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Julian clears his throat, and from under the table, his hand slowly rests on my bouncing knee. Just his palm at first, waiting to see if I’ll pull away. When I don’t, he lets his fingers down, a small comfort.“You mentioned Dr. Peterson wanted you to go around and share what we’re grateful for. Why don’t we do that?” he suggests.
“You want to start, or should I?” I say, reaching out and grabbing my wine glass. I take a large sip. What the heck is that? I jerk the glass away and examine it.
“It’s grape juice. Doc said it’s best not to mix your meds with alcohol,” Henry explains almost apologetically.
“Hmm,” I set the glass down gently.“Well, I’m thankful for all of you, but I know that’s obvious. I’m thankful I’m alive, even though it’s hard. I don’t know if it’s as hard as when Mom, Dad, or Peter died. It’s just hard in a different way.” I begin to scrape the marshmallows off the sweet potato mash; I prefer to eat them first.“I’m thankful Andrew didn’t shoot my face off. I doubt you’d all love me then,” I joke dryly at Julian.
No smile.
“I’d loved you regardless,” he says, his hand warming my leg.
“Did you tell that to the doc?” Kent chuckles lightly.“I’d love to see her reaction.”
I appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood.
“I did tell her. She didn’t laugh. I’m not sure if it’s the Botox or just an iron-clad poker face,” I reply.
“I’ll tell you what I’mnotthankful for,” I reach out, bypassing my wine glass for Julian’s,“this grape juice. One sip won’t hurt.”
I gulp down a sip, and then Julian smiles.
“Why are you drinking this crap too?” I cringe as I set it down.
“If you can’t partake, then neither will I,” Julian lifts the glass, his lips touching where mine just were,“We’re all having grape juice tonight.”
“Not me!” Kent declares with the glee of a child on Christmas morning.“Sorry, Pops, I love you, but I had to spike my drink. There’s no way I’m going back to diapers and juice.”
Harper rolls her eyes as she elbows him gently.
I do something the good doctor wouldn’t recommend. As we go around the table, confessing what we’re thankful for, I tune out.
I should listen.
I can’t.
I don’t want to cry, and if I listen to them, find a million and one ways to tell me how much they care, how they love me, how thankful they are that we could all be here together—well, that’s a guaranteed tearjerker. There aren’t enough Kleenex boxes in the world to soak up my grief and pain. So I sit there and nod as I shove some tasteless food into my mouth.
Chapter 56
Poppy
We spent Black Friday with our heads in the toilet bowl.
Literally.
We all got food poisoning. Harper swears that it’s not from her pie. She thinks it’s from the stuffing that the caterer made. She said,‘One should never trust that nasty green crunch.’She was referring to celery.
Henry thinks it’s from the‘soup’or rather melted whipped cream Harper and Kent made. She gave us no option when she poured the liquefied bowl over the pie.
The pie? Well, it wasn’t terrible. It was tasteless, not sweet, nor sour, not like a vegetable, just bland. That’s better than too salty, right?
Regardless, my bets are on the food Harper made. I’ll never tell her that. I don’t think I’ll have to. This scared her enough not to try to bake for a while. A day of puking will do that to you.
***
“Julian,” I call out, too scared to sit up or move from the bed. I’m covered in sweat. Drenched, like I had just gone down a terrible slide at a waterpark.
“What!” he jerks from sleeping on the cot. Since he refused to leave my side, the hospital finally brought in a cot so he wouldn’t have to be a sardine and sleep on the small couch.
