Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 55

Emersyn

"I can't believe none of you will be here for Thanksgiving!" I pout.

"You know you can always come home with me. My parents love you," Val says.

I know she's right. Fowler, Locke, and Cruz all invited me to their families' Thanksgiving dinners as well, but I don't want to impose. Usually, I spend all the big holidays with Lyle and his family, but that obviously isn't going to happen this year.

"It's fine. I'll just stay here. I already got the stuff to make a small dinner."

Val looks at me with those understanding eyes of hers. "If you change your mind, my offer stands. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving, especially not you, Em."

I manage a smile. "I'll be fine, Val. Maybe I'll finally master that turkey recipe or just end up with a pizza. Either way, I'll enjoy the peace and quiet." But even as I say it, I wonder if the quiet will be comforting or simply underline my solitude.

She gives me a tight hug, and I feel the warmth of her friendship seep into me. "Okay, but call me if you need anything, or if you change your mind."

After Val and guys leave, I stand in the middle of the living room, looking around. The festive decorations I'd put up seem out of place now, mocking in their cheerfulness. I walk over to the small kitchen, start pulling out ingredients for the dinner I had planned, a smaller, simpler version just for me. As I begin to cook, the motions familiar and somewhat comforting, I decide to make the best of the situation.

I know I could go to my parent's house. It's where my brother and his wife are going to be. But I haven't talked to my mom since my brother's wedding, and honestly, I don't want to talk to her. I would rather be here alone, than be there and feel out of place.

"That smells good."

I jump at the sound.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Marx!" I yell, dropping the bowl I had been mixing onto the counter. "You scared me. What are you even doing here? I thought you would be with your family today, too."

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

"I don't talk to my family." His words are soft.

How had I not known this about him?

"Why aren't you with yours?" He asks, turning the question back on me.

"Well," I start. "I'm still not exactly on speaking terms with my mother."

"Understandable."

I want to ask about his family, but he doesn't seem to want to talk about it. Instead, I ask him if he wants to help with dinner.

Marx hesitates for a moment, then a small smile cracks his usually stoic expression. "Sure, why not?"

The kitchen suddenly feels less empty with Marx standing beside me. We work in a comfortable silence, occasionally bumping into each other in the cramped space, which leads to a few quiet laughs. The tension eases out of my shoulders. I didn't realize how much I was dreading spending the evening alone until now.

As Marx and I move around the kitchen, the clinking of utensils and the sizzling of the sauté pan fill the air. He picks up a bottle of spice, squinting at the label before turning to me.

"What's this one for?" he asks, holding up the bottle of thyme.

"That's thyme. It gives a nice earthy flavor to the stuffing," I explain, taking it from him to sprinkle a bit into the mixture. "A Thanksgiving must-have in my book."