The Dangers of Dinners
One-Shot taking place during the High Tides and Shallow Waters storyline. Will contain small spoilers as to what's to come in that story. Thanksgiving 1965 was different for a lot of reasons. For one, we were down more people than we cared to admit. For another, there's never a dull moment when you've got a herd of young men under one roof with enough food to feed a small army. What was I thinking?
"Dar, where's your mom's cookbook?" I called from my perch on the kitchen counter, where I was currently standing, trying to reach the mixing bowl that was inconveniently shoved to the very back of the top shelf. It took some effort, but after what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to pull it forward, catching it before it could come crashing down. "Darry?"
"C'mon! What are you doing?" Darry's voice bellowed from the living room. I heard my father's soft chuckle as he chided with Darry, telling him that there was no way the Colts would beat the Lions this year.
"Darrel Shaynne Curtis, don't make me call you again!" I hollered. That got him up and moving real fast. He dashed into the kitchen, just as I spun around, a wooden spoon in one hand, the other resting on my hip.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing with concern. I almost wanted to laugh. Darry looked ten years' younger right then, as he stood there, almost looking like a child ready to take a licking from the wooden spoon in my hand.
"Where is your mother's cookbook? I need that casserole recipe," I said impatiently. "I'm very happy you're bonding with my dad over football and all, but have you ever tried to put together a whole thanksgiving meal on your lonesome? It's no easy fete," I chided as I slipped around him, stirring the pot of mashed potatoes.
Darry's eyes clouded for a moment at the mention of his late mother. He scrubbed his hand over his face before scanning the kitchen, clearly unsure as to where the cookbook was.
"Hmm, maybe on the bookshelf…I'll check," he said, looking defeated.
"Dar," I said softly, letting the spoon rest in the pot while I walked over to him, wrapping my arms tightly around him. I had to stand on my tip toes, but I managed to peck him softly on the lips, causing him to flush deeply. "I didn't mean to get heated," I said gently. I hadn't cooked a Thanksgiving meal since the first year after my own mother died. With everything and everyone we had lost this year, I wanted to do something special. Especially since it was most likely going to be my own father's final thanksgiving.
"I love you for doing this," Darry said softly, pulling me close as he planted a kiss on the top of my head. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet, I'm going to need to enlist Soda in helpin' me finish the fixin's," I chuckled. I glanced into the living room, my heart swelling by how content my father looked. He sat in his wheelchair, right up next to Darry's recliner, Martha Curtis's hand stitched afghan draped over his thinning lap.
"C'mon son, you're going to miss the next play!" his scratchy voice bellowed. "You know what your ol' man always taught ya, leave the cookin' to the ladies. We stay outta there way, they make the best food we've ever tasted." I smiled at his old school way of thinking. His speech had improved so much after his latest stroke, though maybe it was just I was so used to translating for him.
"He adores you," I told Darry as I gave him another peck before pushing him back towards the living room. "Thank you."
"For what?" Darry asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"For bein' a better son to him than his own," I said with a sad smile. Darry gave me a knowing look before heading back to his perch on the recliner. I shook my head and went back to cooking, lost in thought. It pained me that Skipper, my little brother and the awful thorn in my side, couldn't be bothered to even call. He runs wild for weeks then strolls back into my life when he's in trouble, expecting me to clean up the mess he leaves behind.
"It smells so good in here, Jax," Soda said as he let the back door slam, Steve on his heels. "Whatcha makin' over there?"
"Mashed potatoes, that I swear on all that is holy, best be white when I come back," I called over my shoulder. I wiped my hands on my apron before spinning to the boys. I needed a break from the hot kitchen and quite frankly, needed a weed to take the edge off the preholiday jitters.
"Where ya need me?" Soda asked, sensing my need for a few minutes of cold air.
"Keep those potatoes from burning. And no funny colors. Daddy won't eat 'em if they ain't white," I said sternly. "You," I motioned to Steve. "I need you to keep that gravy stirrin'. Give me five minutes, I'll be right back and y'all will be free till supper's done."
"Sir yes sir," Soda chuckled as he and Steve took over. I smiled my thanks before heading towards the living room. Before going outside, I searched the bookshelf for the cookbook I needed. It stood out amongst the photo albums and Pony's chapter books.
"There you are," I said to myself as I tucked it under my arm. I grabbed my pack of Kools off the end table before I gave my dad a kiss on the cheek. "Enjoying the game, daddy?" I asked, happy when he tore his eyes away from the screen long enough to smile at me.
"Sure am, Jackie-girl," he said with a huge smile. "You got yourself a winner with this 'un," he added, nudging Darry's arm. I smiled at the pair before ruffling Darry's hair on my way to the porch.
"Steve Randle, I smell that gravy burnin! Don't stop mixin' it!" I hollered as the door slammed painfully loud behind me.
I wasn't aware Ponyboy was on the porch until I nearly tripped over him, my mind anywhere but on my surroundings.
"Jesus, Ponyboy, scared me half to death," I chided as I sank down next to him, letting him light my weed without hesitation.
"I just don't get it," Pony said sadly. I studied his face and realized immediately that he was crying.
"Get what, hon?" I asked, putting the cookbook down next to me before I slinked my arm around his shoulders. I couldn't help but notice that he hadn't gained back all the weight he lost in Windrixville.
"I miss 'em," he said sadly. This was their first Thanksgiving without their folks. And the first major holiday without Dallas and Johnny.
"We all do, kiddo," I said sincerely.
"I don't get how everyone's actin' like it's no big deal. Like it ain't a fucking tragedy that you're cookin' the meal all on your own 'cause ain't no mom's around. How everyone's actin' like we ain't missin' Dad's laugh or Dally's sideways remarks or Johnny bein' here for football! It's not fair!" Before I could react, his body was trembling with bitter, violent sobs.
"I get it, Pone, I really do," I said gently. I pulled him closer and pressed my cheek into the top of his head. My heart shattered for him. He was only fourteen. Losing the people closest to you isn't easy at any age, but damn it, Ponyboy was still a kid.
"They told me my daddy ain't gonna make it to Christmas," I told him softly. He was the first person I said those words out loud to. "Told me that there ain't nothin' else we can do, but make 'im comfortable and wait till the grim reaper calls 'is card." I felt my chest tighten with the unmistakable pain of panic. "This year's been hard for all of us, Ponyboy. I'm just tryin' to give us somethin' normal to look at."
"It ain't the same without mom and dad," Ponyboy sobbed into my shoulder. I took a long drag on my weed before setting it next to me so I could tip Pony's face so he was looking at me.
"It ain't ever gonna be the same, but it doesn't have to be bad because of it. I knew your mom and dad really, really well. They wouldn't want you sitting out here cryin' about them. They'd want you in there, with your brothers, makin' memories worth remembering," I said gently. I knew it was true. Told Skipper the same thing the first Thanksgiving without our mom. "It ain't ever gonna be easy, but that's just how the cards fall, kiddo. The sooner you accept that, the better. From the moment you're brought into this world, you're promised only one thing, and that is simply that one day, you're gonna die. You are. I am. Darry, Soda, Steve. We're all gonna die one day and there ain't nothin' anyone can do about it. But that's why we make memories. It why we keep traditions alive."
"Ain't no traditions alive today," Ponyboy said bitterly.
"Yeah there is," I countered. "Two-Bit's blitzed before dinner again," I pointed out as Two-Bit stumbled towards us, a chessy-cat grin on his face.
"Mornin' Curtis's," he sang merrily. "Well, Curtis and almost Curtis," he corrected himself.
Ponyboy laughed at his buddy as he stumbled up the stairs.
"Heya Two-Bit," he greeted with a real smile. I smiled and patted Ponyboy on the shoulder as I stood.
"And your momma's green bean casserole is another tradition we're keepin' alive today," I said, picking up the cookbook. "Two-Bit, you're not to step foot in my kitchen until supper, savvy?"
"Yes ma'am," Two-Bit saluted. I shook my head as I walked back inside, catching the front door before it could slam.
"I think you did it wrong, Soda," Steve's voice perked my interest. I sighed and hurried into the kitchen in time to see Soda removing the gravy from the stove, the entire pot billowing with smoke.
"What did you do?" I barked as I snatched the pot from him. My heart sank when I saw the brown mixture now a muddy-like consistency. There was no saving the murky mess.
"Sorry," Soda said with that movie-star grin of his. "I-," I waved my hand and cut him off, trying my best to keep my head.
"It's fine. T'was usin' the chicken stock from Tuesday anyway, I can make more after the turkey's done," I assured him. Even though I was tired and quite frankly, over the headache of cooking, I wasn't about to let a simple mistake damper the boy's mood. "Neither one of you've seen Skip today?"
"Nup," Steve shook his hand as he pulled the pot of potatoes off the stove so I could inspect them. I nodded and motioned for him to turn off the heat. "Ain't seen him since Dally's funeral."
I nodded and glanced at the clock. The turkey had another hour and the only dish left to bake was the casserole which wouldn't take long.
"Can I borrow your car?" I asked Steve. As soon as the words left my mouth, his eyes locked on mine, what was a smile only a second before was now a scowl.
"No," he said sternly, shaking his head. "You ain't need no more stress today, Jax. He ain't a fool, he knows if you ain't home, you're here."
"Steve's right, Jax, if he wants to show face, he will," Soda agreed.
"It's just…" I couldn't help but look into the living room, my heart in my throat. Darry and my dad were joking and debating which team would take the win this year. Ponyboy was perched on the couch, a book open in his lap, though I could tell he was listening hard to the two men talk. Two-Bit was lazily sprawled on the floor, using my jacket as a pillow while he cracked jokes right along with them. I longed for my baby brother to wise up and be more like Darry or Pony. Shoot, I'd even take him bein' like Two-Bit if it meant he was under my roof and not on the streets slumming it somewhere.
"Just what?" Soda asked, moving around the table so he was standing next to me now.
"I want to hold this memory forever," I said softly. So softly I was certain no one heard. I wanted to capture this moment. My father and the love of my life bonding over something they both equally love. My brothers, what was left of them, all safe, under one roof, surrounded by love and laughter. I wanted to freeze this moment and never let it go. But life didn't work that way and time kept on moving on.
"We'll go look for him," Steve said, breaking my steady stream of silently wishes. "Me and Soda, we'll check his usual spots. How long we got 'fore the birds done?"
"An hour. Check the cemetery first. Somethin' tells me if he's been anywhere, it's there," I nodded, forever grateful for Steve's way of reading people. "Ask Pony if he wants to come too, he asked about goin' last night."
Soda nodded and soon enough, I was back to my silence in the hotter than Satan's asshole kitchen.
I groaned inwardly as I went to work on the casserole and tried not to die of heatstroke in the process. Even with the window and back door wide open, the kitchen felt like it was going to smother me with its unforgiving heat. You'd think by the end of November, it'd be cold enough to keep that small kitchen cool, but not that day.
It took me another hour to finish the rest of the meal, but as soon as the timer rung for the turkey to be taken out, I heard the familiar slamming of the front door, signaling that Steve and Soda were back.
"Find him?" I called from the kitchen while I basted the turkey and collected the juices I needed for the gravy. I flipped through Martha's cookbook for her last minute recipe. Her chicken scratch was hard to read but I made due.
"No," Soda sighed as he looped into the kitchen, his mouth watering when he saw the turkey.
"Hands off, Soda," I shooed him away. He grinned at me before sticking a finger in the mashed potatoes.
"Mmm," he purred. "You're amazing," he added with a drip of the potatoes stuck on his finger. "Want me to start pulling out plates?"
"Yeah," I nodded, mixing the fresh batch of gravy. "Turn off the oven, the casserole just needs to set. Let everyone know we're good to go in about 15," I added as I sprinkled a dash of pepper into the brown mixture on the stove. I heard glass clanking and knew Soda was making quick work of the plates and utensils. "Leave out a few extra plates," I called over my shoulder.
"Expecting more people to come?" Darry asked as he came up behind his younger brother to help with the plates. They were teetering in Soda's arms precariously.
"Never know," I shrugged as I tasted the gravy, lowering the heat to ensure it didn't burn while I wiped my hands on my apron for the millionth time. The heat was making my head swim, but I was grateful, more grateful than I had been in a long time. "Maybe Skip will show his face, if not, you know Tim's always coming around when there's free food. I forgot…" I dropped my eyes to the floor. "I forgot we were down a few plates this year."
"It's a house full of growin' boys, Jackie-Girl. Those boys will have it all ate faster than you can think," my father's cheerful voice rang through the kitchen. Ponyboy was pushing him towards me, both wearing the same shit eating grin. "Did Darry here ask ya yet?"
"Not yet, sir, after dinner," Darry said smoothly, though I could see the heat creeping into his cheeks.
"Ask me what?" I demanded. I turned the heat off and moved the gravy onto the cool burner before removing the green bean casserole. The kitchen smelled heavenly, despite the heat. I swerved past my father's wheel chair before setting the hot pan on the counter to cool.
"After dinner," Darry said with a slight smile. I bobbed my head, too concerned about making sure everything was perfect to worry about it.
"Give me a few minutes to cool off, then we'll be good to go. Boys!" I bellowed for the pair still in the living room. The kitchen was too small for everyone. "Get cleaned up. Steve, you're on drink duty, Two-Bit, turn off the game, put on music or somethin'," I instructed. "Soda, try and find those cloth napkins your mom made," I added over my shoulder. "Ain't enough seats in this house for everyone, so chairs are first come first serve."
"She runs a tight ship, son," my father told Darry with a smirk. Darry chuckled and waved his hand, signaling that the rest of the boys had better hurry up and do as they were told.
I made my way out the front door without issue, my jacket slung over my shoulders, a peaceful smile playing on my face as I looked out into the street, so many memories rushing at me as I sank to the top step, my knees to my chest.
"You'd be proud, Martha," I said softly as I lit my smoke, letting the harsh smoke fill my lungs with poison. "Your boys are doin' such an amazing job keepin' it together," I added as I let my gaze fall on the old trucks that were parked on the street. Darry's red Fork pick-up was looking exactly how it had all those years ago when we made out in the back of it, no care for who saw. My father's old Chevy looked worse for wear, but thanks to Steve's generosity, was back on the road and running smoother than it had in the last six years. "It's a shame you ain't here to see it, momma," I whispered. My mother would have been proud if it was one of her rare good days. She used to love Thanksgiving. It was her favorite holiday, even if most of my memories of the food-related holiday were dark because once mom got some wine in her, her mood darkened like the late autumn skies.
"You did good today, babe," Darry's soft voice startled me as I let the ashes from my weed fall onto the chipped paint of the overly worn porch. "Everything's perfect." He came and sat next to me, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders as he pulled me against his side, pressing his lips into the side of my head. "Thank you."
"No, thank you," I said softly, my icy eyes locked on his. I tipped my face so I was able to press a kiss into his chapped lips. "I needed this."
"We all did," he assured me. "Your dad seems to be doin' well."
"He won't talk about it," I sighed, shaking my head. "All he talked about was how he was happy I got to rekindle what we had all those years ago. He always said you were the right one for me." I couldn't help but smile at the memory. We had talked long and hard about my relationship with Darry after his most recent stroke. My daddy was afraid I'd end up alone because I spent all my time taking care of him and Skip. He told me it was okay to let my heart win for a change and with that, that very same night, I ended up on Darry's front porch proclaiming my undying love for him.
"He's a good man, Jax," Darry said with a gentle smile. His eyes didn't look as tired. His smile was bigger, his shoulders lighter. I could relate. It had only been a month since we officially made our relationship official and in that time, we'd agreed that no one was shouldering any single burden alone. He helped with my dad and made sure I paused long enough to take care of myself and in return, I helped keep Ponyboy on track after the painful losses of Dallas and Johnny and I kept Soda from becoming anymore reckless than he already was. The entire gang, no, family really, had become the brothers I needed in my life to keep me steady and going.
"Your dad's askin' when we can cut the turkey," Steve's voice called from the doorway, a cigarette of his own dangling between his lips. "Said you're takin' too long out here."
"Tell him to give me another minute," I said softly as I turned to look at one of my dearest friends. I don't want this to end, I thought as I took a long drag, listening to Steve tell my father what I had just said. The sound of his wheelchair moving through the house let me know he was about to come interrupt the calm, timeless moment I was silently enjoying, with Darry's arm protectively reminding me it was okay to feel again.
"Jackie-Girl," my daddy's voice traveled with the same determination it always had. "It's freezing out here, come, let's eat."
"Just another minute, daddy," I said softly, my eyes drifting out to the street. "I wanna give Skip one more minute to come," I added.
"Darlin', that brother of yours ain't shown face in months. He wasn't there when you buried his best friend, he wasn't there when you begged 'im to help keep our roof up above our heads. I don't understand why you hold out hope that that chil' is ever gonna amount to anything," his slurred and scrambled words nearly gave me a headache trying to unscramble, but his point was clear. To him, Skip was already dead.
"Because it's what Mom woulda did," I said softly. I turned so I was facing my father. "We always gave the stragglers an extra minute."
"He knows where his plate is," my father said with a scoff. "The bird's gettin' cold, come on."
With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, I stood, my back cracking as it realigned. Darry stood next to me, his arm still wrapped protectively around me. It was there, in the late afternoon light, that I saw just how far Darrel Curtis Jr. would go for me.
"Sir, with all due respect, give her another minute," his voice was stern and matter-of-fact. "She earned that much."
My father looked ready to argue, but instead, nodded to Soda who had his hands on the wheelchair to turn him around.
"Your funeral," he shot back as he nodded, letting Soda know it was okay to roll him back on inside.
"No, daddy," I said softly, turning so I could bury my face into Darry's chest. "It's Skip's."
Once everyone was settled in the living room with plates heaped a mile high with food and drinks were poured, we all lapsed into comfortable conversations, laughter and joking echoing off the walls of the Curtis's living room. Soda had picked a Christmas music record from their parent's collection to play, and at that moment, merry holiday cheer was lulling the gang into what I could only call, one of the most perfect memories ever.
"So Darry, when are you-," my father's question was cut off by the slamming of the front door, which caused all of us to jump. I was sitting on the arm of Darry's recliner, so I was able to turn easily to see who it was.
"C'mon kid, you're dead weight, walk," a gruff voice growled. As soon as the greasy brown head poked around the corner, I was on my feet, my plate now forgotten on the coffee table.
"Skipper John Richards, where on god's green earth have you been?" I demanded as I rushed over, looping one arm under my brother's armpit, my other holding him upright. His once chocolate brown eyes were now bloodshot and glassy. He looked like he had dropped thirty pounds since Dally's funeral.
"Found 'im passed out behind Buck's. Sorry to crash your little holiday shindig," Tim grunted as he let me take over the brunt of my brother's weight. "Found uh, some questionable shit next to 'im. Kid needs help."
"Thanks for bringin' him Tim," I said softly. I wasn't aware Darry was now next to me until I felt him relieve me of my brother's dead weight. "Help yourself to a plate, Tim," Darry said as he nodded to his old friend. Tim shifted awkwardly, looking around the small living room.
"Thanks for bringing my son home, Son," my father said sincerely. He was trying to wheel himself over to inspect the scene but thankfully, with all the legs sprawled out in front of him he couldn't move.
"Sure thing, sir," Tim said with a hint of politeness I've never heard from Tim before.
"Wanna use them legs of yours, Skip?" I demanded as I helped Darry lead him into the bathroom. His face was riddled with bruises and cuts. His knuckles were busted and it didn't take a brain surgeon to know that he was higher than a kite while we patched up the wounds we could see.
"Why ya even here, Jacklyn? Playin' housewife an' all," he questioned when Darry went into the kitchen to find something frozen to wrap around Skip's busted hand.
"Excuse me?" I asked, locking eyes with my kid brother.
"You and me both know it ain't Darry. It's Soda. You're in love with Sodapop."
"You really are on drugs, ain't you?" I countered. I can't explain it, even now, but that comment boiled my blood in ways I wasn't expecting. "Don't you get it Skip? Sodapop? Ponyboy? Shoot, throw in Steve and Two-Bit too. They're the kid brothers I wish I raisin'. Instead God had to throw me a junkie who can't even show up to a family holiday without causing a scene."
"Aw shoot, ain't no one askin' you to raise me, Jax, just let me die," Skip shrugged. "Go be a fucking Curtis for alls I care. You ain't never been like us anyhow. Mom was a drunk. Dad's an broken shell 'o a man. And me? Shoot, it's a bloody miracle I'm still kickin'."
"Skip, it ain't like that," I said grimly. I could hear Darry approaching, but that didn't stop Skip from making his next comment, one that he would instantly regret.
"You know he'll never be able to do right by you, right? You're too damn stubborn and you're gonna drive him to uh early grave because you just ain't the lovin' type. Thought you'd've learned that after losin' so many folks you swore you loved. Dallas is dead 'cause of you. Johnny, mom, shit, even the Curtis's folks. You're cursed, Jacklyn. You're nothin' but a tornado. Destroyin' everything in your wake," he growled, shoving me away, causing me to bang painfully into the sink.
I knew it was the drugs talking. This wasn't the first time Skip's blamed me for people dying. But Darry, bless his heart, hadn't had to deal with my brother's drug induced accusations before.
"Get out," Darry's stern voice bellowed as he picked Skip up by his arms and shoved him into the hallway. "You will never talk to her like that again, savvy? Jax bends over backwards to keep you outta a boys home, off the streets. She tries to save you ever single day, and you just go on and on like you don't see it with your own two eyes."
"She's gonna break you too, Darry, you'll see," Skip spat. He literally spat at Darry. And that was the final straw. Before I could think, I was throwing myself between him, just as Darry's leadlike fist flew, it's intended target my brother's face, but my forceful shove had moved my brother in time. Instead the weight of the blow hit my right cheek at record speed. I felt my cheekbone crunch under the weight of his fist, stars clouding my vision as I stumbled, now tangled and tripped on my brother's legs.
"What the hell man," Tim's voice cut through the eerie silence. Soda was up on his feet, his plate falling to the floor with a loud thud as he jumped over his friends' legs to get to me.
"Damn it Dar," he moaned as he reached me, his hands gingerly inspecting the damage.
"I ain't…I…" Darry spun and sank in front of the toilet, losing his dinner with each deep heave.
"I'm okay," I assured them, all of them. "It was my fault."
"Told you," Skip laughed bleakly, shoving him way out from under me.
"Naw, it's all your fault," Steve said as he came up behind my brother, pulling him away. He shoved the scrawny boy towards Tim, who with pleasure, planted a firm blow to his nose before shoving him towards the door.
"I'll take care of it," he assured me when he saw my pleading gaze.
I nodded, wincing as the pain rippled down my cheek, causing a stray tear to escape.
"Golly, that's sure gonna leave a nice shiner," Soda said softly. "Where's that ice?"
"Right here," Steve said as he tenderly placed it to my cheek. I yelped and flinched back. Steve grimaced and pressed it back to my bruising skin, this time holding it in place.
"Soda, go check on Darry," I said through gritted teeth. "Tell 'im I'm okay. It wasn't his fault."
Soda nodded and did as he was told. I felt my heart break into a million pieces as I wondered if this was going to be the final straw for Darry and me. Maybe deep down, Skip was right. Darry was one of the few men I knew who prided himself on not using his hands to solve problems within his family. Especially after what happened with Ponyboy a few months back. I wanted nothing more than to go to his side and tell him that everything was okay and he didn't need to worry none, but Steve was keeping me seated against the wall. That was, until Pony's worried tone cut through the fuzzy haze that was beginning to cloud my vision.
"Uh…Jax, I think somethin's wrong," he said softly as he kneeled in front of my father. "Jax?"
"No," I moaned as I gently, half-heartedly shoved Steve off me. Steve helped me to my feet, but refused to leave my side. Hovering like a mother hen, something everyone knew I hated.
"Daddy?" I called, shaking my father's shoulder. His head drooped to one side. "Dad?" Nothing. I pulled Ponyboy away and took his spot in front of my father. My fingers traced his jawline, finding the right spot on the side of his neck. "No, no, no, no," I moaned. There was no pulse. "Daddy, don't do this, not today," I begged, sinking to my knees, my hands now clasping his. "Dad!"
"Call an ambulance," Steve's broken voice told someone. But I was lost in my own little emotional bubble. I begged my dad to come back. I begged god to give me five for minutes. I begged anyone and everyone to cut me some slack – to give me one holiday that wasn't filled with drama and sadness.
But if I've learned anything about life, it's that us greasers? We don't ever get to catch a break. Never.
"And with that, his daughter has asked for a chance to speak on his behalf," the minister said gently. I looked up from where I sat next to Darry, whose hand was interlocked with mine. I sucked in a deep breath before freeing my fingers and slowly, walking down the little path that led right up to the coffin my father was lying in.
My eyes scanned the crowd and it seemed all too familiar. The only people present were those who had been there every day since my mother died all those years ago. The gang, a handful of coworkers from both the Dingo and the market. Two-Bit's mom and little sister. Shepherd and his gang. But the person who should have been there sharing this grief wasn't. Skip was nowhere to be found.
"Jax," the minister said gently, reminding me that I was standing up there, all eyes on me.
"My father, boy, he was a man of few words, but when he spoke, you listened. I remember the first time he taught me how to change a tired or the first time he helped me catch a fish. My father always said it didn't matter that I was born a girl – I was no lady and that was perfectly okay.
I spent the last six years watching my father's health fall apart. I've held his hand while his body fought against him. It's hard to remember a time when I wasn't taking care of him, instead of the other way around.
God likes to take people at the most uncanny of times. I've had to learn that over the years. But I also learned that that's why you hold onto the people you love. You hold 'em close and make sure to keep them memories close."
My eyes scanned the crowd again. I wasn't going to mention my father's time in the second world war, but it felt like it had to be said.
"My father didn't talk about his time in the second world war often, but when he did, he would always remind me to love a little harder. Hold on a little tighter. Forgive as often as I can. Because when those birthday ballots come-a-knocking, all that's gonna matter is how hard you love our boys. That love is gonna bring 'em home, he'd always say. That havin' faith that love always wins is enough to keep 'em safe."
I felt tears prick in my eyes as I looked at my brothers. We were lucky enough that Two-Bit wouldn't get drafted as he was his father's only son. The same could be said for Steve, but my heart told me that if Soda's number was called, Steve would follow his friend to war. Both were under a year shy of 18. Tim and his boys…it would be a miracle if none of them were called and enlisted willingly. And I could only hope my brother would enlist. Maybe it would save him to follow in our father's footsteps.
"So," I started as I turned to face the coffin that was already in the ground, though there was no dirt in place yet. I knelt down, the same black dress I wore to my mother's funeral, flowing freely around my thin frame, and let the cool dirt flow between my fingers as I picked up a handful. "In honor of my father, who loved his family with every fiber in his body, I ask you to love a little harder. Tell your moms you love them. Tell your dads you admire them. Hug your brothers a little longer tonight. Let your sisters tell you about the guy they like or the girl that did them wrong. Love harder. Laugh harder. Live harder. Because tomorrow ain't promised. All we've got is today. And today, I'm lucky to be alive. To be here to say goodbye. To be here to remember what's so damn important in this lifetime. I love you daddy, thank you, for teachin' me that love always wins."
The dirt dropped onto the black casket, followed by the tears I had fought so hard not to shed.
It was there, in that little patch if trees, tucked between the Curtis parents and our fallen friends, I became an orphan at twenty-one. It was there, in the cold November air, that I buried the best father I could have asked for. And it was there, as the snowflakes from our first snowfall of the years started to come down, that I promised myself that I would follow my father's advice. I would love with all my heart and not care if it got me hurt. Because if I could feel that pain, it meant that I was still alive.
It was there, two days after Thanksgiving, that I learned the dangers of dinners.
The End