Page 16 of All of Me

“Grandma Alice won’t even notice,” I say gently. “Just wait until you see the spread she puts out. She’s got enough food to feed an army. One missing dessert isn’t going to ruin her day.”

Callie glances toward the kitchen, her expression softening. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” I say. “No matter how stuffed we get today, I’m holding you to that brownie binge. I’ll even make coffee.”

Her lips twitch, and she sighs, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Fine, but you’d better not eat any of them while I’m asleep from my turkey coma.”

“Deal,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before turning back to Vince.

He watches the exchange with a smirk, shaking his head. “You’re whipped, man,” he says, chuckling.

“Maybe,” I reply, “but at least I’m not on a diet.”

“Hey!” Malcolm protests.

Before I can add anything else, Sandra sweeps into the kitchen, her eyes narrowing when she spots us. “Oh, good, the boys are all gathered. Are you finally going to help, or are you just going to stand around and gossip like schoolgirls?”

Vince and Malcolm both go silent, trying, and failing, to suppress their laughter. I raise my hands in mock surrender. I can’t help but notice she’s not barking orders at her own son. No surprise there. “I’m here to help, Aunt Sandra. Just tell me where to start.”

“Good. You can set the table, and tell your mother to get out of my way,” she barks. “She’s been hovering all morning.”

Yeah, there’s not a chance in hell I’m doing that. My mother would kill me. Frankly, Sandra is lucky my mother didn’t hear her say that. I glance at Vince, who’s barely holding it together, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Malcolm mutters something under his breath about staying out of the crossfire.

“I’ll get right on it,” I say, with a nod. “But only if you promise not to cancel Christmas.”

Sandra glares at me for a second before turning on her heel and marching out of the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Vince releases his laughter, doubling over.

“You’re playing with fire, man,” he says between chuckles.

“I’m not scared of Aunt Sandra, unlike you.” I shrug, grabbing plates to set the table. Then I glance at Callie. “You okay here if I help out? I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

“Yes, I’m a big girl,” she teases. “I’ll go find your mom and say hello.”

I give her a quick kiss on the forehead and point her in the direction of the living room where she’s most likely to find my mom. She heads off with the girls, and I head into the dining room, where another one of my aunts throws out commands like a seasoned general. Aunt Sharon is beside the table, her fiery red hair, shining under the light. She’s barking orders at her daughter Vicki, who’s standing with one hand on her hip and an expression that screams,Not today, Mom.

Vicki’s wild blonde curls bounce with her animated gestures, resisting Sharon’s micromanagement. Her seven-year-old son, Cameron, sits at the table folding napkins into lopsided shapes, sneaking glances at his mom and grandma like he’s watching a live-action sitcom.

It’s funny how predictable this is. Sharon and Vicki are always bickering, like two forces of nature refusing to give ground. I’ve seen this show a dozen times over the years; and now that Vicki is a mom herself, there’s a new layer of stubbornness. It’s both entertaining and exhausting. I stay out of it, and focus on setting the table as was requested of me.

“Mom, you seriously need to relax,” Vicki says, rolling her eyes as she tosses another stack of napkins onto the table. “It’s Thanksgiving, not a Michelin-starred restaurant.”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” Sharon snaps, her hands on her hips. “If I left things up to you, we’d be eating pizza off paper plates.”

“Honestly, that sounds way better than this,” Vicki fires back. “Fewer dishes, more fun.”

That gets a smirk out of me. I’ve always admired how quick Vicki is with her comebacks. She can turn every argument into a game she refuses to lose.

Sharon huffs, her exasperation palpable. “Fun? You have a child, Vicki. Maybe it’s time you started acting like it.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom. Totally forgot about Cameron. I’ll make sure to remind him he exists,” Vicki says with an exaggerated sigh, her sarcasm cutting through the tension.

I glance at Cameron, who’s watching the back-and-forth like he’s waiting for the next punchline. His curls bounce as he tilts his head, his voice is full of innocent confidence when he says, “I’m right here, Grandma.”

Sharon softens, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Of course you are, sweetheart. Maybe you can help your mom fold those napkins properly.”

Has everyone in this family always been so neurotic?

Before Vicki can fire back, her brother Joel strolls into the room. He always wears an easy grin, one that screams he’s about to stir the pot. But he’s Sharon’s golden boy and can do no wrong in her eyes.

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