Page 46 of Thick and Thin

“Well, the offer stands.” With that, she left the kitchen, ushering her children into the dining room.

And I let out the breath I’d been holding tightly in my lungs.

When the doorbell rang again, I wondered if I should get it, but Sinclair quickly left the dining room to take care of it. As he whisked by the kitchen, he glanced at me and I thought I saw him give me a quick wink.

It wasn’t long before the eldest Augustus and his wife Madeline were being escorted to the dining room—but they didn’t peek in the kitchen. Instead, the kids approached their grandmother and gave her hugs while she doted on them.

Again, it was the wife of a Whittier who, by a simple action, earned my adoration. It seemed from my spot in the kitchen that Augustus begrudgingly accepted hugs from the children.

Maybe he just didn’t have it in himself.

After a few more minutes, Sinclair appeared in the kitchen. “Ready to join us?”

As I approached him, I lowered my voice. “Shouldn’t we wait for Warren?”

“I don’t think he’s coming. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s blown a holiday dinner off.”

I nodded, following him into the dining room. Once again, I felt so out of place, mainly now that I realized what I wore didn’t quite match the level of the family. Sinclair had also worn a sweater in a cerulean shade that made his eyes appear lighter, but the Augustuses, including the youngest, wore suits, and Madeline, Vivian, and the twin girls wore dresses.

Still, because Sinclair and I felt like we were paired in solidarity, I tried not to let it bother me.

On one side of the table, the three children stood behind chairs as if waiting for the order to be seated. Augustus had his hand on the back of the chair where Sinclair had always sat—and Sinclair said, “We’ll have you seated over there, dad.”

At the other end near the windows—not the seat he’d been intending to take.

Once more, I felt the air refusing to leave my body as my lungs clung to it as if they’d never breathe again. Would this begin the first of many skirmishes throughout the day?

But his father surprised me as he nodded and moved to the other end of the table, and it was hard to tell from his expression how he felt about it. As Madeline followed, choosing the chair directly next to him opposite the side of the table where the children stood, Sinclair’s brother said, “Are you okay if we all sit on this side?”

“That’s fine.”

And that meant that I’d be able to sit in the chair where I usually did—and there would be two empty chairs between Madeline and me, reserved for our last two guests who might not appear.

Sinclair’s father said, “Is Warren coming?”

“I have no idea. He was planning to.”

“Is he bringing someone?”

Sinclair’s voice remained steady, despite the barrage of questions. “I told him he could bring someone, but I don’t know.”

Augustus shifted his focus. “Junior, why don’t you sit by your grandma?”

Sinclair’s brother didn’t seem too happy that his father was telling his child what to do, but he didn’t say a word. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized they were all cowed by the head of the family.

But, as the youngest Augustus scooted his chair out, his father did speak. “Why don’t we have him stay where he is—in case Warren shows up late?”

The eldest Augustus acted like he was going to say something and then stopped himself. Sinclair, still standing, said, “As I mentioned before, this is going to be a traditional meal. You’ll find drinks over here,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the sideboard, “but you’ll want to bring your plate to the kitchen to fill up buffet-style.”

This was the moment I’d been dreading—these people used to being served hand and foot and the finest foods. What would they think about getting their food buffet style?

Once again, his family surprised me. Everyone picked up their plate and headed toward the kitchen, with a few exceptions. Vivian and her husband went to the kitchen without their plates, seeming to want to help the twins fill their plates first, and the oldest Augustus uncorked one of the bottles of wine.

I wasn’t sure if he planned on filling up his own plate or if he’d intended to have his wife do it, and I almost asked if he wanted me to do it for him. I had to bite my tongue, because willingly serving my father’s enemy would have been far worse than what I’d already done.

I headed to the kitchen, partly to be away from that man, because he made me nervous—but I also wanted to be near the food in case anyone needed anything or had a question.

And that turned out to be a good idea.

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