A year and a half ago, Elijah and Gage swore to keep in touch. But inevitably, things fester and the two haven't really seen each other since Gage's 17th birthday party. But with Gage now starting his first year at Michigan State, and Elijah beginni...
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Jeremy and I spent the entire night binge watching Pretty Little Liars, a fact that I'm sure the both of us would deny to the grave.
When I wake up, there's discarded bags of popcorn and chocolate wrappers scattered around me. Around Jeremy, lies empty soda cans and chip bags. I chuckle lightly to myself, remembering how bad of a sugar-high he'd gotten from his many cans of Coke.
Beside me, my phone starts to buzz. I groan, agitated at whoever is calling me so early in the morning. "Hello?"
"Gage? Darling?" I sit up abruptly, clearing my throat and blinking the sleep out of the corners of my eyes.
"Mom? G-Good morning!"
My moms delicate sort of laugh fills my ear, before a glass shattering on the other end follows, "mom, is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything is fine," she answers back, "I'm bringing out my China for Thanksgiving dinner week and I've already lost a few pieces. Shit." Another glass breaks.
I resist the urge to laugh. My mother isn't one to swear often, but Thanksgiving cooking brings out the worst in her. It always has.
Although, in the many years before, my dad was always there to calm her down. That wasn't the case this Thanksgiving.
"Anyway, I need to know when you're coming down here. I'm supposed to be bringing your grandmother in a few days and she'd like to when you're coming home so she can get here on the same day." My mom says breathlessly, another shattering of the glass following a few seconds later.
"I'll get there two days before Thanksgiving, and I'll be there for about a week," I explain, hearing her hum in understanding on the other end. "And um, why is grandma coming? She usually only ever comes for Christmas."
She sighs heavily, pausing her breaking of all our nice dish-ware. "Well, she'll be spending this Christmas in New York with your Uncle Andrea and New Years with your Uncle Cristian. So we're stuck with her for Thanksgiving. Even though she positively hates my cooking—"
"You mean we get to have her for Thanksgiving?" I ask quietly.
My mom pauses on the other end, laughing loudly. I move back from my phone. "Of course, of course. That's what I meant," I hum, not at all believing her. "Also, darling—your father will be coming too."
"What?" I asked exasperatedly, eyes wide.
"Yes," she confirms, "it's been a while since the two of you spent a holiday together and I think this will be a good thing."
I slug back against my headboard, scoffing softly so that my mom can't hear it over the line. I'd seen my father every few months since he moved out of my mother's house but not on a holiday yet.
"Also—"
"There's more?" I groan.
"Yes, there's more. Don't be smart," she scolds, and a roll my eyes, more than happy that she can't see me. "He'll be bringing his special friend with him."
I take a moment to take in what she's saying, before completely exploding. "Are you kidding me? My father who cheated on you with some 20-year-old is bringing said 20-year-old to our Thanksgiving dinner?"
I knew that my father was now in a relationship with this woman, whose name I refused to repeat, but I had no idea he was planning on her imposing on our intimate family gatherings.
"Darling, I don't like this anymore than you do, trust me. But she's not going anywhere anytime soon. It's time to forgive—not forget, but forgive and continue on. There's no use in hating her forever." She said the last bit of her words so softly I almost missed them.
But still, I couldn't understand why she was doing this. Why she was allowing this. This woman destroyed her home and she was allowing her to eat at our table, and in our home. In our family home where they raised me.
She cleared her throat, "a-and there's just one more thing," she continued on before I could interject with my disdain. "I-I'm bringing someone too."
I'm quiet. So quiet and so calculating.
My mother. Daria Cilleti. She had a date. A date with someone other than my father. For the first time in thirty-years.
I didn't know much about my parents' previous dating lives before they found one another for obvious reasons, but I knew that for my mom—there wasn't one. She married my father straight after she finished secondary school and stuck by him while he finished college here in the states.
"O-Oh, alright. Okay. Alright."
"You're okay with this?" My mom asks, a fearful hope in her usually strong voice. I knew she had to have already really liked this man. She wasn't one to ask my permission for anything.
I breathe out, running a hand through my hair. "Of course I'm okay with it, mom. I want you to be nothing but happy."
She laughs gleefully, clapping her hands on the other end of the line. "Really? Oh, I'm so happy to hear this. I've been dreading telling you for months—"
"Months?—"
"Because I wasn't sure how you'd take it," she ignores my question altogether, "oh I'm so glad, darling! You go back to sleep, it's early. I'll tell my Samuel the good news! I love you!"
And with that, she hangs up.
I slump back against my bed, looking over the filthy room again.
Gosh.
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Here's a short but much needed filler chapter! Missed writing so much! I'm super happy to be back. <3
