Happy Thanksgiving, people! :)

Chapter II

Half my life, I've been caught between two worlds-the one in Virginia with just me, dad, and a revolving door of exotic goldfish in dad's extravagant fishbowl...and the one here in Portland.

With my Grams and her kooky lifelong friends the Parkers.

That world's never been quiet.

When I was younger it gave me passing feelings of being an alien abductee victim. Nine months out of the year, life was normal with my dad, the occasional visits with my mom in Atlanta, and then my friends at home in Mystic Falls. Then summer rolled around, Grams would come sweep me up, and away we'd go to Portland.

I spent a lot of time that first year trailing her taking in tours of the distilleries and huge arboretums around downtown. Grams went all in on the easy-breezy life, even entered a biking phase, that lasted until she realized she couldn't stuff as many shopping bags from Chinatown into her little bike basket as she could inside the trunk of her car.

Most of the time, Mrs. Parker and half her gang of kids were with us.

I didn't like it at first, their invasion. In time, I got over it, but never over the fact that there were so many of them. Not one, but two sets of twins? When I first met them, I'd asked my grandmother if some of the kids were adopted. She had to wait a couple years to explain.

Apparently in their hey-day Mr. and Mrs. Parker went at it like rabbits and eschewed the concept of birth control because they were bohemian like that. Years ago, Mrs. Parker had told me baby nine had tried to come along but it didn't work out, and the doctor stepped in and told Mrs. Parker a try for baby ten would kill her.

Shortly after, Mr. Parker got a vasectomy.

Once, when they'd been hanging out in Grams' back patio nursing a few too many drinks, he'd admitted in the presence of me, Lu, and Livvie that it'd been the smartest thing he'd done and wished he'd gotten to it sooner. For maybe a month, Livvie and Lu both hadn't talked to him, and he never figured out why because while he can run a family business with his eyes closed, the man is totally clueless sometimes.

But he never means harm; if anything, to me he's always been a little more like a normal dad than my own. Mr. Parker taught all his kids baseball and how to build wooden napkin holders and birdcages; even got around to showing me how change the oil on my car. He knew how to cook.

My own dad had ten restaurants on speed dial for both last-minute reservations and take-out, got his car serviced, called roadside assistance to change his tires the one time they blew on the highway, and as far as sports went, he followed football-not the American version. The only sport I ever learned, half-heartedly, was soccer, back when dad thought he could groom me to join the women's team.

On the flip side, the few times my dad's made it out with me to visit Grams, Lu used to tell me I was the lucky one. Go figure.

Moments like this, though, I believe it.

Mr. Parker's frowning at us, and I'm a little uncomfortable now because it looks from his body language a lot like...disapproval?

Mal's flippant comment earlier about me being in love has Grams and Lu's parents all watching us closely. Lu's thrilled with the reaction-me, not so much, but what puzzles me most, even more than Mr. Parker's expression, is Mrs. Parker. She almost looks disappointed.

Which doesn't stop her from grilling us.

I'm smarting a little by their reactions, I have to admit. But I try not to read into it. Damn Mal and his knack for planting doubt where before there was none. Here I was, sure that Mr. and Mrs. Parker would be thrilled to find Lu settling down with a girl next door type. Even better, the girl next door that'd been a lifelong friend. I'm calm, and smart, and on paper I'm the best boring girlfriend to have, for someone who's had a history of being all over the place the way Lu's been.

I try to give Mr. and Mrs. Parker the benefit of the doubt-it's possible they see me and Lu and the total lack of sexual chemistry. I mean, they would know, right? Having procreated all those times.

I'd been pretty adamant myself, just a few weeks ago, that nobody would buy this.

But I stick to the plan.

Lu remains vague and coy, and I'm mostly silent, letting him do most of the talking about how it's going in New York. Every once in a while, he touches my hair or the side of my face-anything intimate, really, to keep everyone guessing. My irritation's growing, and the longer I think about this thing he's pulled me in, the more I realize how dumb it is.

My stare finds Mal. He's sipping from his wineglass, way across the room, having successfully implemented his hit-and-run method of stirring trouble. He doesn't notice me watching, as busy as he is mingling with a group that don't look familiar to me.

There's a trio of women there beaming at him. Poor things. Right now, they think they've found a prime specimen of manhood. For the next five minutes, none of them will find him off putting. I know when he wants to make an effort, he can easily charm the pants off anyone. I haven't seen him in years and we were never that close, but he'd been my stupid crush once, and some things a girl picks up on.

I'm going to go with female solidarity and have trust in their higher brain power figuring it out as the night wears on. Don't let the pretty man with the bright smile fool you, ladies.

An appetizer plate materializes before my eyes.

"This one," Mr. Parker is saying, pointing with pride at the tiny scallions mashed with feta cheese. "I made all by myself."

"Oooh," I say, happy to try anything home made of his, before I cast a suspicious look up at him. "Wait, are you trying to pry dirt about Lu from me with this plate?"

There's an exasperated tilt to his jaw as he stares back. "Just try it."

For a few moments, I chew and think. It's good, no doubt. Yet there's something missing. "No salt?"

He grimaces.

It clicks. A lot of the plates I tried earlier were missing salt. He must've made all those. I'm confused momentarily, eyeing him.

"Using new seasoning?"

"Something like that," he mutters, and then-for lack of a better way to put it-actually turns tail and runs.

Odd.

-x-O-x-

I find B.B. in front of the turkey tree.

One of my nieces three years ago made this paper mache arts and craft concoction that I can't make sense of, except it resembles a bird and it's attached to a metal stand that keeps it upright and sturdy. Little slips of paper hangs from its feathers. The thing's become family tradition. Sort of an improvement on a practice that I detest, where people go around in turn at dinner sharing what they're thankful for-that kind of corny's reserved for Hallmark channel movies.

How it works: guests come in, write their thanks on the small slips and attach it to the feather's clips. Right now it's brimming with paper, since we've got over thirty guests.

I'm probably the only one who hasn't weighed the feathers down yet.

That's where I find her, right on the verge of adding to the collection. I'm nonchalantly strolling her way, glad to have this chance because from what I've gathered of the dirty looks she's been spearing me with the past half hour, she's not all that pleased with my greeting from earlier.

I've thought about it some over the years and wonder at what precise point it went wrong. As a kid, she used to think I walked on water. Somewhere along the way, I toppled from that spot.

Definitely by the time she hit eighteen, things had already gone sour...

I returned home expecting some kind of fanfare. Getting into law school late and working my way through it on the East coast had taken its toll on me. I missed home. My parents, my siblings. And they'd all been hinting that it was time to get back. I reached a point where I was ready to listen.

Law school, passing the bar, and then clawing my way through a couple firms to get my experience in-they'd pushed me in a direction I wasn't sure I wanted. Going home, I knew instinctively, would clear my head.

Dad picked me up from the airport, more quiet than usual. Every once in a while, he brought up the latest home reno-trying to tear down one of the smaller rooms to make one of the half baths into a full. I didn't register which half bath they meant. There was one in the basement and then the one that Lu and Livvie had shared. It wasn't until we arrived home and found Lu in the foyer surrounded by luggages that it struck me.

They were getting rid of Lu's room.

I was coming home just when he was leaving for NYU. He'd texted me a few weeks ago, but until just then, I'd forgotten.

The rest of the house was quiet. Livvie was already gone, had booked a flight early to her college down in Virginia before the academic year started.

We caught up for only a few minutes and then Dad disappeared to his garage while Lu went upstairs for last minute packing.

As I dragged the rest of my bags in, I heard a car pull up. The green VW buggy swerved into the driveway, parking neatly there, and seconds later, B.B. stepped out. When she saw me, she ran up. I got a little excited, sure, even jogging to meet her halfway, ready to catch her because it almost looked like she would throw herself into my arms.

A thought that failed to strike me as strange. Technically we weren't tight like that, but it was B.B. I'd known her so long, she could've practically been one of my sisters.

But she pulled short at the last moment, wind from her run bringing the scent of her to my nose. Made me realize that I'd missed her. Maybe even more than I did some of my siblings.

And she smelled good-a little bit like home, even.

I got a good look at her. She was eighteen now. Like everything else about that day, there was a compilation of changes that didn't sit well with me.

"Welcome back," she said, and even though her voice was bubbly and warm, a little hint of coolness was creeping into her eyes. "Just when I'm leaving, too!"

"Yup, I timed it that way," I quip.

"Why am I not surprised?" she replied, the chill in her eyes making its way into her voice.

Lu stepped out on the porch then, calling out while he hauled his things. I helped him situate the bags in trunk, joking about his one bag being bigger than the buggy, which I suspected probably didn't possess a speedometer with a needle that moved past fifty miles an hour.

"You'd get to New York faster wheeling yourself on that luggage set," I told B.B.

Prompting another glare. She honest to God took offense and even rubbed one edge of her car like I'd hurt its feelings.

In a few minutes, they were ready to go. They'd already done the farewell thing with my parents, then my brother hugged me while B.B. spared a quick wave. But some rare whim had me walk them all the way to the driveway to see them off.

"Keep us posted where you are on the road," I told my brother casually.

"Careful, Mal," B.B. said, sending one of her cutting looks my way. "Almost sounds like you're worried."

"Of course. You're taking my baby brother cross country in a Little Tikes coupe."

What came over me, why I kept pushing it, I'm not sure. But her being snide rubbed me the wrong way and-well, it wouldn't be lying, if I likened it all to a crushing blow. Coming home to find Lu and Livvie gone? Joss clear on the other side of the state, everyone else scattered. What was left for me?

I could've possibly started brooding, only B.B. held up a fist, made pretend reeling gestures with her other hand, and then slowly lifted her middle finger up to flip me off.

It jolted me out of the blues, had me chuckling while Lu smiled and ducked into the driver's seat, taking the first shift.

In a few short minutes, they were halfway down the road. I watched them drive off, trees lining their path on both sides. Waving to them, I stood on the front porch like an old geezer letting the new brigade out for their day in the sun. Which was true enough.

The last thing I saw of her face was a smile. This time, it wasn't cold or sneering, no scorn, no worship-only something sad and fleeting.

Childhood, gone forever.

I threw myself into work after that, and my parents. Their business, their estate planning. For a couple years there, I didn't stop for a break.

Portland wasn't New York. Several thousand miles lay between the two, which I thought of crossing, often, but what would be the point? was what I always asked myself. I'd sowed my oats, now it was their turn, and anyway, they'd find their way back.

Just like I had...

I watch her now, amused by her attempts to read a few of the tiny notes. What did she care, what any of us were really thankful for? She'd barely been in town for half a decade now.

The thought grabs me, has me wondering if it's that easy, forgetting us. Even her Grams. That one, I don't get. It's one thing if she had my mom as her grandmother-the woman's a hypochondriac. Every day is something new with her arthritis and osteoporosis and the depressing effects of gravity on a woman's breasts and uterus. It's never nothing with my mom.

Sheila Bennett, on the other hand, is as stoic as they come. Even though she's older than my mother, she never complains. Not even when her only granddaughter doesn't bother to show her face for long stretches at a time.

"Let me guess," I say, standing beside B.B., reaching out to play with one of the turkey feathers. "You're thankful...that this will all be over in three days, and you'll be on your way back to the overpriced furnished closet that you rent in Park Slope?"

She slides her eyes at me, totally inscrutable. Used to be, you could read everything in those eyes.

B.B. is most definitely not a damn kid anymore. I knew this, that time before she'd left with Lu for the east coast, back when she was eighteen.

But Jesus-I'm not prepared for this.

Her hair's still loose and a little wild-that hasn't changed-and she's always had that coaxing, shy smile, her inner good girl shining through her pores practically. But anytime I'm around her, there's a shift. That all goes into hiding. I sensed it five years ago, and it's clear now.

There's a stubborn tilt to that wide mouth; the green in her gaze turns hooded. I don't know if she realizes, but it's seriously fucking sexy. I almost wonder if she's playing me. It wouldn't be the first a woman's tried, but definitely my first seeing it from her.

I'm a little aghast at my reaction.

And then it has me thinking.

"So you and Lu, huh?"

She opens her mouth on reflex, seems to think better and clamps it shut, all in one go. I shake my head at her, rubbing my jaw because I put and two together a long time ago with Lu, so this thing that's supposedly happening between them that they're trying to sell at this party? It's gotta stop.

"How do you know I'm in Park Slope?" she asks, her voice low, careful.

Husky, even.

Christ, I need to get a grip.

I cast my eyes around, shrugging, and then focus on the glass of punch on the table, near the turkey. It grounds me, puts a smile on my face. Cute. She's drinking punch.

"Big brother is watching?" I try.

"Great. Not creepy at all."

"C'mon, B.B. We're all family here. Why wouldn't I know?"

"Because Lu and Grams are the only ones who know exactly where in Brooklyn I am, and I can't imagine how that would come up in any conversation with you. And we," she motions between me and her, "are not family."

"Thank God for that," I mutter, all that's really crossing my mind then, how disturbing it'd be if we were, because then I'd have to stop looking at her mouth wondering how soft it'd feel to touch.

"Why are you always such a dick to me?"

Wait, what?

"You made it clear, years ago. I'll never make the mistake of finding you appealing ever again. You're safe from me, Mal. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

-x-O-x-

The long wooden trestle tables can seat an army; seating everyone for dinner, then, isn't a headache at all, especially with Joss and Ro on top of everything, and Shelly flittering around like the hostess Mrs. Parker's been training her to be most of her time.

I'm not sure who was in charge of the arrangements, but it's pretty inspired. Two larger tables with all the adults in the middle, and at the edges are smaller kids tables, giving the parents a break but keeping them close and within monitoring distance. It's cozy and I'm a big fan until I see where I'm seated.

Mal's almost directly across from me, and flanking him are the women I'd seen him with earlier, the brunette in particular flush close at his side. They're sharing winning smiles at each other, and I get a particular urge to retch.

Next to me, I feel Lu's elbow nudge mine. On my other side is Joss. Well, at least I have good company on my side of the table.

The turkey and stuffing comes out, followed by the ham and soufflé, and then in short order, salmon teriyaki, wild rice, butternut squash salad, pumpkin soup with cran-apples, spiced pecans...I lose track twelve dishes later.

Mr. Parker's beaming along with his wife, Joss, a couple of the other Parker kids, my Grams, a few of the neighbors that I recognize, and then, to my shock, even the brunette at Mal's side. It's that smile of pride, a telling sign that they'd contributed to the awesome spread that my eyes are feasting on.

There's a buzz of mild conversations and utensils hitting the plates for long minutes. Voices carry here and there, but for the most part it's calm, even from the kids table. No dramatic arguments, unexpected confessions, long lost secrets. For the Parkers, it might actually be the first time nobody's spilled any blood or tears.

It's not that it's boring, but that I'm pretty sure based on past experiences and also word of mouth-something's bound to happen.

Imagine my surprise, when it does. Nothing major, but there's a pressure on my foot. The first time, I think it's one of the legs, except a few minutes later, it's there again. No way that's the table, unless it's reanimated by some strange magic. My feet shy away, and my toes find peace again.

Only, a couple minutes after, it's back.

My brow wrinkles, and I look up because that's my first instinct, seeing if the person across from me has accidentally played footsie with the wrong person.

The woman there's sipping daintily from her soup. It's the pretty brunette, and she flashes a calm, demure smile back, totally making me question first her sexuality and then mine. Because she really is a fetching thing, but no-I'm straighter than a rod, despite my firm belief that having a girlfriend is probably much less of a headache than having a boyfriend.

I hear a throat clearing; it's Mal, raising his brows at me, nodding to the salt that's resting between us.

"Mind passing that over?" he asks me.

It's closer to him than me; my frown deepens. A multitude of things cross my mind.

Something about salt-why that's important, I'm not sure, but it is, and I stare at Mal some more. Seconds later, I feel another nudge on my foot.

"Oh," I say, surprised, realizing now where it's coming from.

It's a large foot, the toe part of the shoe resembling almost a boot, from the feel of it. I sense it well because my own boots are thin.

It's Mal's boot.

He's playing footsie with me.

The pretty girl next to him leans into his side, he accommodates by offering his ear closer.

"Do you like soup?" I hear her ask.

There's nothing in his bowl. I'm not surprised. He's not a fan of drinking hot liquids from a bowl. There's a better chance he'll try the soup if it's disguised in a coffee mug.

"Sure," he lies.

"I made the pumpkin soup," she confesses coyly.

"Note to self. Will try that next."

He's charming her with that grin of his. Meanwhile, his boot is on mine.

Why. is. he. doing. this?

"Shaker, B?"

I whip myself out of my seat, so fast Lu and Joss snap their heads to watch. Slowly, with precise movements, I lean forward and slide the salt over to him, making it obvious to everyone at the table how ridiculous his request is, when I have to practically lay my torso across the way, while he could more easily have used one long, buff arm to pick up the shaker himself.

As it happens, I'm straightening and offering him one of my snippy 'happy now' smile, when I catch sight of what's on his plate. An enormous serving of turkey and stuffing. Every year his dad's turkey game goes beyond amazing, and this year it's moist, warm, delicious except...

It's bland. No salt.

My mind whirls, my eyes feel like they might be following. I see Lu's face, focus on that, remember his desperation weeks ago.

"My dad's gonna train me," he'd said. "Have me take over some of the business accounts."

Finally. It's only what Lu's wanted for years, being given the chance to show that outside of his music and surf boy style, he's got sharp business acumen. The muscles only needed stretching.

"I need to spend a lot more time back home. I can't rock the boat now, B.B. Help?"

But why now? Why not before? It's all wonky.

I look at Mal. He's quick, his eyes are tracking where mine have landed, Lu and the stupid salt and the turkey. It's when I look at Mr. Parker that Mal gets to his feet himself.

Much more smoothly than me, his movements casual.

"I can tell what you're thinking," he says to me. "We need an extra shaker."

He's on my side before I can process his next move, which is to take my hand and pull me out of the room and into the kitchen, then past it, and out the back door.

I don't realize until then that I'm warm, my cheeks feel like they're burning. Snow's still drifting down from the sky. I walk down the steps and onto the sheet of white on the ground, marring the canvas with my booted steps. They look awkward on the snow, but then Mal comes to join me. His boots are enormous next to mine, the footprints he leaves in his wake turning my own tiny and delicate.

"You always reminded me of a younger, more ethnic Miss Marple," he says affably, pocketing his hands while he stares up and out at a gray world that's almost the exact shade of his eyes right then.

"No-salt diet for your dad?" I ask him. I'd heard it years ago, Mrs. Parker and Grams both heckling him over cutting back. But what I'm seeing now is taking it to new heights. "Pretty extreme, all the effort."

Mr. Parker's sticking rigidly enough to it that he didn't even bother adding even just a little for the benefit of the guests. And for all that he's mumbled most of the night about beer and drinking, he hasn't once gone to the beverage table and poured himself Scotch or brandy. His usual go-tos. Now that I'm dwelling on it, I realize it even looks like he's carried the same can of beer all night.

For show, I realize.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Exacerbated kidney failure. Liver's nearly kaput, too."

"Who else knows?"

"Mom. Sheila."

He's still staring up, making me wonder if he wants to try to catch snowflakes in his mouth. It's an awkward moment. He's trying to play it off, and I just want to hug him. If it were any other Parker, I'd already be there, offering comfort.

"I'm sorry, Mal."

"He's not dying tomorrow, B.B." The smile he wears is slight but real; there's warmth in his eyes now, instead of the mockery that I've seen for a solid thirteen years. "He's still got time to watch Lu fail at the business."

"Stop," I chide.

"Fail and regoup," he adds. "Hey, it's all trial and error, right?"

"Like you playing footsie with me?" I ask. "Just so I could pass you the salt?"

He laughs. "Nah. I just wanted to step on your feet."

I laugh, too, but mostly because I want to cry. Then I do, I start sniffling, thinking of the man who taught me how to check the pressure in my tires so they don't pop from too much air.

To my utter shock, Mal hesitates only a second. I'm rubbing clumsily at my eyes for lack of a tissue when he offers a glove. The material is smooth, soft. I hate to ruin it so instead I lean in and wipe my face on the front of his jacket since it's sturdier and not in need of dry cleaning.

I don't do it for a hug, but that's what happens. I'm moving back when he traps me, then wraps himself around me. At that point, I'm not even sure it's real. The former object of my affection has me in his arms, warm, secure, and comforting. I was fourteen years old the last time I had any hope of this ever happening. Now I wish it wasn't. At least, not for the reason that's prompted this closeness.

But wow, he feels good.

We don't speak, I can't be sure for how long. It's not uncomfortable, but all too soon it's over.

Lu comes out, and he misses Mal and me caught in this embrace because we're breaking apart like guilty inmates as soon as the door swings open.

"There you two are! What're you up to?"