35. Van

35

Van

I rinse the last of the never-ending dishes and dry it with a towel before stacking it on the counter. "All done, Aunt Beth. You want these in the cabinet in the dining room?"

My aunt's head is in the fridge where she's playing Tetris with leftover containers. I have no idea how there's so much food left. I feel like I've been eating all day, but I guess that's what holidays are for.

"No, just leave them there. It'll give Tom something to do tomorrow."

"What am I doing tomorrow?" Uncle Tom asks as he enters the kitchen and pours himself another cup of coffee. He offers me one, but I shake my head.

Aunt Beth stands and wipes her hands on the front of her jeans. "You're figuring out how to fit all the dishes back into the cupboard. But there's no room. So you'll bitch for an hour, ask me why we need all this stuff, then I'll sweet-talk you into building me a set of shelves and glass-front cabinets along the back wall of the dining room."

"The one I just painted this summer? And hung fifty-seven pictures on?"

"That's the one. Here, I'm sharing my vision board with you."

She starts clicking on her phone while Uncle Tom just shakes his head and follows her out to the dining room. I'm kinda glad Josie and I are heading back tomorrow, or else I'd probably get roped into helping my uncle. My whole family is in the construction business—at least this side of it is. My dad's just in the asshole business. But drawing up plans and working with my hands has never been my thing. I'm competent enough. My uncles made sure of that, but I don't love it. I don't even like it.

"Hey, what's that look on your face?" Mom asks as she comes in for coffee, too. "Did you eat Krista's pecan pie? I told you not to. Love her to death, but that woman could burn water."

"Nope. I steered clear of the pie. Jos did, too. Now the pumpkin roll? That's a different story. Did you make that?"

"I bought it at the bakery, which is basically the same thing, but better. You had a good day, huh?" She says, smiling at me. "Everybody loves her, as they should. She makes you happy, so you know she's got my approval, for what it's worth."

"It means a lot, Mom." It's always just been the two of us, so the fact that she's welcomed Josie into our little family is everything. She gives me a hug and even though my mom is tall, I still tower over her.

"I'm gonna see what Jos is up to, then maybe we'll head back home, yeah?"

"Sounds good. I'm going to stick around for a bit. Beth wants my advice on some shelves Tom's putting up. Hey, before you go…did you call him yet?"

A knot forms in my stomach. The worst part of every holiday is calling my dad. Because of course he never calls me. I'm a full-grown adult now, so I shouldn't have to call like I used to when I was a kid, but he pays the tuition bill every year, which means he gets a handful of calls that can make him feel like he's a good dad without actually having to do anything.

I wave my phone at Mom to let her know I'm calling, then head down the hall to Aunt Beth's spare room. I take a seat on the bed and turn my phone over in my hand. I guess this is one of the last calls I'll have to make. There'll be one more at Christmas and another one at Easter, and that's it. I'll graduate a month later (as long as Josie is still helping me) and then I'll be free of Beckett Vandaele Jr. and our awkward holiday conversations. Santos and I call him BJ for short, and it fits. Once I'm with a team and completely out on my own, I won't have to deal with his judgment.

But I'm not there yet, so I dial, hoping it goes to voicemail. That's happened a few times over the years and it's like an empty-netter: rare but golden. I get all the credit for a call, but none of the hassle.

I'm not that lucky today.

"Beckett," my father's voice comes on the line. It's weird that he calls me that. No one else in the world calls me that. When I was really little, Mom called me Beck. But sometime around the fourth grade I decided I didn't want my father's name, so I told everyone to call me Van, and it stuck.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I say like I'm reading from a script I memorized years ago.

"Thank you. We had a lovely dinner here. It's just the two of us this year and Lauren didn't want to cook, so we went to the club with friends."

"Where are the kids?" I ask, not that I really care where my half-siblings are because I barely know them. It just seems strange that they're not home. Who knows, though? They go to boarding school, so maybe they just decided to stay there. I wouldn't blame them.

"They're with their grandparents at our place in Sanibel. Lauren and I fly out tomorrow."

There's a heavy silence on the line, or maybe I'm just imagining it, because, technically, those are my grandparents, too. They've never really been in my life. My origin story definitely doesn't live up to their standards. Over twenty years ago, my mom was a model and actress. She got a part in a reality TV show set in a coastal beach town. There are still reruns on certain channels, and people recognize her in public sometimes. But I think the most memorable part of that summer for her was that it resulted in me. She met my dad at a party and they had a summer thing. It meant nothing to him, and everything to her.I guess my mom really thought things might work out. I mean, she named me Beckett Vandaele III, so she was all in, at least for a little while. But my dad's…well, an arrogant prick, basically. After a paternity test and a fucking mirror proved he had to at least be financially responsible for me, he caved. But Mom was done with his shit by then. Before I could even crawl, she moved us back to Philadelphia to be near her folks. That's why my relationship with my dad is pretty much reduced to awkward phone calls four or five times a year.

"Well, have a good trip," I say, because I can't think of anything else.

"Thanks, we will."

I'm about to say goodbye and hang up, grateful that this chore is done, but then my dad starts talking. If this is going to be another TED Talk about how golf is superior to hockey in every way, I might just sit my phone on the nightstand and walk away.

"I have some letters here from the academic dean, Beckett."

My heart stops for a second. That can't be right. My grades are decent right now, better than they have ever been in my life. "Why would you get them?" The thought is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"They were addressed to Beckett Vandaele. And they were mailed to this residence. So, of course I opened them. They may have been intended for you, but since I'm still writing the checks and that's my name, too, I took certain liberties."

"I'm passing all my classes," I say, unable to stop the defensive tone in my voice.

"You say that like it's an accomplishment." My dad has never understood anything about me—not my love for hockey, and definitely not my learning disability. He's a brilliant guy, I'm sure. You'd have to be to get through law school, and he loves reminding me that the only things we have in common are our names and our faces.

I want to defend myself, to tell him that it is an accomplishment. Josie's shown me that much. But I know better than to get into an argument with BJ. Those never end well.

"See that you keep your grades up. After all, what am I funding this degree for if you can't graduate and then spend your life getting into fights on the ice and sustaining head injuries?" He thinks he's being funny. I've heard this kind of line enough times to know there's a little lift to his lips right now, a half-smile. And I want to reach through the phone and punch him. We have video calls. Why can't we have punch calls?

"That's the plan," I say. I'm probably baiting him, but he's pissing me off.

There's a noise in the background before his voice comes on the line again. "I should let you go. Lauren and I need to finish packing and I'm sure you have things to do. Happy Thanksgiving, Beckett."

The phone is dead before I can answer, but that's probably a good thing. I hate talking to him, so I should definitely not be pissed that he ended our call like that.

Sliding my phone into my pocket, I wind my way through my aunt's house. There's noise coming from everywhere, but that's no surprise. When all of the Donohues get together, it gets loud. I peek down into the basement, but it's just Uncle Brian and a couple of my cousins gathered around the TV, watching football.

My cousin Tommy bounds up the steps. "You comin down to watch?" he asks. "Bring some beers, will you? Oh, and if there's any of that pepperoni cheese dip left, bring that, too."

He turns to go back down to the man cave, but I stop him. "I'm looking for Josie. Have you seen her?"

"Yeah, she's up in the living room with the little cousins," he says, gesturing up the steps. "I guess this means I have to get my own beer?"

I laugh and lead the way into the kitchen, open the fridge door, and hand him a couple bottles. He offers one back, but I shake my head. That conversation with my dad put me in a crappy mood, and I'd much rather hang out with Jos than drink.

"She's perfect for you, you know that, right?" my cousin says as he digs through the fridge for the pepperoni dip. It's in a container marked ‘lentils' in the way back, but I'm not telling him that. I'd never sell my Aunt Beth out.

"Yeah?" I think Jos and I are a pretty good fit, but I'm not exactly objective.

"Hell yeah," Tommy says, giving up on the dip and going to the pantry for a bag of potato chips. "You both nerd out about shit. It's kind of adorable, but also sort of sickening."

"What are you talking about?"

"You geek out and it's cute. She was talking to Ivy about that book series that's a movie now and you talk about hockey all the time, like it's the only sport that exists."

"It's the best one," I interrupt.

Tommy played football back in high school, so he just rolls his eyes. "Whatever. All I'm saying is you're both super passionate about what you're into. Whenever you went on that whole rant about overtime rules, she was hanging on every word. And don't even tell me you're not gonna get tickets to that romance movie when it comes out. Ten bucks says that at Easter, you're gonna go on a rant about how the movies are never as good as the books. I'm happy for you. That's all I'm saying."

"I'm happy for me, too. Josie's the best."

Just as I say her name, I hear someone screaming it in the other room. I'm not worried, though. The scream is coming from my four-year-old cousin Fiona. She yells about everything, and this is definitely a happy scream.

I step into the room and the scene hits me hard.

"Again, again!" Fiona calls.

Josie's on the floor, and my youngest cousins are gathered around her in a circle. Even Fiona's baby brother is there in his little bouncy chair. There are a few stuffed animals in the circle, too, but like the little kids, their eyes are all trained on Josie. She's sitting crisscross applesauce style and she's got a turtle puppet on her left hand. There's a giant stack of books off to the side and she's reading one now, holding it with just one hand, letting all the kids see the pictures. She makes the little turtle guy turn the page and my first thought is that my girlfriend is fucking adorable. She's definitely in the right line of work, no doubt, just like I am.

I sit by the doorway so none of the kids see me, but Josie catches my eye and smiles. She reads a couple more books, then says some poem about nighttime and sings a little lullaby—how did I never know she can sing? By the time she's done, Fiona and Hazel are sleeping on a beanbag chair, Liam is snoring in his baby seat, and Luca, the two-year-old, is curled up in her lap. She rubs his back and sings gently and I swear my chest is about to crack wide open.

My mind comes up with an image of us in a few years. We're here at Aunt Beth's, Josie's still reading stories, but that's our little boy in her lap.

My heart's beating fast because I don't know what's going to happen next. We've never talked about the long term. Hell, we just started acknowledging the past. I mean, yeah, I've got a future to offer her. The money's not great to start, but it's enough. I may never be one of the biggest stars in the league, but I can hold my own. I'm going to be someone, not just some guy who can't pass his classes, but a man with a job he loves, a career he's proud of. I've been building a future for myself, and I see Josie in it.

I don't even know if she wants more kids, since she's basically already got four of them. But I want a family with her, whatever that looks like.

And that's when my doubts kick in.

Josie and I will never really be equals. I can't do what she does. I can't do what nearly everyone else in this house can do. What everybody at school can do.

I look the same. I sound the same. It's hard to tell that I'm different. I think I hide it pretty well. But when my future kids ask me to read them a bedtime story, I won't be able to hide it at all. Sure, I can make it through a book or two, but it won't sound like it does when Josie reads.

I just hope she understands what my disability truly means because otherwise this future I'm imagining is just a fantasy.