Page 44 of Only Mostly Devastated

“I’m surprised you haven’t eaten yet.”

Will pursed his lips together in a silent laugh. “We don’t eat ’til late. The first few hours of Thanksgiving are for dancing, ponche crema, and explaining to thirteen great-aunts why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ponche crema?”

“It’s kind of like a Venezuelan eggnog, but it’s way better.”

“Alcohol?”

Will rolled his eyes at me. “I’m not drunk. I only had a little bit.”

“My parents would literally kill me if I drank.”

Will led me outside, Crista and Dylan in tow. “I’ve been having wine at dinner since I was a kid. It’s normal.”

Outside, several tables were lined up on the porch, with chairs squeezed in wherever possible. Straightaway, I saw what Will meant about the cold. The sides of the porch were enclosed by detachable clear vinyl sheeting, so while some frigid air blew through under the gap at the bottom, for the most part we were protected from the wind and chill.

A whole bunch of the seats were taken already—mostly by men—with other seats saved with half-drunk glasses of wine, or a white liquid I guessed was the fabled ponche crema, or a well-placed handbag. Fairy lights twinkled above us, glittering and snaking around the rafters and poles, and the standing outdoor heaters gave off a welcome blast of heat to counteract the frozen air that did sneak in. A bunch of the people sitting at the table had a Will-like vibe to them. Whether they shared his well-defined lips, or the delicate shape of his jaw, or his long fingers, you could tell they were blood relatives.

It was like a peek into the future, in an oh-God-Ollie-it’s-too-early-to-think-about-the-future-please-stop kind of way.

Will squatted down to meet Crista and Dylan at eye level. “So, at my house we have a special table for the kids. Kane will be sitting there, and some of my little cousins, too. Do you feel comfortable sitting with Kane?”

Crista gave a shy nod, and Dylan copied her.

“Excellent. Come on, I’ll get you set up. Would you like a drink?”

While Will looked after the kids, I hung back, giving an awkward smile to the people sitting at the table. Were they wondering who the hell these random people strolling into their family dinner were? Should I introduce myself? Should I wait for Will to do that for me?

Will reappeared beside me. “So, the bad news is, there are only single seats left. How would you feel about getting to know some of my family?” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he scoffed. “You know what Imean.”

To be honest, the thought made my heart drum nervously until it reverberated in my throat. My appetite almost disappeared. “For sure,” I forced out, casual, casual, casual. “Whatever works.”

The tables were quickly filling up with piles and piles of food, some familiar, some I’d never seen in my life. On one end of the table was a fat turkey, and on the other end, a plate held an enormous chunk of some type of meat that looked sticky and crispy on top—likely slow roasted, from the way the meat was falling off the bone. Mashed potatoes, rice with peas and olives, glazed yams, little parcels wrapped in plantain leaves, plates of beans, cranberry sauce, salsa, and dozens of salads.

I was starting to form a mental game plan—one bite of everything until I figured out my favorites, and then concentrating on that—when Mrs. Tavares rolled up one of the plastic sheets to provide a clear view into the yard, then stepped out onto the lawn with Kane and two young girls. This seemed to be a sign that things were getting serious, because there was a quick flurry of movement while everyone found their seats.

“We have an announcement,” Mrs. Tavares said, hugging herself to protect against the night’s chill. “Tonight, in their first ever performance as a group, Kane, Camila, and Nayeli will be demonstrating a new cheerleading routine for our entertainment.”

I shot Will an amused look across the table as a Taylor Swift song started blaring through the speakers. The family cheered and whistled as the kids launched into a basic-but-adorable cheerleading routine that was composed of mostly box steps, low kicks, and running around in circles. But, in their defense, it was all highly coordinated.

“Kane’s having more fun than the girls are,” one of the men said in a low voice to Mr. Tavares. From the passive-aggressive tone of his voice, it seemed like a dig. “Maybe he should start spending more time with his brother? On the right side of the court?”

Because a boy’s role was to play the game, and it was the girls who were meant to cheer them on. Right?

Mr. Tavares held a finger to his lips. “He’s just a kid,” he hissed. “He’ll grow out of it.”

And what if he didn’t? I wondered. Would he still be as much of a man in their eyes? Or, what if Kane didn’t identify as a guy at all? Whatthen?

Not to mention, what if they found out that Will, for all his time spent on the “right side of the court,” wasn’t straight?

Where did this idea of the “right” way to be a guy or girl fit into real life?

Tearing my eyes away from them, I forced myself to wipe the frown off my face, and joined in on a standing ovation.

I half-expected everyone to go around the table listing things they were grateful for like my family had always done, but, as Will told me later in the night, it was apparently a Tavares family tradition to have a group gratitude discussion over ponche crema not long after everyone had arrived. It was probably for the best, I reasoned—with a family this big, it could get rowdy real fast trying to do a serious activity later in the night.

While the adults jumped into serving themselves, the kids were instructed to bring their plates up to the main table. I started to rise to help Crista and Dylan, but one of Will’s aunts took over the role, generously filling both of their plates with the best cuts of meat she could find.

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