Dad isn't exactly thrilled to receive an invitation from Zack's family to have Thanksgiving dinner at the Brooks’ place. He hasn't said much since the video came out at the football game, but I know he's upset. More for me than for him, but still, even though I told him I forgave Zack, it isn't enough. Nor should it be, considering what Zack did to me.
Still, when the invitation comes, it's tempting to go.
“I did not know he was the one that drove you home from school,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like he’s severely disappointed. I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth and grimace. I never lie to my dad; I try to make it a habit not to lie at all. The thing is, I didn't exactly tell him either.
“Dad,” I start, glancing over at the brown paper bags full of groceries on the counter. I went shopping for everything we would need to have a huge Thanksgiving feast, but I’m just … tired, and Dad’s tired, and quite frankly it sounds kind of fun to hang out with Zack. Does that make me a crazy person? “Look, I'm not trying to minimize what Zack did to me. But I know you like to hang out with him, and I know he kept you company last year when I was gone. Going over to his house for dinner doesn't mean that he's been forgiven or that has sins have been forgotten.” I exhale and slide my palms down the front of my red skirt. “But don't you think he deserves a second chance? You gave one to Jennifer.”
Charlie purses his thin lips and tucks his hands into the pockets of his paint-covered overalls. He must believe in second chances, or he really wouldn’t be having an affair with Jennifer. We haven't talked about that yet; it seems so unimportant right now. Dad's health is the only thing that matters.
“I guess they'll probably have a full spread over there …” He starts, and I grin. I don't need to keep pressing: I’ve already won him over. Dad says I forgive too easily, but he also believes in the power of forgiveness. It’s a fine line to walk.
So on Thursday, we had over to the Brooks’ family home in Dad's rusted-out Ford. It rattles down the pristine white limestone driveway, coming to a stop near an impressive set of steps. The porch on this house is as big as the entire Train Car.
Zack is waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall near the front door with his big hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. I surprised to see him dressed up in a white button-down and jacket. He seems so uncomfortable in it, like he'd rather be in sweats and a tank, working out in the gym. Even though he seems nonchalant, I can tell he’s nervous about our visit. Probably nervous about confronting my father. As he should be, anyway.
Charlie gets out of the car in his unflattering yellow and red plaid button-down (I tried to convince him not to wear it) and brown slacks. Pretty sure this is the same outfit he wore to his friend’s wedding two or three decades ago. He’s also wearing an extreme frown that looks carved into the slightly wrinkled planes of his face. As he makes his way around the front of the truck and heads up the stairs, Zack lifts his head and meets my eyes.
There's no doubt about it: my heart stumbles, trips, falls. I have a hard time breathing, and my palms are suddenly sweaty. I curse those damn teenage hormones out again, and roll my eyes as Charlie approaches Zack with a no-nonsense expression on his face.
“Zack.”
“Mr. Reed.”
The two men stare each other down, and I wait at the bottom of the steps to see who will break the tension first. Even though I can tell it pains him, Zack is the one to do it, glancing away from my father and toward the rocking chair covered pumpkins, bits of hay, and a smiling scarecrow. The entire porch is decorated in fall themes: orange, red, and yellow leaves, turkey silhouettes, horns of plenty. I wonder who did the decorating? Probably someone that was paid to do it. The Brooks don’t exactly strike me as a family who does their own decorating.
Zack looks back to my father again, and meets his stare dead-on.
“Sir, I apologized to your daughter once, but I'll do it again. I’d like to apologize to you, too.” Zack lifts his chin proudly. “For the things I've done, there are no words to make up for it. But I really am sorry. From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.” Zack turns his brown gaze over to me, and I feel a little thrill shoot through me. It takes everything I have in me not to fidget. “Thank you, Marnye.”
Before I can think of what to say, the front door opens, and Zack's mom, Robin, steps out. She’s dressed in a tasteful cream suit with low heels, her chocolate hair frothing around her face. When she sees me, she smiles.
“To be honest,” she says, as she tucks her hands in her pockets and steps onto the deck, “I didn't think you were going to accept our invitation. But I'm glad you did.” Robin glances over at Charlie, and they shake hands in a very businesslike manner. I know they had a long, long conversation at the football game, but I’m not entirely sure how it went down. “Come on in.”
Robin gestures for us to head inside, and we do, moving down a long, marble hallway and into a formal dining room that’s laid out like a magazine spread.
“My parents love to put on a show,” Zack whispers, leaning over my shoulder and putting his lips near my ear. My entire body goes white-hot in an instant and goose bumps spring up along my arms. Luckily, Dad is too busy being introduced to Zack’s sister, Kelsey, and some family friends of theirs. Zack’s dad is nowhere to be seen. “Just … don’t praise my mom for her home cooking,” he adds with a slight quirk of his mouth. “It’s all catered.”
Zack pulls out a chair for me, and I tuck my fluffy red skirt under my thighs before sitting. He rests his hands briefly on my shoulders before pushing me in and sitting beside me. Charlie’s definitely watching us now, and I flush.
“I have to admit, I didn’t want to come over here,” Dad says as he sits across from me, and Robin takes up her spot at the head of the table. Zack’s sister sits across from him, and the couple—I didn’t catch either of their names—is at the end of the table. “But my daughter is a very forgiving soul. It’s a trait I can’t bear to discourage.”
I smile tightly, and Zack raises both of his dark brows. If Charlie only knew … Would he be proud of me? Or disappointed? I try not to think too hard about it.
“Well, my son is quite the opposite, unfortunately,” Robin says, and Zack narrows his eyes. He looks at his mother, and they exchange one of those quiet, personal conversations that requires no words. “He seems to take after his father, sadly enough.”
“Why do you say things like that?” Zack whispers, his voice low and dark, menacing. “You know that’s a bunch of bullshit. I’m nothing like him.”
“What you did to this girl,” Robin says, as she stands up with a pair of carving knives in hand. She’s a bit scary like that. “That was something your father would’ve done at your age. If you’re ashamed, then good: you should be.”
Zack scowls, but I smile. Robin reminds me of Kathleen a little, just a bit … softer? After a moment, she sighs and forces a smile of her own.
“I love you, son. Don’t mess this up. Pulling a girl’s pigtails because you like her isn’t cute.”
“Like her?” Dad echoes, looking between me and Zack like he’s just now figured something out.
Oh god.
Robin chuckles as Charlie narrows his eyes on her son. Meanwhile, Zack just sits there like he always does, a chiseled bunch of muscles and a narrowed dark gaze. When he glances over at me, I suddenly decide we’re sitting too close. But would scooting my chair away a few inches be too obvious? Probably.
“The boy has a crush,” Robin says, and her friends both laugh while Dad sits there with his brow all scrunched up. Zack’s sister, Kelsey, isn’t shy about voicing her opinions either. She doesn’t look like Zack or her mother, so I figure her pale orange hair and light green eyes are a product of their father’s genetics.
“He pined after her all last year. It was absolutely intoxicating.”
Zack growls at his sister, but Robin just tsk-tsks at them and starts to carve the turkey, passing out slices to me and Dad first, then her friends, her daughter, and lastly, her son. She winks at him when she finally passes over the plate.
“I’m just glad they’re both going to the academy,” Kelsey says, smiling prettily at me. She seems nice enough, but I’m so wary of beautiful girls now. I shouldn’t be—that’s some stupid internalized misogyny right there—but it’s true. I’m scared of beautiful boys, too, so at least nobody could call me sexist. “Zack’s basically obsessed.”
“Okay, Kelsey, you can shut the fuck up now,” Zack says, but I’m holding back laughter, and Dad is terrified out of his mind.
“The f-word at the dinner table? Come on, Zack Marcus Brooks, have some class.” Robin takes her seat, and we all serve ourselves from the side dishes. Everything looks so pretty, like it’s from a cooking show or something. It’s prettier than last year, when Zack and I sat at a big, lonely table all by ourselves. This is much better.
I’m overwhelmed briefly by déjà vu, like I’m playing out the same story out, just with a different outcome. Creed with the notebook, Zack at Thanksgiving. But this time, when the bet is won, and hearts are being shattered like fragile glass baubles, it won’t be mine that’s on the ground in bloodied pieces.
No, this time, it’s the Idols who are going to get a taste of their own medicine.
I smile as I scoop up a bit of sweet potato and catch Zack watching me.
Underneath the table, his long leg bumps into mine, and I feel my throat get suddenly tight. Butterflies take over, and it takes all I’ve got to focus on the conversation at hand. Apparently Robin’s friends own a vineyard and they’re looking for someone to create some custom ironwork arches, benches, and beds for their B&B. Dad ends up with a job and a glass of scotch that costs more than his car, while Zack and I retreat to the backyard and dip our legs in the heated pool.