Chapter 37: Ophelia

Chapter 37: Ophelia

I probably should have thought this one through.

I know, the story of my life.

I’d texted him nearly non-stop since he left, trying to cheer him up if nothing else. I know he didn’t leave because of me. I’ve wished he would come back, but it didn’t seem fair to ask that of him.

While I’m one of his problems, he doesn’t need me tossing my emotional demands on him. So instead, I kept it light and funny with pictures of Sunny and song suggestions for us.

He never said we didn’t need a song, but I’ve forbidden myself from reading into that. Still, when he said he came to see me in Boston, my heart leapt.

My girl bits did a little too, but I’m trying to calm all my organs down as I try to figure out how to drop this bomb on my family, including my sister-in-law who’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to cook a meal worthy of Martha Stewart.

Yes, I know this is in poor form.

"Hey, Owen, can I talk to you for a minute?" I ambush my brother as he’s carrying a large stainless steel feeding trough out to the back deck. Xavier should be here in less than an hour, so no time like the present.

"Only if you get the bags of ice out of the garage freezer and help me fill this up." It’s about forty-five degrees, so it shouldn’t take too much ice to keep some bottles of soda and fancy sparkling water cold. I grab a bag with each hand and waddle my way upstairs, thinking that I probably should start working out with weights.

"Carolina is going nuts. That’s why I hate hosting anything."

I scrunch up my brow. "When you bought this house, you literally said it was for entertaining. It’s why we had to schlep here, instead of home to Mom and Dad’s for Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, but that was before I knew how fanatic Carolina gets. She’s a total perfectionist and thinks that every person who sets foot in the door needs a three-star Michelin experience and that every single nook and cranny of the house will end up on Instagram or Better Homes and Gardens. We basically have to lock the girls in their rooms for two days so they don’t touch anything. I’m surprised she even let you and Mom and Dad stay here."

This news about my sister-in-law is not surprising. Owen himself is big on appearances, always sharply dressed and perfectly groomed. Even now, he’s wearing designer jeans, a button-down shirt, and leather oxford shoes that probably cost almost a month’s rent. This is all while he’s getting the house set for company. "When’s Aiden getting here?" I’m not sure Aiden is allowed to be an overnight guest at Casa Carolina. Our middle brother, no matter how much he tries, always has some bit of farm on him.

Sometimes I like Aiden to be around, if only so people don’t focus on what a mess I am.

"He’s going to be cruising in at the last minute. He had to deliver … something." Owen shrugs. "You know."

Yup. As our brother is fond of saying, "Mother Nature doesn’t make dinner plans." That’s the line he used when he almost missed Owen and Carolina’s wedding. Needless to say, I’m Carolina’s favorite in-law. Sure, I win by default, but I’ll take it where I can get it. Though what I say next may cost me that standing. "So, like, it looks like there’s a lot of food. And your dining room is really huge. You could probably fit more chairs at the table." I turn to survey the room like it’s the first time I’ve ever been here. "And—"

"Cut the bullshit, Ophelia. What do you want?" Owen has reverted to scary lawyer mode.

"I may have a friend who’s suddenly without a place to go, and I may have extended an invitation here."

Owen slams down the tub. "Jesus Christ, Ophelia, could you have waited any longer? When are you going to grow up and start acting like a responsible adult? You can’t live your whole life flitting about, making rash decisions without any regard for how it affects everyone else."

You mean like marrying a stranger in response to accidentally going viral? I feel my face flush. "I just found out!"

"And did you tell them yes?"

I roll my eyes. I don’t even need to answer that question. Owen knows.

"Carolina’s going to shit a brick, you know that, right? You know how uptight she gets when her sister is coming. She feels so inferior to Georgia, God knows why. It turns her into an absolute monster, trying to one-up her sister."

I can sort of relate. At least to the inferior thing.

"So is it okay?" I give my older brother my best puppy dog eyes. It’s never worked on him before, but I’m an eternal optimist.

Owen shakes his head. "I hope your friend doesn’t eat much."

I glance toward the kitchen where there are piles upon piles of food. No one’s going to starve. "Is that a yes?"

Owen doesn’t have time to answer, as the doorbell chimes. He looks at me and narrows his eyes. If we were still kids, I’d undoubtedly be on the receiving end of a punch by now. "Unbelievable," he mutters before storming off to answer the door.

I’m at his heels, attempting to get around him. He tosses an elbow out, blocking me. "It’s my house, dammit, even if you do consider it yours to invite any random person off the street."

In a further unfortunate turn of events, Xavier, standing on the other side of the door, happens to look terrible, bearing a striking resemblance to some random person off the street. Incredible stress and temporary homelessness will do that. He looks awful, and my heart breaks a little.

Apparently, my efforts at cheering him up failed miserably.

But also, I’m glad Owen answered rather than Carolina. There’d be no recovering from that.

I mean, it’s Xavier, so he’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever met, but his clothes are rumpled and mismatched, he hasn’t shaved, and I would guess he doesn’t smell the freshest.

He looks like he needs a hug.

I step past my brother. "Hey, you found us! Xavier, this is my brother Owen. Owen, Xavier." Considering the tongue lashing I’ve already received from my eldest sibling, I don’t bother with qualifiers like friend, husband, or guy I’m maybe sleeping with. I don’t want to muddy the water.

"Pleasure to meet you." Xavier extends his hand. Owen, big on formality and appearances, has no choice but to take it.

"Ophelia said you’ve no place to go for the holiday?" Owen doesn’t exactly say Xavier’s welcome, but he at least steps aside to let Xavier in. I put my hand on Xavier’s arm. "Do you want to get cleaned up? I can show you to my room."

"Right. I’m sorry I’m afraid I’m a bit of a wreck. A hot shower’d be heavenly."

Xavier runs out to the car and grabs his duffle. Owen eyes it suspiciously. "Planning on staying a while?"

Xavier offers a wry smile. "I’m in a bit of a transition currently, and I didn’t do a fantastic job packing. I’m used to life on the road, but when I have to plan something outside my uniform, cleats, and trainers, I tend to bring too much."

I put my hand on Xavier’s arm and show him to my room. He looks exhausted. "Is there anything you need? Towels are in there." I jerk my head toward the bathroom. I start toward the door and then stop. "Are you okay?"

He gives me a weak smile. "I’m afraid not. I …" He shrugs. "I don’t know what the future holds, and that scares me. I have no idea who I am without football, and frankly, I’m not ready to find out yet. I may not have a choice though."

I step toward him and wrap my arms around his waist. "If it’s any consolation, I have no idea who I am either." We hold each other for a moment before Xavier releases me.

"Thanks for that. I’d better get cleaned up." We stand there, inches apart. He’s only been gone a few days, but I’ve missed him. I should tell him that, but I’m not supposed to miss him. This is bonus time with him. Gravy.

Let’s face it, Thanksgiving is known for its gravy.

"Ophelia, can you come down here?" Owen bellows.

"You’re in trouble, I believe." Xavier turns toward the bathroom.

Feeling like my feet are made of lead, I trudge downstairs to find my parents with Owen and Carolina in the kitchen. The kids are running around with their iPads in hand.

There are a lot of scowls.

"Carolina, I’m sure Owen told you, but I invited a guest for dinner. Thank you for opening your lovely home to not only me but him. You know, my parents always had room for one more at their table."

Dad puts his arm around Mom. "Aw, hon, it’s nice to see Owen and Ophelia carrying on our tradition to make sure no one is alone on Thanksgiving."

This, of course, gives Carolina and Owen no choice but to be gracious a few minutes later when a clean and freshly groomed Xavier makes his way into the kitchen. It’s disappointing that I won’t get to see him walk around in various states of undress post-shower.

Maybe I’ll ask him to do it one more time, just for posterity.

I make the introductions, and Xavier is cordial, yet reserved.

I wish my mother was so reserved. She’s gushing and fawning, making a big deal out of his accent, asking him to say different words and what he calls different things. I guess we know which side of the family I inherited my awkwardness from.

Also, if my life were a rom-com movie, this is the part where the audience would be shifting in their seats from their second-hand embarrassment.

"Carolina, is there anything I can help you with?" I don’t know what else to do.

"I think you’ve done enough, but I suppose you can add one more place setting. He won’t have a place card. And then make sure people have drinks."

I turn to the dining room table, easily ten feet in length. I don’t even know where you’d buy one that big or that they made tablecloths that long. The sheer expanse of it makes me think of The Last Supper, and I wonder if I can convince everyone to recreate that famous painting after dinner. "I’m sure that won’t matter. He’ll be sitting next to me."

The doorbell starts ringing and my mom and I are tasked with greeting the guests and getting drinks. I lose track of Xavier for a bit until a red-faced Owen enters the sitting room to announce that dinner is ready.

The table is full of the usual suspects. In addition to my parents, Owen, Carolina, and their two daughters, Savannah and Kennedy, Carolina’s sister and her family are here. Georgia’s daughters, one in her late teens, the other in her early twenties, each have a significant other with them. I didn’t catch their names, so in my mind, they’re Dude Number One and Dude Number Two. Aiden walks in without a moment to spare. Owen’s client and his wife round out our party of seventeen.

I’ve never had a date for a family function. At least this year, I’m not the single spinster loser who has to sit with the kids because she doesn’t have a grown-up relationship.

Why is it that Aiden gets to be the funcle, but I’m a spinster? He’s thirty-five and not married. Societal roles are stupid.

Dinner is about as New England as you can get. Turkey, oyster stuffing, cranberry everything. It’s all delicious and flawless, as is everything my brother and sister-in-law do. Even their children are well-mannered and impeccably groomed.

Georgia’s girls are less so, obviously bored and talking only to their dates. When they’re not on their phones, that is.

Owen’s client—I’ve already forgotten his name as well—asks Xavier, "What part of England are you from? I’m having difficulty placing the accent."

Xavier swallows what’s in his mouth because of course he’d just taken a bite. "Just outside of Gloucester, toward Bristol. It’s southwest England."

"What brings you to the states?"

"Football." Xavier takes another bite, probably because he doesn’t want to have this conversation.

"Soccer football, not American football. Xavier’s a professional soccer player. He’s totally awesome. He used to play in England, but now he’s here."

Owen’s head turns toward Xavier. "Oh? What team? Anyone I’ve heard of?"

I wish I could stick my foot in my mouth if only to shut me up. Instead, I shovel in another mouthful of mashed potatoes, which sits like lead.

"Currently, I’ve a contract with the Baltimore Terrors, but I’d been pursuing a trade to the Boston Buzzards."

"I didn’t know we even had a soccer team here." That helpful—and mortifying—contribution is from my mom. "Did you know that?" she asks my dad.

"What do you do besides play soccer?" Owen asks. "Surely you must have other ventures for when your career ends. You know, you’re only ever one slide tackle away from being done."

I’m not sure where this colossal bunch of assholes came from. I’m starting to think that Xavier and I would have been better off sitting in his car and eating turkey sandwiches from Subway.

Aiden chimes in, "Oh—isn’t that true of all of us? You’re only one lost trial away from failure. I’m only one bad horse delivery away from getting a bad rep. We’re all only ever one mistake or unfortunate event away from disaster at any given time." He looks at Xavier. "Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt."

"When my career is finally done"—he gives me a sideways glance—"I’ll return home and help with the family business. Currently, I financially support them, but when I can’t do that, I’ll contribute in person."

Even though I sort of knew this, my chest tightens at his words. If he’s in England, he’ll never text from my doorstep again. I’ll never see him again. The food in my mouth turns to sawdust.

"And what exactly does your family do?" Carolina gently places her fork down.

"We run a wildlife rescue center."

"So cool," Aiden says. "What type?"

It’s my turn to look at Xavier. "Why’d I think it was a farm?"

"We have land, naturally, and barns, in addition to the aviary."

"The what?" He did not say what I think he said.

"The aviary. We rescue birds of prey and rehabilitate them. We’re all falconers by training."

I feel the color drain from my face.

Birds.

Big birds. Scary birds. Birds that could kill me.

My husband is a bird man.