Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Harry pressed his mouth shut as if he were being persuaded by the better angels of his conscience, then nodded once at me. “Willow,” he replied, voice stiff.
There was a long and awkward pause in conversation, Stevie Nicks singing about being on the edge of seventeen in the background.
But with my mother around, there was never awkwardness or stilted conversation for long.
“My children are home, my grandchild is perfection, the wine is breathing, and the food is cooking. What more could I wish for?”
Both my brother and I looked at each other, speaking a silent truce, if only for our mother’s sake.
It was Thanksgiving, after all.
Family drama could wait until at least dessert.
It turned out the drama would not wait until dessert. It simmered hotter than mom’s cider, bubbling through conversation that my mother never let pause. Through appetizers I knew were delicious but somehow tasted like ash.
There was no denying my brother’s attitude toward me, the hatred he couldn’t hide. Everyone was ignoring it, his wife trying extra hard to make conversation with me. The baby was the only saving grace, since conflict could be paused when there was a little, chubby infant being passed between family, watching us all intently.
But eventually, dinner had to be served, the baby needed to nap and the adults had to sit at the table with their feast and their resentments.
“Okay, I’d like to propose a toast—” My mother held up her wine glass.
Except no one else got the chance to hold up theirs.
“I’m sorry, are we really going to sit here like Willow has been at this table every year?” Harry interrupted, fury saturating his tone. “Like she’s been here for Mabel’s birth, Dad’s death,” he hissed.
The words were barbed, and they struck home.
“Harry, can we please not do this?” my mother pleaded. “Willow is home with us now, that’s all that matters.”
“No, Mom, that’s not all that matters,” Harry huffed in obvious annoyance. “I appreciate and love your ability to forgive even the most egregious of acts, but I’m not cut from the same cloth, and I’m not going to let you get away with what you’ve done.” He jabbed his finger at me from across the table, and I flinched.
“Harry—”
“No!” he yelled. “You don’t get to talk now. You could’ve come home and talked to me when my daughter was born.”
“I sent gifts,” I whispered.
“Oh, yes, let’s not forget the expensive gifts, those fixed everything.”
“Babe.” Sarah put her hand on Harry’s. “Maybe give Willow a break, she’s been through a lot.”
I was thankful to my sister-in-law for coming to my defense, especially considering we barely knew each other.
“Willow has had plenty of breaks,” Harry seethed. “We’ve all made our excuses for you, but I’m fucking done. Where were you when Dad died, huh? Living your life in L.A., having forgotten all about your family, what mattered.”
“I never forgot about you.” Emotion clogged my throat, my voice barely audible.
He laughed. The sound was cold and ugly. “You could’ve fooled me. And you could’ve fooled Dad. That man believed in you until the day he died, and I don’t know why the fuck he did.”
“Harrison,” my mother snapped, sounding the closest to mad she’d ever been. “Don’t speak to your sister that way.”
“Someone has to,” he scoffed. “Someone has to hold her accountable for her actions.”
“Oh, the golden boy coming at me because I didn’t stay here and get married and have a family,” I replied, going on the defensive even though everything he was saying was right.
“If there was a golden child, it was you,” Harry shook his head. “You were dad’s best friend. He said it openly and freely, and it never bothered me. Not until the day we buried him without you.”
My chair screeched as I pushed it back, unable to hear any more.
“You’re right!” I yelled. “I fucked up. I failed him. Failed you. Failed mom. And I’ll hate myself until the end of time for my cowardice. But guess what? I got my karma. I lost everything. Every single thing I owned, every single thing I’d accomplished. The man I thought I loved. All the people I thought were my friends, except one person. I have nothing.”
Tears were streaming down my face.
Harry’s face didn’t soften. “You don’t have nothing,” he said quietly. “You have this.” He held his hand out to the table. “You have a family. But that’s never been enough for you. You’ve never seen that.”
The words punctured my already soft skin, dropping like a bomb in the room. My mother didn’t even step in to argue with Harry on this because he was right. He was totally right. This short time at home, the encounters with Brody Adams, the memory of how his father had treated him… It all served to remind me of what I had, what I’d always had and taken for granted.