dish. A spoon for fish?
Yes, if it was the consistency of Jell-O. And it was. Don was staring at me, waiting for me to try the fish goo.
“Yeah, I can’t wait,” I said, taking a sip of water and steeling myself.
“You’ll want this,” Harper said, picking up a gravy boat full of melted butter and dousing my goo.
“Harper, don’t,” Don objected. “You’ll ruin the flavor.”
I was pretty sure I’d be thanking her later for ruining the flavor. I scooped up a bite, everyone at the table waiting for me to eat it.
Whatever it tasted like, I’d had worse in my mouth. Hopefully. I wasn’t going to offend my uncle, so I ate it.
It was liquidy, with a mild flavor. No chewing required—it just slid down my throat. I nodded with appreciation as a soapy aftertaste kicked in.
“Very good,” I said.
“See?” Don beamed at his wife. “It’s in her blood. She’s a Beard girl, through and through.” He picked up his glass. “To our niece, Avon, at the first of what we hope will be many Thanksgivings together.”
Everyone toasted and drank, and I felt warm inside. This was the only place I’d been in Sven’s Beard where I wasn’t seen as the new owner of the Chronicle or whispered about because of my parents. Here, I was just Avon.
“So how do you make lutefisk, Uncle Don?” I asked, moving on to my mashed potatoes.
“Oh, it’s a long process. I always use cod, and I dry it for at least ten days. Then I soak it in water and lye”
“Lye?” I cut him off. “Not like lye lye, right?”
“Just good old-fashioned lye.” He grinned as he picked up a giant turkey leg.
I put a hand on my chest, trying not to look as alarmed as I felt. “Isn’t lye able to dissolve…things?”
Entire human bodies. Lye could dissolve entire human bodies. I’d learned about it in a college science class. It was also used to clean drains and make soap, which explained the aftertaste.
Don chuckled. “Dissolved a lot of my mom’s silverware when I was learning to make it. She wasn’t too happy with me. It’s all about how long you soak it.”
I picked up my glass of water and downed the entire thing. Now would be a great time to throw up, but I didn’t want to offend my aunt and uncle.
“It won’t hurt you,” Harper said in a low tone. “I’ve been eating it my whole life.”