again.
“You know what? I could use some air.” Matt pushed his chair back, smiling genially.
Blake nodded. “Me too.”
“I could too, but something tells me I’m loading the dishwasher,” Katie mumbled.
Shane leaned forward to shoot her a wink. “In my house the people who load the dishwasher get first crack at dessert. Wanna adopt that tradition?”
“Yes!” Danny was gathering plates a second later.
In a flurry of activity, the table was cleared, and Matt and Blake had disappeared out the front door, most likely in search of Kent. Miranda hovered near the doorway, clearly at a loss for what to do. And Evan watched Katie glaring a hole in her sister’s head.
“Ease up,” he said quietly as they leaned over the sink.
“No.” Katie sighed as she scraped off a plate into the disposal. “She’s ruining the holiday. Again. She’s making that poor skinny boy so upset. And I’m sick of it.”
“She’s… she’s just still missing Mom….” Evan couldn’t help but stand up for Miranda. He couldn’t abandon her, even now.
“Really? Seriously? Me too.” Katie slammed the plate on the counter. “All the time. But you know what? I don’t feel the need to make everyone else feel like shit.”
The whispers and plate slamming caught Cornelia’s attention, which was exactly what Evan didn’t want. He put his arm around Katie’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Relax. Please?”
Katie let out a frustrated sigh. “Right. I’m the good one. I’m not supposed to get pissed.”
She said it without heat, without malice, just a heavy dose of reality.
“You can be pissed all you want. I’m just trying to get through dessert without Cornelia calling Social Services on me,” Evan tried to joke.
“They think we’re awful and crazy, don’t they?”
“Yeah. I was worried about the gay thing. I totally forgot the emotionally constipated and explosive drama stuff.”
“We should come with a warning label, Dad.”
Helena supervised the rest of the cleanup, and Shane pulled Cornelia into conversation after conversation. Evan owed him at least a kidney by the time they got everything put away and the coffee started.
“If you ever need anything—internal organ, a getaway car—seriously, I’m there for you,” Evan murmured to Shane as they reentered the dining room.
The younger man snorted. “Aw come on—this is fun. It’s also ending up in my next play, so… forewarned.”
“God, at least make me have more hair and more patience.”
“Deal.”
“Excuse me, Evan?”
He turned to find Cornelia, arms folded over her chest.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, still holding on to his politeness.
“Actually I’d like to speak with you for a moment in private.”
It was a summoning, and Shane whistled as he headed in the opposite direction.
Lucky.
Evan turned on his heel, following Cornelia into the kitchen. He knew there she might be pissed about any number of things, from the drama to the host of surprises. He started crafting apologies as soon as they stepped into the room.
“Evan, I just wanted to say I appreciate you hosting us for Thanksgiving, but I’m just… I’m not sure I feel supportive of Kent and Miranda’s relationship.” Her words were a rush. He could hear the anger and stress fueling each syllable.
He nodded, the urge to defend his daughter automatic. “They’re young and—”
“It was nothing to do with age. Blake and I were married at nineteen.” She frowned. “I just don’t think Miranda is the sort of person I want my son associating with.”
Evan’s mood soured from apologetic to excuse me? and he quickly matched Cornelia’s expression. “She has some issues with her mother’s death—that’s not really a character defect.” His tone could cut concrete.
“No, it’s not. But it is being used as a weapon with my son a pawn in her little game. I’m not blind, Evan. And I’m not stupid. She set us up by not saying anything about you
“You know what? I could use some air.” Matt pushed his chair back, smiling genially.
Blake nodded. “Me too.”
“I could too, but something tells me I’m loading the dishwasher,” Katie mumbled.
Shane leaned forward to shoot her a wink. “In my house the people who load the dishwasher get first crack at dessert. Wanna adopt that tradition?”
“Yes!” Danny was gathering plates a second later.
In a flurry of activity, the table was cleared, and Matt and Blake had disappeared out the front door, most likely in search of Kent. Miranda hovered near the doorway, clearly at a loss for what to do. And Evan watched Katie glaring a hole in her sister’s head.
“Ease up,” he said quietly as they leaned over the sink.
“No.” Katie sighed as she scraped off a plate into the disposal. “She’s ruining the holiday. Again. She’s making that poor skinny boy so upset. And I’m sick of it.”
“She’s… she’s just still missing Mom….” Evan couldn’t help but stand up for Miranda. He couldn’t abandon her, even now.
“Really? Seriously? Me too.” Katie slammed the plate on the counter. “All the time. But you know what? I don’t feel the need to make everyone else feel like shit.”
The whispers and plate slamming caught Cornelia’s attention, which was exactly what Evan didn’t want. He put his arm around Katie’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Relax. Please?”
Katie let out a frustrated sigh. “Right. I’m the good one. I’m not supposed to get pissed.”
She said it without heat, without malice, just a heavy dose of reality.
“You can be pissed all you want. I’m just trying to get through dessert without Cornelia calling Social Services on me,” Evan tried to joke.
“They think we’re awful and crazy, don’t they?”
“Yeah. I was worried about the gay thing. I totally forgot the emotionally constipated and explosive drama stuff.”
“We should come with a warning label, Dad.”
Helena supervised the rest of the cleanup, and Shane pulled Cornelia into conversation after conversation. Evan owed him at least a kidney by the time they got everything put away and the coffee started.
“If you ever need anything—internal organ, a getaway car—seriously, I’m there for you,” Evan murmured to Shane as they reentered the dining room.
The younger man snorted. “Aw come on—this is fun. It’s also ending up in my next play, so… forewarned.”
“God, at least make me have more hair and more patience.”
“Deal.”
“Excuse me, Evan?”
He turned to find Cornelia, arms folded over her chest.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, still holding on to his politeness.
“Actually I’d like to speak with you for a moment in private.”
It was a summoning, and Shane whistled as he headed in the opposite direction.
Lucky.
Evan turned on his heel, following Cornelia into the kitchen. He knew there she might be pissed about any number of things, from the drama to the host of surprises. He started crafting apologies as soon as they stepped into the room.
“Evan, I just wanted to say I appreciate you hosting us for Thanksgiving, but I’m just… I’m not sure I feel supportive of Kent and Miranda’s relationship.” Her words were a rush. He could hear the anger and stress fueling each syllable.
He nodded, the urge to defend his daughter automatic. “They’re young and—”
“It was nothing to do with age. Blake and I were married at nineteen.” She frowned. “I just don’t think Miranda is the sort of person I want my son associating with.”
Evan’s mood soured from apologetic to excuse me? and he quickly matched Cornelia’s expression. “She has some issues with her mother’s death—that’s not really a character defect.” His tone could cut concrete.
“No, it’s not. But it is being used as a weapon with my son a pawn in her little game. I’m not blind, Evan. And I’m not stupid. She set us up by not saying anything about you
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