Page 1 of Thanksgiving Daddy's Girl
1
MAEVE
Driving down the street I grew up on is always a bit of a surreal experience. I mean, I’m only twenty now, but I recall running up and down the street with my friends and playing in the sprinklers on the front during the summer. I remember people who’ve come and gone. Neighbors I’ve lost touch with. But most of all, I remember how much bigger everything seemed when I was a child. Now that I’m a little bit older, everything just seems… smaller. But my love for my neighborhood—my home—hasn’t changed.
I pull into the driveway, parking beside my dad’s Range Rover. Even after five years, it still feels odd to not see my mom’s red BMW sitting next to it. Even after five years, it still fills me with a sharp pang of grief. I get out of my Tiguan—a gift from my dad when I graduated from high school and grab my bags from the back.
“Hello, Maeve! Nice to see you!”
I turn and give a warm smile and a wave to Mrs. Murphy, an elderly woman who lives next door. As always, she’s sitting on her stool, pruning her roses.
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Murphy,” Maeve said. “Your roses are beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. Your dad’s been talking about you coming home from school all week. I dare say he’s excited.”
“I’m excited to see him too.”
“Well, don’t keep him waiting on my account, sweetie!”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Murphy.”
Hefting my bags, I follow the walk, up the four brick stairs, and onto the porch. I have to set everything down again to open the door, then pick it up again and carry it inside. As I drop my bags in the foyer, booming laughter echoes around the house. I cock my head and listen for a moment, confused and wondering who’s in the living room with him.
Thanksgiving always used to be a fun, lively affair with friends and family coming from all over to celebrate with us. Mom loved Thanksgiving. Loved everything about it. She’d wake up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey and everything else ready, always chasing us out of the kitchen with her wooden spoon. It was her domain, and everything had to be to her exacting standards. Everything had to be just so. And everything was always perfect.
But for the past five years, Dad and I have spent Thanksgiving alone. It just hasn’t felt right to celebrate without her. We always start the day with a trip out to the cemetery to lay some flowers on her grave and talk to her for a bit. After that, we usually go out to dinner. Neither of us are very good in the kitchen anyway, buttrying to recreate her dishes just feels disrespectful in a way. Our traditions have been lost to the cruelty of time. And that makes me sad.
I close the door behind me and the laughter in the other room immediately cuts off.
“Honey, is that you?” My dad calls.
I set my keys down on the table in the center of the foyer, pass the staircase, and step through the rounded archway. As I cross into the living room, I pull up short. My dad is sitting in his battered old recliner—a gift from my mother about a billion years ago—and reclining on the sofa is a man I haven’t seen in a very long time.
A wide smile on his face, my dad jumps to his feet, his big body engulfing mine as he pulls me into a hug. I lean into him, feeling the deep rumble in his chest as he laughs.
“It’s good to see you, sweetheart. I’m glad you’re home,” he said.
“I’m glad to be home too.”
He releases me and steps back then gestures to the man on the couch and I feel my stomach lurch. Like my dad, he’s tall. Six-three or so and has a lean, athletic build. His white dress shirt clings enticingly to the hard angles and planes of his body, the fabric straining over biceps that seem larger than my thighs. His sandy blond hair is neatly styled, parted on the right, and he’s got a thick beard that’s trimmed and frames his square jaw. The man stares at me with eyes so blue, they’re almost silver and seem to see straight through me.
“Sweetheart, you remember Myles, don’t you?” my Dad asks.
I nod. “Uh, yeah. Of course. It’s been a while.”
Myles gets to his feet, his smile making him look ten years younger and showcasing the deep dimples in his cheeks. He walks over and takes my hand in his and I stare at it for a moment, feeling my skin beneath his touch grow as hot as my cheeks feel. Clearing my throat, I try to stop the flutter in my heart and silently pray my face isn’t as red as I think it is.
“It’s good to see you again, Maeve,” he says in his crisp Irish brogue. “The last time I saw you, you were still wearing braces and pigtails.”
My laugh is nervous. “Yeah, it’s been ages. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Flannigan.”
His smile makes my heart turn a somersault in my chest. “Enough of that Mr. Flannigan bollocks,” he says. “We’re all grownups now. Just call me Myles.”
“Myles,” I say, relishing the way his name falls from my lips. “It’s, uhhh… it’s really nice to see you again.”
“Lovely to see you too.”
My dad turns to me. “I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart, but Myles was in town and I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with us.”
