Page 79 of Rematch
When I came back downstairs, Dad was sitting on the couch, taking a much-needed break.
I joined Papa in the dining room. He was standing over the table, fixing the edges of the tablecloth. Beside him was the small tower of china that only came out for holiday dinners.
“How’s he seem today?” I asked as I grabbed one of the plates and set it in front of a nearby chair.
“Okay,” Papa said with a shrug. “He definitely pushed himself harder than he was supposed to, but you know how he is about Thanksgiving. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to.”
“At least he’s happy, right?”
Papa nodded. “Yeah. I just wish he could be happy and know his limits. He always overdoes it this time of year, but he really needs to pace himself.”
I frowned at the reminder.
Dad overcompensated a lot on holidays. For Christmas, he goes all out on gifts. On Easter, he makes sure we all have new outfits and some goodies to pass around. And on Thanksgiving, he never failed to fill the dining room table with a plethora of dishes.
When I was younger, I used to think he did all of that for me. I was the first child they ever had in their care, so I thought he was trying to recreate the magic around the holidays - one of the important duties of a parent. Little did I know, the perfect days weren’t only for me. They were for him too.
“Has he told her yet?” I asked.
“No,” Papa replied, though it was more a sigh. “I’ve been trying to convince him, but he just… He always says he’s going to, but never does.”
“Have you tried getting in contact with her? Maybe if she hears from you, she’ll meet him halfway.”
“Nah,” his voice lowered. “She doesn’t want to hear from the demon who corrupted her boy.”
My brows pinched together. “She said that to you?”
“Mhm. Years ago.” He shook his head. “But, that’s not the point. The point is she wants to hear from her son, but after their last conversation, he’s not ready to reach out again. And as much as I want to push him to reach out, I’m respecting all the reasons he doesn’t want to.”
I understood where he was coming from, but the fact still made me sad. Whenever Dad talked about his mother - my grandmother - he always spoke with the highest levels of admiration in his voice. Even after all the years they’ve let pass by in silence, he still loved her. If only she could look past her bias to see the life he’s built. To be proud of him for it.
A knock sounded at the door.
“I’ve got it,” Dad yelled before Papa and I could move from our spots. His heavy footsteps padded from the living room to the front door. “Now, I know you’re not disrespecting my house bringing this store bought shit in here.”
“Technically, it’s from the bakery over on Wallace Road,” Tatianna’s voice echoed through the hall. “And it’s freshly made! See, it’s still warm.”
“Girl, it’s still coming out of a box.” Dad shuffled into the room holding a round, white box in his hands. He held it up to showcase the sweet potato pie inside. “Y’all, look at this shit. I could’ve made this!”
Following behind him, Tatianna raised her hand and plucked him in his ear. “You are supposed to be resting,” she scolded. “And I couldn’t show up to a Davis Thanksgiving empty handed.”
“Then you could’ve bought some wine like you used to.”
“Oh, I did. What do you think Max is hauling out the car? The spirits store over on Cheltenham was having a sale, so I stocked up. I’ve got enough to last all of us through New Years.”
As if on cue, Max walked in behind them, holding a box full of various colored wines and liquors. “Where can I put this?” He asked.
Papa waved him over. “Come on. We’ll put some of them on the shelf downstairs.”
Max followed Papa out of the room, scrunching his nose up at me as he passed.
I would’ve popped him in his head if he weren’t holding a box full of glass and liquid.
“Mhm-mm-mm,” Dad hummed with a shake of his head. His eyes were back on the box in his hands. “So blasphemous.”
Tatianna plucked him in his ear again. “Boy, go put that away and sit yourself down somewhere.”
I giggled as Dad grumbled but complied. He drifted into the kitchen, leaving us alone.
