Follow the River

He doesn’t knock on the door after we climb the steps, just walks in. The aroma I distinctly recall from the past as the scent of Thanksgiving hits me hard, causing my chest to ache. Before I can stop it, thoughts of the few Thanksgivings with my father prior to when he died come rushing back to me.

Mom was never a good cook. Honestly, she sucked at it, much like she sucks at life in general these days. But when she and dad were married, it didn’t matter. He could cook well enough for the both of them, so naturally, he made everything for our Thanksgiving di

I remember one year, he woke up at three in the morning to start prepping the turkey for cooking. He had decided to buy the biggest damn turkey I’d ever seen that year. That was the last year he was alive, I was almost eight.

We played football in the backyard after di

When he died in Afghanistan during his deployment, I kept playing.

It was the only way I continued to feel close to him.

Grief catches in my throat and I do the best to shake the thoughts away as we enter the kitchen after passing through the foyer and then the living area.

I find a tall, thin blonde woman, maybe about fifty, in the kitchen, looking like the typical Stepford housewife, complete with frilly dress, hair dolled up, and…heels.

In her own house.

“Mom,” River says behind me, sliding past to catch her in a hug as she floats around the kitchen with ease. She pauses with a pan of rolls in her hand, startled, before spi

“Hi, sweetie,” she exclaims, setting the pan on the island before wrapping her slender arms around River’s neck. She plants a kiss on his cheek and something like…jealousy floods through my veins.

I know I shouldn’t feel it. Of course his mother adores him. Any sane mother loves and dotes on their child. Even when they mess up.

But my mother was never like this, warm and affectionate, not after my father died. The day two men in military uniforms came to our front door to tell us my father had been killed in action, it was almost as if both my parents died.

Little did I know the death of my father would be the turning point in my life entirely.

“And who is this?” River’s mom says, snapping me from my thoughts. She gives me a warm smile as she releases River.

“Yeah, uh,” River rubs the back of his neck, clearly anxious. “Mom this is Rain. Rain, this is my mom, Kathleen.”

“Hi, Rain. It’s so nice to meet you. River didn’t tell me he was bringing someone home for Thanksgiving.” She glances over her shoulder at River and I try not to wince at the phrase home for Thanksgiving like it holds some sort of romantic co

And my heart fucking clenches, knowing it’s anything but normal to hug a complete stranger and somehow finding yourself feeling at home in their arms.

But I’m also livid. Because he didn’t even tell them I was coming today.

“It’s actually Ciaráin, ma’am. But it wasn’t exactly pla

“Oh, nonsense, Ciaráin. You’re more than welcome. We have plenty of food to go around.” She releases me and turns back to place the rolls in the oven. “Di

“Sure, Mom,” River smiles, seemingly forced, and kisses her on the cheek before grabbing a plate and utensils from the cabinets and heads across the hall into a formal dining room. I follow behind closely, taking my place at the seat he just set out and glance up at him.

“What the fuck, River? You didn’t tell her I was coming for Thanksgiving di