Page 33 of Going All In

Mom and Josie are already squabbling in the kitchen over who should peel the potatoes. Every year this comes up, and every year I vow that I’m going to buy another peeler just to avoid this situation. I don’t know why one of them doesn’t just use a knife.

“Josefina Consuela Anderson!”

My mother’s voice raises to her “I’m trying to yell” volume, which isn’t much louder than most people speak in a crowded room, but it’s always had the effect of grabbing our attention when we were young. She’s normally so soft-spoken that it’s a big departure from her usual tone and in turn gets results.

Unless the kid you’re yelling at is thirty-six.

I step between the two of them. “Hey, Mom, Josie.” I give them each a hug. “No one brought another peeler this year?”

Josie rolls her eyes. “Not my fault. We flew down from Boston. You can’t take a peeler on a plane.”

Cam gives my mother a quick embrace. “Thanks for having me, Mrs. A.”

“Oh, any time, dear,” my mother says, hugging him back. “Happy you’re here.”

I steal a carrot from one of the cutting boards and pop it in my mouth. My mom smacks my hand as I go for another.

“Stop stealing food. You’ll eat at four,” she scolds.

I chew the carrot and swallow. I’ll grab more when they’re not looking. “How come you’re not decorated for Christmas yet? You usually have the tree up by now.”

It was the first thing I noticed when I walked in. My mom loves to decorate for Christmas, but I don’t see a single mini tree or piece of tinsel anywhere.

My mom looks toward the hall to the family room, then focuses on the potatoes she’s peeling. “It’s… well, it’s not really my stuff to tell. But Robert said that Christmas was always really special to Holly growing up, and her mom made it this big deal, all magical. And he said that since his wife passed, Holly hasn’t wanted to celebrate. So I just figured I’d wait. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I don’t want her to think I’m trying to replace her mom.”

She shrugs and looks up just in time to catch me stealing another piece of carrot. She points the peeler at me like a weapon. “Get out of my kitchen. And buy your own damn tree this year like the adult you supposedly are.”

* * *

“Andthenhe knocked his front teeth out during a Little League game.” My mom points to a picture of me in the album that’s perched on Holly’s lap. “He was playing with the bat, holding it in his mouth for some reason, and he knocked those teeth right out!”

Holly laughs as she looks at yet another embarrassing photo of me. This one features me in a baseball uniform, blood decorating the front of it. The teeth hadn’t been quite ready to come out.

“Aw, Maddox, you look adorable.” Holly smiles at me. “Did he cry, Judy?”

My mom snickers. I raise my eyes to the heavens. Jesus, don’t they have pies to make or potatoes to mash? Why are we focused on old photo albums?

I reach for the album on her lap in an attempt to snatch it away. “Why don’t you look at pictures of Addie or Josie? I’m sure their childhood photos are a lot cuter than mine.”

Holly smirks. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to theirs soon.” She turns the page.

My mom claps her hands. “Oh, I remember this! The fourth-grade spelling bee!”

Holly is trying and failing to hold in a laugh. “Maddox, you were a spelling bee champ? I mean, I believe it. You look… smart.”

Yeah, I know that’s a dig at the nerdy look I rocked back then. But in my defense, I… actually, I have no defense. I chose those glasses that gave me bug eyes and at the time, I thought the hairstyle I was going for was super cool. In hindsight, a bowl cut—that I slicked down with so much styling gel that there were blue flakes in my hair—might not have been the height of fashion, in the Nineties or any other era.

“You know, I can’t wait until we go to Robert’s house. I’m sure he has plenty of old photos of Holly for me to look at,” I deflect with a pointed look at her.

Addie joins us, sliding onto the couch with the other two women. Holly is now sandwiched between Addison and my mom, the photo album still on her lap. It hits me how seamlessly Holly fits in with my family. Not like Ashley. My ex-wife was only ever after one thing, money, and my family saw right through it.

It took me longer to realize, but seeing Holly with Mom and Addie makes me see that Holly is nothing like Ashley.

The attention of all three is squarely focused on me and my shortcomings at age ten, which is not where I want it to be. It’s sweet and cozy and all, but also completely embarrassing to look at these pictures.

I need to derail this trainstat. Or get it back on the tracks, or whatever metaphor is appropriate here.

Unfortunately, the most apt metaphor is probably one about a train crash, where you can’t look away. None of the three can tear their gaze away from the pages. They don’t even look at me as I stand from the couch and walk out of the room in search of a beer.

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