Page 63 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“When Laurent got into college, we all cheered, and you mutteredbig deal.”

It wasn’t because I wasn’t proud of my brother. I just knew the life I had for seventeen years was about to be completely different. Him leaving was the start of change. “We knew he was getting in. It’s not like it was a surprise.”

“And when Rose broke her leg, you wouldn’t get her a snack.”

Because she’d already been sitting on the couch wallowing in self-pity for three days. She needed to get off the couch. “I wasn’t going to baby her like everyone else. That’s what the brat wanted, but please give me more examples of how I have utterly failed at being a compassionate sibling. Forget that I regularly call and check on everyone. I make sure they are up-to-date on going to the doctor and the dentist. That any of them can call me at any time, day or night, and I will be there for them. Just because I don’t show emotion like the rest of you doesn’t make me a bitch.”

“I never said you were.”

“I can read in between the lines, Mom. You’re worried about Brady, because I’m a bitch, and I’ll be mean to him.”

“Okay.” Mom closed her eyes and took my hand again. “I went about this wrong. It’s Thanksgiving, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know. Even if you don’t say it enough, I know. But Brady, I love him, too. I love him like he is my own son. I have watched that boy be abused for years by a man who was supposed to love him unconditionally. I watched that boy turn into a man who poured his all into everything he did, trying to fill that void he had in his life, but no matter how hard he tried, he never felt it was good enough. He has a tough exterior, but his inside, he is cotton balls and marshmallows.”

“Those do not go together.”

Mom laughed. “This is my analogy. Just go with it.” Her eyes met mine, filled with the compassion she said I lacked. “He’s a good man.”

“I know.” We might have had our differences, might have even hated each other, but I always knew at his core, Brady was good. He’d do anything for my family and even me. Even though I was rude and argumentative, I knew deep down, one phone call and he’d be there for me.

“And that boy from so long ago? He loved you.”

“He tolerated me.”

“No, he loved you. I watched the way he looked at you. The way his shoulders would appear lighter when you walked in the room. I don’t know what happened between you two, though through the grapevines, I heard it was a misunderstanding, which breaks my heart. But as your grandfather would say, ‘You can't uncork the past, but you can savor the wine of tomorrow.’”

“He always had good sayings.”

“You and Brady both deserve happiness, and my dream is that one day, Brady will actually feel like he belongs here for the holidays. We’ve tried for years, but maybe you’ve been the key all along.”

“You make me sound like some sort of miracle puzzle piece.”

“Sometimes it takes just the right person to make everything feel whole.”

“I don’t know if I can fix everything for him.” Though recently I had tried. He hadn’t told me to mind my own business, either. He even came to me for help.

“You always want to fix everyone. It’s not about that. It’s about being there for him and letting him know he doesn’t have to face everything alone.”

Maybe Mom was giving me too much credit, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to try. Brady deserved to be eating this plate of food at the table with people he loved and who loved him and not hiding away at his cabin in the woods.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. This time, she stood there stiff, as if my affection caused her to short circuit. It took only a second before she engulfed me in her warm, motherly embrace. She pulled back, cupping my cheeks with her hands. “Tell Brady I said, happy Thanksgiving, and there is always a seat for him at our table.” Her voice was soft, but firm with the weight of her words. “He’s family, too, whether he believes it or not.”

“I will.”

“Drive safe.”

“Always.” I grabbed the plate and made my way to my car, our conversation on repeat in my mind. Brady deserved more than a plate of food. He deserved to feel like he had a place where he belonged. I remembered giving him shit for being at Mom and Dad’s going away barbeque and bit back a curse. Even when he did show up, I gave him shit. Maybe I was the reason he had stayed away. God, I hoped not.

At least this year, I wouldn’t let him spend another holiday alone. If he wouldn’t come to the table, then I’d bring it to him.

Fifteen minutes later, I drove down his driveway and parked. Jack ran out the doggy door and barked a greeting.

“Hey, boy,” I said as I exited the car with the plate of food.

Brady stepped onto the porch, arm over his head, resting it against a wood beam. He was in a pair of gray sweatpants, and my eyes drifted down, unable to ignore the way they clung to him.

---