"Layla! Welcome!" Moira throws her arms around me like she hasn't seen me in ages. "So glad you're here!" She holds up a plastic cup of fruit punch. "Would you like a drink?"
"Sure. Thanks, Moira." I accept the fruity beverage and make my way to the living room, where Damian is sitting with a lanky blonde boy.
"Hey, Layla." He looks happy—too happy—to see me. "Sit. Please."
"Okay." I claim the spot next to him. "What's up?"
"Not much. This"—he points to the blonde boy—"is Keaton."
"Hi, Keaton."
"Hey," he replies.
It doesn't take me long to learn that Keaton isn't much of a talker, which, for me, is a nonissue. I don't mind the quiet. Damian, however, seems uncomfortable.
"I'm going to see if your mom needs help in the kitchen," I say. "Damian, come with me?"
"Yes." He jumps up so fast he gives me whiplash. "Let's go."
Leaving Keaton behind, we enter the kitchen in time to hear a knock at the front door.
"That must be Ada!" I exclaim.
"Come in!" Moira shouts as she opens the oven and takes out a tray of crescent rolls.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Ada, looking most unlike herself in a light pink velvet dress and a pair of white ballet flats, greets us. "I brought sparkling cider. I wanted to bring real wine, but my mom wouldn't let me."
"Sparkling cider is fine." Moira grabs the bottle and offers Ada a half-smile. "You guys, where's Keaton?"
Damian glances behind his shoulder. "In the living room."
"You left him alone?" Moira shakes her head in disappointment. "Not nice, Damian."
"I'll go find him," Ada offers.
I expect her to return with Keaton, but she doesn't. Instead, I overhear them talking and laughing by themselves.
This goes on for an hour.
"They seem to be hitting it off," Damian whispers as we set the table.
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen."
"She's only fourteen. The age of consent in Michigan is sixteen."
"They're just talking."
"And how long will he be satisfied with that?"
Damian chuckles. "I've always been satisfied just talking to you."
"Yes, but... you and I are different," I insist.
"I doubt they'll keep in touch after today," he says before turning to Moira. "Mom, table's set."
"Oh, good!" she squeals. "Keaton! Ada! Dinner!"
The five of us gather around the table. Moira always makes too much food, but this year, she made enough to feed the Royal Bahamas Defense Force. I see mashed potatoes, butternut squash, green beans, buttered rolls, cranberry relish, salad, and, of course, the turkey. Everything looks remarkable.
For a moment, I allow myself to think about Hank. He's probably passed out on the sofa with the football game playing in the background. To him, Thanksgiving is an excuse to binge drink himself to sleep. I don't think he even knows how to roast a turkey.
"You okay?" Damian murmurs.
"I'm fine." Then with more certainty, "I'm fine."
Moira stands up and raises her glass of sparkling cider. "Alright, so we have a tradition around here where we each go around and say something we're thankful for."
YOU ARE READING
Four Walls (Book One) ✔️
Teen Fiction"You ungrateful bitch. I keep a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?" "You could have killed her," I retort, trying to muster up confidence that I don't possess. "What if she goes to the cops, Dad? That bruise on her face is enough to...
Chapter Seven
Start from the beginning
