Chapter 21

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The gratitude holiday…with people who don't say thank you.

My family is hypnotized, and I don't blame them. I am a part of my family, too, after all.

Graciously, neither Pollux nor Andromeda has brought up anything fae related at dinner, but what Pollux has brought up is so interesting I think both my mother and my father have fallen in love with him. He's just a little too smart, but not in that agitating know-it-all way. Every word out of his mouth about the strangest things in the world is utterly fascinating.

I don't entirely understand how one man can know so many useless facts in such detail, but I suspect I could listen to him for hours.

Pollux pauses his explanation of a substance that is in such perfect sync if it could be harnessed as a conduit for communication, it would allow instant signal transfers between earth and crafts in outer space. He scans everyone at the table, cuts a piece of his tofurkey, and stabs it. "It's all really theoretical, though. Like time travel. The best we can do is recreate images of the past using fragments of memories we still have access to. Entertaining involvement beyond that comes with moral questions outside of mere feasibility. I feel like I'm talking a lot. Am I talking a lot?"

"Yes," Andromeda says as she picks up her plate and presents it. "May I please have some more macaroni, and potatoes, and not-turkey turkey, and green beans, an—"

"Everything, honey?" Mom giggles as she starts with a scoop of mac and cheese.

Andromeda's face squishes up. "No. I don't like the slimy stuff." She glares gravely at Mom's homemade cranberry sauce, which appears to be the sole neglected lump on her cleared plate. "It has bits in it. The bits are not appreciated."

"The bits make it healthier." Mom adds extra green bean casserole to Andromeda's plate.

Andromeda looks appalled. "Can it not be healthy without the bits?" When she retrieves her plate, she stares at the glob. "Does it have to be healthy? Is health of utmost importance on a holiday about overeating?"

"So," Dad interrupts like a bullet train, "Pollux. Do you have a special someone?"

"A special someone?"

"Someone you're dating."

On the outside, I'm eating mashed potatoes. On the inside, I am hiding under the table.

"Oh." Pollux takes a sip of his water. "No. I've never entirely understood the concept of dating beyond ascertaining a time period of origin for a given object or event."

Dad barks a laugh. "I highly doubt that, given some obvious proof."

Andromeda, oblivious to the fact she is "obvious proof," has discovered the joys of mashed potato malleability. She's building a monster. But of course she is.

Pollux looks toward me, something in his eyes begging for help.

My parents exchange their own sort of look in response, and my heart rate accelerates.

"Have you considered getting back into dating?" Mom prods, swirling her fork in a very subtle heart around the two of us.

This is how I die.

Why in the world did I allow my parents to squash us together on the same side of the table? It was all an elaborate ploy. Mentally, I know they are taking wedding photos.

Pollux swallows. "What…exactly is it?"

"What exactly is what?" Mom inquires.

"Dating in the context you're implying. If it doesn't involve carbon isotopes, I am unfamiliar how exactly one participates."

Now my parents' look exchange is a little more odd.

I feel responsible for this calamity, so I clear my throat and say, "Dating is when you go out and do things with different people that you're romantically interested in so you can learn more about their characters and see who might make a good life partner."

"Oh. That's not the sort of thing we decide."

Almost in unison, my parents say, "What?"

I choke on my drink as I remember the man beside me is either a faerie with a soulmate or in a cult that may not allow him to choose who he winds up with. For all I know, the cult kidnapped Andromeda, so Pollux has truly never participated in any hanky-panky or dating. Period.

Pollux's hand lands on my shoulder while I fight for my life against the liquid attempting to enter my lungs.

"I'm…fine," I croak around my coughing fit.

Dad takes advantage of my premature death to thread his fingers above his plate and say, "Maybe you and Kasserole could do something sometime."

"Dad."

"I think that's an excellent idea."

"Mom!"

My evil mother stands, a beacon of innocence. "Is it just about time for dessert? I'll get dessert ready while everyone finishes up." Her attention lands on Andromeda, who is the last of us with more than a few bites left on their plate. "Meda, honey. Don't play with your food."

Her blue gaze snaps up in the middle of layering green beans like spikes down the potato monster's back. "Huh? Why?"

Mom gets her firm Mom Face on. "Because I said so, honey. Finish up, so you can have some dessert."

The most heartbreaking confusion I have ever seen slashes across Andromeda's face, and she looks at Pollux. He shrugs, lifts his hands with two fingers pointed on each, touches the top of his chest, then lower on his abdomen.

Andromeda makes a soft sound and dutifully finishes everything except the glob of cranberry sauce.

I stand, hoping with all my might that my father will behave himself so I can help bring dirty dishes to the kitchen. However, a second after I'm on my feet and getting the first bowl, Pollux rises beside me.

Softly, near my ear, he murmurs, "Are we clearing the table to make room for dessert?"

I whisper back, "That was the scheme."

"Is it appropriate for me to help?"

I hand him the bowl. "Yes."

One way or another, we ceremonially alternate from the excessive dinner food spread to the excessive dessert food spread.

There are three pies.

Four types of cookies.

Two sweet breads.

And no room left on the table.

My mother is a maniac.

"I love Thanksgiving," Andromeda cheers, lifting her plate. "Everything, please!"

"Oh my. What's the verdict, Dad?" Mom looks toward Pollux.

Pollux doesn't respond.

I nudge him, and he startles, looking at me, then at my mother, then back to me. "Did I miss something?"

"You're Dad."

"Oh." He straightens, stares, calculates. "Oh. Right. Desserts have sugar. Normal children react questionably when their systems are impacted by excessive sugar. Meda may have whatever she'd like. It all looks incredible, and I'd hate to withhold anything on account of general, inapplicable, procedure."

Andromeda giggles.

Mom smooths her Mom Face over with a questioning, "All right… We'll start you off with a slice of chocolate pie. How does that sound?"

"Excellent!"

Taking Andromeda's plate, Mom portions out a slice and hands it back to her, but she doesn't let go when Andromeda latches onto it. "What do you say?"

"Huh?" Andromeda's smile falls. "Is this a riddle? Are dessert riddles part of Thanksgiving? I don't think I have enough information. I say…words. Is the answer words?"

Mom prompts further, "What do you say when someone gives you something?"

"It depends on the situation and what is being given. I don't… I don't know what you expect from me."

"Thank you."

Worry sparks in Andromeda's little blue eyes, and she shoots a look at her father.

Pollux clears his throat. "Meda, what can you say?"

Andromeda brightens. "I appreciate it."

"Don't disrespect your father, honey." Mom's expression hardens. "Thank. You."

Andromeda's lip trembles, and she looks back at her father, eyes imploring.

Pollux exhales a swear that jolts my parents' attention toward him, with subsequent horror. He ignores them in favor of looking at me. "Take a deep breath for me, dearest. And…I apologize for how this may negatively impact you."

Before I understand what in the world he's talking about, he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers.

My ears ring as a blur coats the world for half a second. I shake off the sensation and watch my parents reboot. A second of stillness passes. Then another. Then Mom smiles and hands Andromeda her plate. Joyful, she says, "Oh! It's the perfect time to go around the table and say what we're grateful for. Aaron, why don't you start? Pollux, would you like some pie? "

"Yes, please." He watches me out of the corner of one red eye framed by black instead of white. "I appreciate it."

My stomach drops like a stone to my toes.