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"I want that with you, too," I tell him.
"I want to marry you. I will marry you," he promises. "That's what I'm working so hard towards. For now, I need you to be patient with me as I try to figure out how to do this relationship thing. It's still really new for me. I don't know how to tell you how I feel about things sometimes."
"I know," I say softly.
He wraps his arms around me and we fall back onto my bed, lost in each other, but still firmly rooted in place.
"Did you bring a condom?" I ask as his lips find mine.
"I did," he smiles against my mouth.
"Good."
Chapter 51
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Mom always goes all out on the table decorations. Fake-snow dusted pinecones, cardinal red, burnt orange and gold leaves, plump white pumpkins, Grandma's cream-colored china, the red-wine tablecloth and chunky, bronze candle holders burning thin, white-wicked tea lights.
This year is no exception. She even had a calligrapher make nameplates. Glittering flaxen letters on stiff, pale-yellow cards.
It's perfect.
There are two turkeys this year. One being smoked on the back porch, overseen by Randy; the other stuffed with an array of veggies in the oven, filling the house with the mouth-watering scent of a home-cooked meal.
Diane's standing by the counter in leggings, an old T-shirt and slippers. She's spooning mouthfuls of mashed potatoes out of the stainless-steel mixing bowl, moaning as she licks the spoon clean, shoving her strawberry blond hair out of her face as she does. She's started eating copious amounts of food, gaining back all the weight she lost at the beginning of her diagnosis. Randy said she's also starting to revert back, acting more child-like due to the tumor. She has what they call a butterfly tumor because of the way it wings out over both sides of her brain.
I watch her, take her in, trying to commit this whole moment to memory. It's overshadowed by the truth: she's standing in front of me, dying. And it's the strangest thing in the world because she doesn't look sick. She looks...fine. Maybe a little disheveled, younger than she's looked in years, but playful, alive, well.
I just...I can't wrap my mind around it.
Diane strums her chipped nails on the countertop, still staking her claim on the boiled potatoes mashed with milk and butter, a dash of salt, pepper, garlic. When I mentioned three spoonfuls ago that they were for dinner, she stuck her tongue out at me and dug the spoon right back into the bowl.
I should probably take the spoon away from her, but it's her last Thanksgiving. She can do whatever she wants. Plus, Mom always buys way more potatoes than we need.
We can always make more.
What we can't do is buy more time.
I wish we could.
Dad's running Mom to the store because she forgot the rolls and there's an ungodly amount of snow on the ground. She forgets the rolls every year. I volunteered to go in my new SUV, but Mom wanted to pick up a few extra bottles of wine and, well, I'm not old enough to purchase alcohol. So, I'm on Diane duty. Which I don't mind.
My phone chirps and I set down the whisk I'm using to mix the gravy on the stove. It's a text from Tommy, a video. I click on it, watch as a defeathered, headless, uncooked turkey dances across my screen. Tommy decided to skip the Thanksgiving festivities this year, stayed in California because he prefers the warm sun to 'frozen mountain life'. Danny and Nora take the boys to Arizona every Thanksgiving to see her mom, so that just leaves Mom, Dad, me, the Thompsons and Audra, whose parents opted for Paris instead of a holiday with their only child, who's still on bedrest with their only grandchild.
I set my phone down and hear Kyle yell from the living room. I step away from the gravy to check on him. He and Matt are watching the football game and, generally, root for opposing teams. Matt's trash-talking has caused Kyle to deck him a few times over the years and, I figure this year, I should probably step in if things get out of hand. There's enough going on without adding fuel to the fire.
Audra is fast asleep in the recliner, her dark hair bunched on top of her head as I peek into the room.
"Come on!" Kyle yells again, his long arm stretched above his head, annoyed.
"You always pick the losing team," Matt smirks, smugly crossing his arms over his chest beside his older brother.
Kyle ignores him and leans forward. He grabs his beer off the coffee table, brings it up to his lips and takes a long swig.
Audra shifts in the recliner, lets out a quiet whimpering sound. Matt quickly jumps up, rushes to her side. He places a steady hand on her belly while the other slips a strand of dark hair off her forehead. He stares down at her, the look on his face indecipherable.
I grab a blanket from the basket Mom keeps tucked behind the couch and walk it over to him. His eyes jolt to mine as I offer him the teal throw for Audra. He gives me a wry smile as he takes it from me, drapes it over her swollen belly and thin legs.
Neither of us say anything. There's nothing to say.
