PRECIPICE [h.s.]

Chapter Forty One

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If you don't have it, then you'll never give it

And I don't blame you for the way you living

A little boy was born in February

You couldn't sober up to hold a baby

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November 26th 1997

Harry's P.O.V.

I take a deep breath before I walk into my parents' house. I work in the same building as my mother, yet I was summoned to her house after work. Her assistant said she had something important to tell me. Lord knows what this could be. Walking through the door, I'm hit with the smell of burning meat. What the hell?

"Mother?" I call out, making a break for the kitchen. I see her smacking around a towel, trying to clear the smoke. On the kitchen island sits a giant turkey. It looks completely undercooked, except for the top which is charred black. How did she even do that?

"What's going on here? Why are you burning a frozen turkey? You don't even eat meat."

She huffs and smacks the tea towel on the island. "Tomorrow's Thanksgiving." She says, exasperated and puts the towel on her hips.

Someone has to be pulling a practical joke on me. My eyes look in the corners of the walls trying to find hidden cameras. "Mother, we don't celebrate Thanksgiving in this house. We never have and we've lived in America for over a decade now."

She's on the brink of exploding. Whatever she was attempting here has put her on edge, and I'm not helping. It's not intentional, but I am so confused about what is going on.

She opens the garbage and flips the pan over, sending the turkey flying into the trash. The pan smacks onto the marble island with a loud clang. "We don't. But the Van Bakers do. And they are coming over for Thanksgiving Dinner tomorrow."

"May I ask why?" Her explanation only makes me more confused.

Fed up with my questions, she starts bustling around the kitchen, attempting to clean up this mess. "I invited them. I figured it would be a nice thing to do. Brian mentioned that it was going to be him, his wife, and daughter for Thanksgiving, so I told them that they could join us."

That does little to help me understand. I know how badly she wants to land the Van Baker account, but I figured it was pretty much a done deal at this point. And considering how much she tells me to stop spending time with Alice, I can't figure out why she would want her to be here.

"Okay, so we are having Thanksgiving dinner. Great. Can I invite Augustine over?"

She pauses her cleaning momentarily to look up at me. "Who is that?"

The real woman who raised me,' I want to say. "The woman who owns the studio I live above. She was my art teacher for ten years."

"Oh right, her. She doesn't have her own family to spend this foolish holiday with? Is she some sort of spinster or one of those lesbians?"

I bite down so hard I might push my teeth through my gums. "Augustine lives by herself, yes. But her husband isn't with her anymore and her sons are all over the country. She didn't feel up to hosting, and I don't think she's healthy enough to fly."

"Fine. She can come. It'll make this night seem more legitimate and believable."

I nod my head slowly, still trying to absorb all this information. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?"