In my house, Thanksgiving isn't just a holiday. It's an event.

The days leading up to it are spent shopping, cooking, and stressing. Everything has to be flawless, or else Gram loses her god damn mind. Grandpa knows to steer clear, which means I get the pleasure of being her right hand gal.

Gram and I wake up at an ungodly hour to ensure that everything is ready before the guests arrive. Most of the dishes are prepared the day of, but certain things, like Gram's homemade pumpkin pie, are made beforehand. I always do the mashed potatoes, because who doesn't love mashed potatoes? She handles the turkey and the other side dishes, while I sweep and mop the floors, wipe down the windows, and set the table with our fancy cutlery.

Stress aside, I don't usually mind. This year, however, with my hand still immobile and my anxiety at an all time high, I'm eager for this day to be over.

The whole family will be here, including Alyx. The last time I saw her was at Poppy's with Benson. I still remember his I'm-going-to-take-back-what's-mine speech. He's desperate to slither back into Alyx's bed, and he made it obvious that if I interfered, there would be consequences.

He's insane. He's dangerous. I truly hope Alyx thinks twice before allowing Clem to have a relationship with that monster.

I haven't told my family about what I saw, or about the cruel things that were said to me. I'll do it after the holiday. Gram is frazzled enough as it is. I don't want to overwhelm her.

As the guests start to filter in, I take a seat in the front room and force a smile, hoping no one can sense how withdrawn I am.

Aunt Gemma, of course, being the investigative journalist that she is, hands me my very own glass of Pinot Noir and says, "Spill it. What's going through your head?"

I really need to work on my poker face.

"Is it Rem?" she continues. "Was he mean to you?"

"Rem and I are fine," I assure her. "It's... something else."

"What's going on over here?" Bowie materializes in front of us, his crystal eyes glued to the glass in my hand.

"It's Thanksgiving. She can have one glass," Gemma defends me.

"Don't lie, sis. I know you give her booze all the time."

"I'm the cool aunt. It's literally in the job description."

I chuckle, amused by their sibling banter. I hope that Clem and I are this close when we're in our thirties.

You know, if she ever stops being terrified of her crazy, punching-holes-through-walls sister.

I peek into the kitchen and see the red-headed spitfire nibbling on a cracker. She clings to her mom's side, a forlorn look on her freckled face.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Gram asks, tucking an orange curl behind her ear.

Frowning, she replies, "I wish Daddy could be here."

Shamus furrows his brow. "Uh, I'm right here, pumpkin."

She shakes her head. "Not you. Real Daddy."

Alyx spits out her wine. Gram's jaw hits the floor. Shamus looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

Beside me, Bowie and Gemma exchange a concerned look. They heard Clem's admission, too.

"Real Daddy?" Gram puts her glass down and places her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, real Daddy. He bought me a milkshake on Saturday. Vange was there, too."

All eyes slowly turn to me.

Oh, fuck.

"Baby girl, you care to explain?" Gram demands.

"Okay, yes, I was there," I admit. "I was eating dinner with Kira when I saw them, but I was not with them. We just all happened to be there at the same time."

"And you didn't tell us?" Gram accuses.

"I—"

"Wait, you got dinner with your ex and didn't think to mention it?" Shamus pipes in, glaring at his wife.

"It was just dinner! It's really not that big of a deal!" Alyx exclaims.

"You know," Aunt Gemma murmurs, "I thought we would wait until after dinner to have tea, but I guess this works, too."

"What's a holiday without a little drama?" Bowie adds, snatching the wine glass from his sister's hand and downing the rest.

All the while, I just stare at the floor beneath me, willing it to open up and swallow me whole.

<>*<>*<>*<>*<>

Aunt Gemma brings me a plate of reheated food and another glass of Pinot. "You look like you could use this," she says.

"Thank you." I pick at a piece of turkey, my appetite nonexistent, even though it's Thanksgiving and I haven't eaten all day.

Clem, Alyx, and Shamus left after my sister blabbed about Benson. Auntie Z took Wyatt and Aurora home as well, not wanting them to be privy to the family drama that was about to unfold. Grandpa decided a nap would be the best way to deal with the situation. Even Gram went for a drive, too upset to stay in the house with her shitty, holiday-ruining family.

Gemma, Bowie, and I sit in the kitchen. They have yet to pester me for information, but I can tell they're dying to, my aunt especially.

"Just ask your questions already," I tell them, pushing my plate across the table.

"If you say you bumped into Benson at dinner, we believe you. You didn't do anything wrong," my uncle assures me.

"Alyx is the one who owes us all an explanation, not you," my aunt adds.

A single teardrop cascades down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it with the back of my hand and say, "I confronted him, though. I should have stayed out of it, but when I saw them smiling and laughing and acting like the perfect family, I got so angry."

"What did you say to him?" Aunt Gemma inquires.

"I wanted to know what he was doing with my little sister. I was causing a scene, apparently, so he brought me outside and told me that he was determined to get back with Alyx and be a father to Clem," I elaborate. "Then he told me that it would be... ill-advised of me to attempt to stop him."

Uncle Bowie's jaw clenches. "So he threatened you."

"Not in so many words, but yeah."

"We need to get him out of the city," he says. "He's done nothing but cause trouble since his return."

My aunt rolls her eyes. "We can't just exile him."

"We did it once before."

"That was different. That was when his relationship with his entire family dissolved, when nobody wanted him around. Now that Alyx has shown mercy—"

"He has a reason to stay," I finish.

"Exactly," she replies, "and he won't leave until he gets what he wants. He won't take no for an answer."

"He never has," Uncle Bowie mutters under his breath.

I call to mind what he said about how lucky I am, about how my life would be so much worse if my mom were still alive. His twisted way of thinking makes me sick to my stomach. Is he that materialistic? Does he really believe money is more important than family?

And the fact that he called my mom a tease—that makes me livid. That makes me see red. His cruelty never ceases to amaze me.

"What do we do?" I whisper, staring down at my trembling hands. "How do we deal with him?"

"You don't," Aunt Gemma states. "You avoid him, okay? If you see him on the street, turn around. If you run into him at a restaurant, eat somewhere else. Don't engage. Don't play his mind games. He already tried to manipulate you once."

"But what about Clem? I can't let him hurt her," I insist.

"Forgive me for what I'm about to say, but... let the grown-ups handle it," my aunt replies. "What you need to do is focus on school. My piece of shit brother will not be the reason you don't get into college."

"She's right, kiddo," Uncle Bowie agrees. "You have too much on the line right now."

I let out a sigh. I'll be eighteen in six months, and I've been through more trauma than most "grown-ups" endure in a lifetime. Will they ever stop seeing me as the shy little six-year-old whose mother killed committed suicide?

"Mom's car just pulled down the driveway," Aunt Gemma announces. "Quick, chug your wine!"

I obey, tilting the glass back and guzzling the dark liquid. Proudly, I place the now empty glass down on the table before letting out a quiet hiccup.

Gram enters the house moments later, her frustration palpable. She silently packs Gemma and Bowie a plate of leftovers before asking them to leave, lacking her usual courtesy. Without hesitation, they obey.

Once Gram and I are alone, she sits across from me. I wait for her to speak, but she doesn't. The silence is unnerving. I'm tired of feeling uncomfortable in my own house, around my own family.

I want things to return to normal.

"I am not mad that you saw him," she finally breaks the tense stillness. "I know it was a coincidence, and even if it wasn't, I still wouldn't be upset. What aggravates me, Vange, is the fact that you kept it a secret. I thought we were finally past that."

"I didn't want to cause trouble for Alyx," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "It didn't seem like she wanted people to know."

"It's not your job to protect Alyx. She's an adult."

Ah, here we go. More child versus adult dialogue. My favorite.

"I'm sorry," I relent, too exhausted to argue. "May I please go upstairs?"

"Yes, but before you do," she adds, "I've decided that you can't go to New York over Christmas break. It's too far, and I don't know if I trust you to be unsupervised for that long."

"But you already said I could go!" I cry. "That's completely unfair!"

"Evangeline—"

"Plus, Rem's dad would be there. We wouldn't be unsupervised. It's his Juilliard audition, for fuck's sake! He needs me."

"I think he'll survive a week without you."

Tears blur my vision. My chest tightens as I exhale a shaky breath, doing everything in my power to remain composed.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I think this is best," Gram goes on. "I understand if you're upset."

"Upset is an understatement," I mutter.

"It's not the end of the world. There will be other trips."

"But there won't be other auditions."

"My decision is final," she states. "You may go to your room now."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I race upstairs to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

So... sorry if that wasn't the wholesome Thanksgiving dinner you were expecting. Here's a photo of a delicious meal that I found on the internet:

Don't forget to tap that star before you leave ⭐️⭐️