Outside the Lines: A Novel
Outside the Lines: Chapter 29

“You can’t miss Thanksgiving, sis,” Bryce said two weeks after my fight with my mother. My brother and I were standing in my living room; he had come over to pick up another dinner for a date, though I doubted it was for the same girl. I’d made up this meal in advance and put it in a picnic basket complete with a bottle of sparkling cider and wineglasses. Though Bryce looked at least twenty-one, and I’m sure could have gotten a bottle of wine if he wanted it, I wasn’t going to encourage the behavior.

“I won’t miss it,” I said. “I’ll be spending it at Hope House, serving turkey dinner to people who really appreciate it.”

He sighed. “Mom’s real upset, Ed.”

“She should be.” I dug around in the basket to make sure I’d remembered to put in the dulce de leche brownies for the dessert. “I’m upset, too.”

Bryce grabbed my hand. “Will you look at me, please?” he asked.

I lifted my eyes and saw the pain in his. My heart ached. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I’m just having a really hard time with all of this. She lied to me.” I’d already filled him in on the details of the letters I’d found in my father’s things.

“For all the right reasons, yes, she did lie. C’mon. You know that, right?”

I hesitated. Of course I knew she meant well. Intellectually, I knew she was human, that as a parent she was bound to make a few mistakes. But emotionally, I still felt like a ten-year-old child crying in my bed, wishing with all my might my daddy wanted to see me. I didn’t know how to make those feelings go away. Especially not in time for Thanksgiving, which was only six days away.

“I understand why she thinks she did the right thing. I’m just so hurt by it I can’t see straight. And until I can, I don’t feel like I can be around her. It’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up for the holiday, Bryce. I’ve worked them before and it’s never bothered her.”

He took the picnic basket from me and frowned. “It’s not the same and you know it.” He gave me a kiss on my cheek. “But I love you anyway. Thanks for the eats.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, and shut the door behind him. He was right. I was overreacting. But I couldn’t figure out a way to stop. I called Jack and asked him for the umpteenth time for his thoughts about what I should do.

“I’m not the person to ask,” he said. “I’m not exactly the poster child for healthy family relationships.”

“But I care about what you think,” I said. “Am I being totally unreasonable?”

“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might prevent me from getting naked with you.”

I laughed. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not going to give me any answers.”

“Right. Unless the question is if I’ll come take advantage of you later; then my answer is yes.”

“I’ve got a late shift tonight. Big corporate event at work.”

“I don’t care how late it is. Rita’s staying overnight with the troops, so I’m free. Call me when you’re on your way home and I’ll meet you there.”

I told him I would, then hung up to promptly dial a person less willing to enable my bad behavior.

“Georgia Mills’s office,” Georgia said when she answered her cell.

“You’re not at the office yet?” Georgia only answered her cell phone that way when she was in her car.

“Nope. I’m stuck on freaking 405. Traffic sucks.”

“Yes, it does.” I gave her a quick recap of my brother’s scolding words. “Do you think he’s right?”

“God, Eden. You know he’s right. I’ve already told you I think you should make peace with your mom. Life is too short for this kind of bullshit. Isn’t that why you started looking for your dad, because life was too short to not have at least tried to replace him? So she fucked up. So what? We all do. Put your big-girl panties on and deal with it.”

I was quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her.

“I don’t mean to be harsh,” she said in more gentle tones. “But you did ask.”

“Yes, I did. I’ll work on figuring out what I should do.” After we hung up, I looked at Jasper. “So do you think I need to put on my big-girl panties?” I asked. He whimpered and began to pant. “Oh, you think I should wait a while, too, huh? That’s my boy.” I scratched his chest and his back leg went haywire in response. “Maybe I’ll call her after Thanksgiving, what do you think?” He barked and wagged his tail. There was affirmation if I’d ever seen it. I’d take it even if it did come from a dog. Jasper hadn’t failed me yet.

The week before the holiday flew by in a flurry of shopping for Hope House and prep for the two hundred private turkey dinners Emerald City was catering. Things like pies could be done well in advance, and the turkeys were prepped and sitting in the walk-in, waiting patiently for Juan’s capable hands to roast them. I’d talked Doug in the corporate office into donating twenty-five turkeys and fifty hams to the shelter, promising him the PR would not go unnoticed. Jack and Rita set up a food drive in front of the Safeway near his apartment and managed to procure enough instant mashed potatoes, canned yams, and green beans to feed an army.

In order to be sure we could fulfill all of our catering orders and cook the turkeys for Hope House, Juan and I stumbled into the Emerald City kitchen at three o’clock in the morning on Thanksgiving Day. We fortified ourselves with caffeine, and as soon as Juan pulled the last turkey out of the ovens to wrap up for our catering orders, I had the shelter’s turkeys ready to put in. The plan was to have Rita warm up the ham in the shelter’s kitchen, and thankfully, Jack had secured Tom to help me transport the turkeys. He showed up around eleven to load up his delivery van and I followed him in my car, which was loaded down with pies and an arsenal of canned whipped cream. Juan had offered to run the kitchen for the double-time holiday pay it would bring, so I happily handed over the responsibility of making sure all the parties received their custom orders. It was a crazy dance of timing and coordination and somehow, we managed to pull it off.

I had gotten to the point where I almost preferred working in the shelter’s kitchen than the one at Emerald City Events. There was something more homey about the smaller space and rickety stove, something that brought more satisfaction to me than whipping up seared foie gras and pancetta-wrapped figs for a cocktail party of Seattle’s social mavens. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant—whether I was so enthralled with Jack that I wanted to be near him or whether something deeper was going on with me related to my career. But the holiday was not the day to figure it out. I pulled up to the back door by the kitchen and helped Rita and Jack unload my car.

“The turkeys look amazing,” Jack said. “Tom brought them and the hams about an hour ago.”

“They smell amazing, too,” Rita added. She wore capri jeans and a snug, chocolate-brown T-shirt that had a picture of a cartoon turkey above the words get stuffed. “Were those sage leaves pushed under the skin?”

I nodded, setting my tenth apple pie onto the tiny amount of counter space that was left. “Herbs and melted butter rubbed under the skin makes all the difference in the flavor of the meat. I hope they stay moist enough.”

“I’ve kept them in the cooking bags like you said,” Jack said as he shoved the last can of whipped cream in the refrigerator. “But the mashed potatoes still need to get done. And the green beans. And the rolls.”

“Slow down, cowboy,” I said, laughing. “We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll take care of the potatoes if you’ll go park my car.” I dangled the keys at him. “Please?” He kissed me as he took the keys from my fingers.

“Get a room,” Rita commented with a smile. “Dinner’s served at three. We need to get a move on.”

Jack left and Rita and I set to getting huge stockpots of water, milk, and butter boiling for the mashed potatoes. “Are Starr and Paul coming to help?”

“Nope, they took the day off to spend with their families.”

“What about you?”

“This is my family,” she said simply. “Since I came out a few years ago, my parents don’t want anything to do with me.”

I stopped stirring. “I’m so sorry, Rita. That’s awful. Are you dating anyone?”

“Not currently,” she said with a grin. “But I’m working on it. You’re out of the running since Jack nabbed you.”

I laughed. “I never knew I was in the running!”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. I’m tired of all those scary old butch women hitting on me. I need to replace myself a nice lipstick lesbian.”

“But you knew I was straight, right?”

“Of course. The way you drooled over my boss sort of gave it away.”

“I didn’t drool!”

“Uh-huh.” She laughed. “Did you know I was gay?”

“I had no idea until you just said it.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a weary sigh. “I need to work on sending out a stronger vibe.”

Jack bounded back into the kitchen, his eyes glittery with energy. “What can I do to help?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Cut down on the caffeine, I’m thinking?” Rita suggested.

He jumped over to her and pretended to strangle her from behind. She laughed. “You can start slicing up the hams and turkeys. We need them in the foil casserole dishes and set up out on the tables. Think you can manage that?”

He performed a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

The three of us handling the entire Thanksgiving meal on our own was a little daunting, but I figured I’d dealt with wedding receptions and a few dinner parties without any help, so we could replace a way to make it work. Jack spent about an hour cutting up the meat and taking it out to the dining room. When Rita went out to check on the setup, Jack came over and hugged me.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered in my ear. He smelled like turkey and sage. It made me want to lick him.

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” I said, putting the finishing touch of roasted garlic into the pots of potatoes.

“No regrets about not being with your family?”

“None.” This wasn’t entirely true. My mother had left me another long, apologetic message earlier in the week, asking me to please come to her house for the holiday dinner. We’d always cooked it together—well, truth be told I cooked while she set the table—even if I had to work and we had to have dinner on another day. I called her back and told her I was committed to working at the shelter.

“The whole day? You couldn’t stop by later for dessert?” she asked. Her voice was both hopeful and sad.

“No,” I said. “I can’t. I’ll call you this weekend, okay? We can talk then.” I didn’t want to hold a grudge against my mom, but I truly didn’t feel like I was at a point where I could forgive her completely.

Now Jack pressed his forehead against mine. “I don’t believe you.”

I smiled. He already knew me too well. It was a little bit scary. “What about you? When was the last time you spent a holiday with your family?”

He sighed. “It’s been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Three years.”

“Well, how about I make you a deal?”

“Oh man,” Jack said, stepping back from me. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“How about if I make up with my mother, you at least have to try to talk with your dad?”

He stared at me long enough to make me avert my eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. West.”

I looked back at him and smiled sweetly. “Yes, I do.”

“I’ll think about it, okay? For you.”

“Oh no,” I protested. “You’re not doing it for anyone but yourself. I’m just giving you a push in the right direction.”

“I’ll show you a push,” Jack growled, and he grabbed for me. I jumped out of the way and took off toward the other end of the kitchen. “Mmm,” he said. “You want me to chase you around the campfire, like a caveman?”

“Unk, mumba,” I grunted, and winked at him.

At that moment, Rita reentered the kitchen. “Look who I found knocking at the front door,” she said. For a moment, I felt my heart stop, thinking perhaps my father had heard from other Hope House clients where he could replace me. Instead, behind Rita followed Georgia, Bryce, John, and my mother. My jaw dropped.

“Hey, lady!” Georgia said, coming toward me. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

I let her hug me, squeezing her a little harder than I probably should have. “Are you behind this?” I asked softly next to her ear.

She pulled away and grinned. “Yep! I sure am.” She waved at Jack. “Hi! I’m the best friend.”

“Georgia,” Jack said. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Bryce came over to me after her. “Hey, Ed. We figured if you wouldn’t come to us, we’d come to you. See what we could do to help.” He looked over to Jack. “You must be Jack. My sister can’t stop talking about you.”

I swatted his shoulder. “Bryce!”

My brother chuckled and shook Jack’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” Jack said. He winked at me. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” Jack walked over to where my mother and John stood, both of them looking a little uncomfortable. He extended his hand to shake John’s. “I’m Jack Baker.”

“John Morrow,” my stepfather said. “And this is Eden’s mother, Lydia.”

Jack smiled warmly at my mother and gave her a hug. “You have an amazing daughter, Mrs. Morrow.”

“Thank you. I certainly think so.” My mother smiled, though her eyes were still nervous. “And please, call me Lydia.”

“And call me John,” my stepfather said. “Just don’t call me late for dinner!” He guffawed at his own joke.

Georgia nudged me with her elbow. “Go talk to your mother,” she hissed through her teeth. “It’s Thanksgiving. Be nice.”

I glared at my best friend but did as she said. Jack moved aside and I stood in front of my mother as she looked at me with wide, glassy eyes. “Hi, Mom,” I said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave in to the urge to hug her. She clung to me tightly, her fingers digging into my back.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant—”

“I know, Mom. I get it. I was just so mad at you.”

“Are you done yet?” she asked.

“Not quite.”

She laughed, a quiet thing, and pulled back from me, wiping her eyes. “I hope it’s okay we came to help. You know I’m not much in the kitchen, but I can serve or clean or whatever else you might need.”

Jack touched my mother’s arm. “I think Eden has the food portion of our meal under control. But I could sure use some help in the dining room with decorations. I’m a little centerpiece-­deficient.”

“We’ll both come!” John bellowed. “Lydia can point to where she wants things and we’ll do the grunt work!”

“Sounds good to me, sir,” Jack said.

John looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “‘Sir’? I like this boy already, Eden.”

Jack led them out of the kitchen and I was left with Rita, Georgia, and Bryce. “Thanks a lot, you two,” I said to my best friend and brother. “Way to ambush me.”

“Well,” Bryce said, “we got talking and decided you were being way too stubborn for your own good.”

“That’s right,” Georgia said in agreement. “So we intervened. Anyway, you’ve been talking about this place for almost two months. I wanted to see it.”

I pulled out the stuffing from the oven and set it on the counter, then turned with my hands on my hips to face my best friend.

“Here,” Bryce said. “I’ll take that out to the dining room and see if I can help. Don’t want Pops to pull a muscle.” He and Georgia held each other’s gaze a little longer than was comfortable, but I waited for him to leave before saying anything.

“What was that about?”

She gave me wide, innocent eyes. “What was what about?”

“That look between you and my brother.”

“Oh, that.” She averted her eyes from me and moved them to Rita. “What can I do to help?”

“Georgia Leighton Mills!” I exclaimed.

Both she and Rita looked surprised but then laughed.

“They walked in together, if that tells you anything,” Rita said as she grabbed a huge basket of rolls and escaped to the dining room, leaving me alone with my best friend.

“Traitor!” Georgia called out after her, but Rita only laughed, apparently enjoying the role of instigator.

I grabbed Georgia’s arm. “Are you sleeping with my brother?”

“Not currently, no.” She yanked her arm away and took a deep breath, tiny lines of worry stitched across her forehead. “Look. I meant to tell you, but the fight with your mom blew up at, like, the exact same time. I didn’t want to upset you even more when it happened.”

I dropped onto a stool by the counter with my shoulders slumped. “When what happened, exactly?”

“Well . . .” Georgia said, shifting her gaze away from mine, then back again. “You know he and I have been talking and flirting at the gym. It was totally innocent until he asked if he could make me dinner.”

“And you said yes?”

Her chin fell toward her chest as she nervously ran her fingers through her loose amber curls, shaking them out. “I did.” She threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It was a total moment of weakness. I’ve been dating all these jerks and I’m starting to wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired of being single.” She took a deep breath. “Then suddenly, a sweet, gorgeous young man wanted to spend time with me? I think my ego said yes more than me.”

I nodded slowly. Georgia talked a tough game about being fine on her own, but I knew she ached to be appreciated—to fall in love. And as much as I hated to admit it, I could see being flattered the same way if a younger man asked me out. Before meeting Jack, I might have even said yes. But still, it was my brother. The idea made me queasy.

“So, we ate and talked and it just sort of . . . happened.” She shrugged. “Listen. He and I both agree it was a mistake. A one-night kind of thing. We talked about it the next morning and he was remarkably mature about just staying friends.” She paused and looked up at me with her huge, round hazel eyes, about ready to cry. “Are you going to be mad at me now, too? I’m really sorry I didn’t say something sooner, but it’s not exactly an easy subject to bring up, and with everything else you have going on . . .”

I sighed. “I don’t think I’m mad, exactly. More like a little creeped out. It’s so Mrs. Robinson.” A thought struck me. “Wait. Were you the picnic dinner?”

She nodded, her lips in a tight smile. “Those caramel brownies were amazing.”

“Oh god.” I shook my head. “This is crazy.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “It was crazy. It’s fine, we’re friends. No hard feelings.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling weakly. “But please don’t tell anyone else.”

“Deal,” she said solemnly. “Now, let’s talk turkey!”

With four extra sets of hands to help serve the meal and make runs to the kitchen for refills, Thanksgiving dinner went off as planned. Georgia and Bryce took the meat station, and John and Mom took care of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and yams, while Jack and I made sure people got some green beans and fresh, hot yeast rolls slathered in butter. The clients helped themselves to dessert.

“This gravy is awesome, Eden!” Jade said when she came back for a second helping. “Thank you so much.”

I smiled. “You’re very welcome, Jade. Make sure you save some room for dessert!”

She groaned. “I have to work later. I don’t want to hurl all over a customer.”

I laughed and went around to give her a hug. “Where’s Cheyenne?”

A sad look passed over Jade’s face. “She’s in jail. Sixty days. I’m not sure she’s gonna make it.”

“Why not?”

“She gets dope-sick pretty bad. Not a lot of sympathy for us junkies in there.”

I hugged her again. “I’m sorry. Maybe I can go see her next week. Take her some brownies.”

“Only if you can fit a file in them,” Jade said with a wink. Then she went over to sit down at the table with her other friends.

“Your mom has been watching you,” Jack said when I got back behind the table.

I looked over to my mom, who was smiling at a short man in a dirty black trench coat as she filled his plate with ham. “Huh,” I said.

“It’s pretty great they all came down here.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” he said. “My family wouldn’t be caught dead near this place. You have one fight with your mother and she’s here to volunteer. Maybe you should give her a little credit.”

I scooped out a serving of green beans to the next person in line. “I do. I still just have a hard time with the lying thing. I’ve always been able to trust what she says.”

“The world doesn’t judge us by what we say, Eden. It judges us by what we do. And I think what your mom is doing by being here is pretty fucking cool.”

I looked at him sideways, cautious of his tone. “Are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to throw away a relationship because of one mistake. That doesn’t bode well for our future.”

My stomach churned at his words, at the thought of losing him over something as stupid as my pride. I set down my spoon. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay, what?” he said.

“Okay, I’m going to talk to her. Really work things out. I don’t want to throw anything away. Not with my mother and not with you.”

Jack smiled and his eyes lit up. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’ve got a handle on things here. Go.”

I squeezed his hand before I walked over to the table where she and John stood. “How’s it going, Mom?” I asked. “Do you need a break?”

She smiled at me with tired eyes. “I am getting a little wiped out.”

“Come on. We’ll go sit in Jack’s office for a bit and let you put your feet up.” I looked at John. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” John said. “I’ll just keep feeding the masses.” He gave me a hearty grin and I spontaneously reached out and hugged him, hard.

“Oomph!” he said. “What was that for?”

“For being a great stepfather,” I said.

His chin lifted and he smiled with his bottom lip trembling. “Only because I have a great stepdaughter. She brings it out in me.”

My mom followed me through the bunk room and into Jack’s office, where I let her sit on the chair and pulled the other one around for her to put her feet up. I rested against the door I had closed behind us. “So, what do you think of all this?” I asked her.

“It’s smaller than I pictured,” she said. “I guess I imagined a warehouse of sorts. This is more like a remodeled office building.”

I nodded. “I think Jack chose it for the location. It’s in pretty close proximity to the hospital and the viaduct, where a lot of the clients hang out.”

“He’s doing a good thing here. You too, honey. It’s nice to see you put your cooking skills to such good use. I’m glad I came.” She sat very still.

“I’m glad, too.” I took a deep breath. “I need to apologize for getting so angry, Mom.”

“You had every right to be angry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Well, maybe so, but I still shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I could have listened to your reasoning a little bit more. Or tried to understand it better. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for it.”

She gave me a tender look and I suddenly felt four years old. I wanted to climb into her lap and let her hold me. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. She reached into the front pockets of her jeans and pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it, spreading it flat across her lap. “So I’ve done a little digging.”

I tilted my head toward my shoulder. “Digging?”

“Yes. About your father. I remembered you told me the last place he was hospitalized for sure was out in Monroe. They wouldn’t give you any details because you weren’t the emergency contact.”

I nodded, the muscles in my throat convulsing. I was a little terrified to hear what she might have to tell me.

“Well, I am.” She looked up at me. “He always listed my name, I guess even after I married John. The nurse I spoke to told me your dad was there because of a psychotic episode. He committed himself about three years ago. They took as much of a history as they could get out of him.”

“Oh, Mom.” I couldn’t believe she had done this. Not after how much she fought against my looking for him. Not after all the dead ends I’d faced.

“Now, don’t get too excited.” She held up her hand, palm facing me, then dropped it back to her lap. “All I found out is that he did live in California for several years. San Francisco, to be exact. He came back up here and lived in that apartment building you found. That’s when he tried to get in touch with you again. He told them he tried to stay on his meds and get a job so he could get his life together for his daughter. He was very proud that you had become a chef.”

“How did he know?” I whispered, still in shock.

“They weren’t sure about that. I asked them the same question. But he went off his meds again and went back to the streets. It sounds like he stayed in Seattle for the most part. He did visit a shelter down in Portland, though. A sort of halfway house that runs a special program for artists with mental illness. He told them he’d go back there after he got out of the locked ward.” She looked up at me and held out the piece of paper. “That’s all I could replace out. I haven’t called the place in Portland. I thought you might want to do that.”

I stumbled over to her and fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around her waist. I rested my head on the soft flesh of her belly and let the tears come.

“Shh,” she said, trying to soothe me. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner. I should have.”

“You’re doing it now,” I said, looking up to her through blurry eyes. “That’s the only thing that counts.”