Page 72 of Cain
We eat Thanksgiving Dinner together at a long table on the back patio, the sun dipping behind the low mountains in the distance. The sky is all dusky golds and burnt orange.
Elaine has made enough food to feed a small village—roast turkey, yams drizzled with brown sugar glaze, stuffing rich with sage and apples, confit tomato with green beans, mac and cheese, and three different pies lined up like soldiers on the kitchen island.
I sit between Cain and Robert. Paula sits across from me. There’s no undercurrent of hostility, no faked civility. Just harmony.
At one point, Onyx sends a video of Ricky in a turkey hat, flipping the bird with both hands, singingFriends in Low Places. I laugh so hard I nearly spit out my wine.
I share the video with my new family, telling them about my co-workers.
“See, this is why I can’t convince her to come back to Ripley’s,” Cain argues.
“Hey, this seems like a fun place,” Robert says.
“It’s a strip club, Dad.”
“My point exactly. A fun place,” Robert argues.
Cain and I fall asleep on the couch after dinner, curled together under a plush throw. His hand rests on my hip, his breath warm against the back of my neck. When I wake, the house is quiet, dark except for a single lamp left on in the hallway.
We move quietly to the guest bedroom.
The room is painted in pale creams, the windows cracked to let in the cool desert air. We settle into bed, and he wraps himself around me like a blanket.
“You having fun, sweet thing?” he murmurs against my shoulder.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment, collecting my thoughts. “I don’t want to talk about any of it anymore.”
He stills. “About?”
“The arrests. The past. Melody. Jamie. None of it. I’m done dragging it with us into the future.”
He holds me tighter.
“I don’t want you to apologize again,” I whisper. “You’ve done it enough. I’ve heard you. I’ve seen it in everything you’ve done since. I want to let it go now. For good.”
“Okay,” he agrees softly.
I turn in his arms and look up at him. The room is dim, the only light is a spill of moonlight through the window.
He strokes my cheek. “Then let’s talk about the future.”
“Huh?”
“Move in with me.”
It’s too soon!
“Cain—”
“You’re always at my place. My bed smells like you. My kitchen has your favorite tea in the cupboard. Just make it official.”
He has a point. “Alright.” I pause, smile. “But only if you get rid of that terrible armchair in the living room.”
“Deal.”
He kisses me. Soft. Reverent. “And come back to Ripley’s,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I snort. “No way.”
