BRENNA
Derrick’s father’s house is not the mansion I expected it to be, but a brownstone in Beacon Hill, which I suppose is Boston’s equivalent of mansion living. The area is gorgeous, though.
Derrick barely said a word during the two-hour drive into the city. Tension has been rolling off his suit-clad body in palpable waves, which has only succeeded in making me even more nervous. Apparently his father demanded he wear a suit. And when Joesph Synder found out his son was bringing a date, he requested that I also dress formally, hence my fancy blue dress, which I wore to Brayden’s spring showcase last year. The silky material falls to my knees, and I paired it with four-inch silver heels that made Derrick grin when he showed up at my door, as he informed me that he might now actually be able to kiss me standing up without getting a crick in his neck.
We’re greeted at the front doors not by Derrick’s dad, but by a pretty blonde in a red cocktail gown that flutters around her ankles. She’s also wearing a lacy black overlay with full sleeves, which I find odd because it’s like a million degrees inside the house. Seriously, it’s hot in here, and I waste no time shrugging out of my pea coat in the elegant parlor.
“Derrick,” the woman says warmly. “I’m so happy we convinced you to come home!” Her deep, wise eyes that reveal a person has lived through several lifetimes already. I’m not sure why I get that sense. Nothing about her elegant outfit or perfect smile hints that she’s seen hard times, but I can’t help but think of this womans part in Derrick’s upbringing.
Derrick answers in a brusque, but polite voice. “Mom, it’s nice to see you too…?”
He lets that hang, and her pale blue eyes flicker with unhappiness, as if she’s realised the part she plays in Derrick moving away.
“Catherine,” she fills in. “And you must be Derrick’s girlfriend.”
“Brenna,” I supply, leaning in to shake her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetie! Your father is in the sitting room,” she tells Derrick. “He’s very excited to see you.”
Neither Catherine nor I miss the sardonic snort that sounds from Derrick’s direction. I squeeze his hand in a silent warning to be nice, all the while wondering what I’m going to walk in to. It doesn’t seem fair that a man like Joesph Synder should have all these rooms and the money to furnish them, while good people are working so hard to keep their roof over their heads.
When we walk in, Derrick’s dad is in a brown wing-backed chair, balancing a tumbler of amber liquid on his knee. Like Derrick, he’s wearing a suit, and the resemblance between them is jarring. They have the same gray eyes, the same strong jaw and chiseled face, but Joesph’s features seem sharper, and he has wrinkles around his mouth, as if he scowled one too many times and his muscles froze in that position.
“Joesph, this is Brenna,” Catherine says cheerily as she settles on the plush loveseat next to Joesph’s chair.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Synder,” I say politely. He nods at me. That’s it. A nod. I have no idea what to say after that, and my palm goes clammy in Derrick’s hand.
“Have a seat, you two.” Catherine gestures to the leather sofa near the electric fireplace. I sit.
Derrick remains standing. He doesn’t say a word to his father. Or to Catherine. Or to me. If he’s planning on keeping up this silent routine all night, then we’re in for one long and awkward Thanksgiving. Absolute silence stretches between the four of us. I think back to my family, how the tension between all of us never stopped it from feeling like family. But as I sit here I’ve come to realize that I underestimated everything Derrick told me about his.
“So, Brenna, what do you do for work?” Catherine Breaks the silence.
“Fashion, clothing. I help create pieces for magazines to be more exact.”
“Oh,” she says. More silence. Derrick rests his shoulder against the tall oak bookcase near the door. I sneak a peek in his direction and notice that his expression is completely vacant. I sneak a peek in Joesph’s direction and notice that his expression is the same. Oh God. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive this night.
“Something smells wonderful—” I start.
“I should go check on the turkey—” Catherine starts. We both laugh awkwardly.
“Let me help you with that.” I practically dive to my feet, I sway for one heart-stopping moment, terrified I’m going to topple over, but then my equilibrium steadies and I’m able to take a step without falling. Yep, I’m a terrible girlfriend. Uncomfortable situations make me nervous and itchy, and as much as I want to stick by Derrick’s side and help him through this hell of a night, I can’t stomach the thought of being trapped in a room with two males whose animosity is tainting all the oxygen in the room.
Shooting Derrick an apologetic look, I trail after Catherine, who leads me into a large, modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and black marble counters. The delicious aromas are stronger here, and there are enough tin-foil-covered dishes on the counter to feed an entire third-world country. And once again, I’m forced to reflect on the life I’ve always known.
“Did you cook all this?” I exclaim. She turns with a shy smile. “I did. I love to cook, but Joesph rarely gives me the chance to do it. He prefers to dine out.” Catherine slips on a pair of plush mitts before opening the oven door. “So how long have you and Derrick been seeing each other?” she says, beginning to sound more like a mother who cares about her son, setting the enormous turkey pan on the stovetop.
“About a month.” I watch as she lifts the aluminum foil off the massive bird. “What about you and Mr. Synder?”
“Coming up on thiry-four years” Her back is turned to me, so I can’t see her expression, but something about her tone raises my guard. “We met at a charity event I was organizing.”
“Oh. Are you an event planner?”
She sticks a thermometer into the breast area of the turkey, then the legs, and her shoulders visibly relax. “It’s ready,” she murmurs. “And to answer your question, I was an event planner, but I sold my company years ago. Joesph said he misses me too much when I’m at work.” Um. What? I can’t imagine ever giving up my job because the man in my life misses me too much when I’m at work. To me, that’s a red flag if I ever saw one, but then again maybe she knew how bad it was for Derrick when she was gone.
“Oh. That’s…nice.” I gesture to the counter. “Do you want me to help you heat everything up? Or are we not eating right away?”
“Joesph expects to eat the moment the turkey is ready.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “When he sets a schedule, he expects everyone to follow it.” Catherine points to the large bowl by the microwave. “You can start by heating up the potatoes. I still need to make the gravy.” She holds up a gravy mix packet. “Usually I make it from scratch using the turkey juices, but we’re strapped for time, so this will have to do.”
She turns off the oven and places the turkey on the counter before turning her attention to the gravy. The wall over the stove is covered with hooks of pots and pans, and as she reaches up to grab one, her lacy sleeves ride up, and either I’m imagining it, or there’s bluish-black bruising on the undersides of both her wrists. As if someone grabbed her. Hard.
Her arms come down and the sleeves cover her forearms, and I decide that the black lace was playing tricks on my eyes. Catherine glances over her shoulder, an unmistakable flicker of sorrow in her eyes. “I’m not sure anyone ever told you this, but spontaneity has the tendency to backfire on you.” I have no clue how to respond. Nor any clue as to where this came from.
So I say, “Oh.” I get the feeling I’m going to be saying that word a lot tonight