✨2019 Fiction Awards Winner in Best General Fiction✨
Completed 9/22/2019
Sequel: Reality
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Joslyn Trett is no stranger to the touring lifestyle, she's been on the road assisting her brothers band for years, until now. Joslyn...
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Stepping out of the taxi, I look up at the mini mansion in disgust. Who knew they even made houses this nice in Ohio? My mother really got her big fancy house with the perfect family she always wanted.
"Ready?" Joe asks, slamming the trunk closed and coming to stand next to me on the sidewalk with our bags.
"Ready as I'll ever be." I sigh, grabbing my duffel bag from him and slinging it over my shoulder.
He gives me a knowing look, his long dark curls flopping around in the cold November wind. "Let's get this over with."
It's Thanksgiving and it's the only holiday we spend with my mother because Robert, her new husband, insists. Probably because it's one of the few holidays you don't have to give out gifts. Also, his family never comes in for Thanksgiving, opting to travel here for Christmas instead.
Walking up the front steps, Joe is brave enough to knock on the big solid oak door first. Moments later, my mother answers the door in her pristine knee length navy blue A-line dress and matching heels. She gives a half smile, ushering us inside.
"I'll take your coats," she says and I shrug off my pea coat, handing it to her.
"Joseph," she scolds, taking in Joe's appearance. He's only wearing a sweater, some ripped jeans, sneakers, and a beanie. "You're going to get sick." She huffs in disapproval.
"I'm fine," Joe mumbles with a slight eye roll.
She only purses her lips and shakes her head. "Come on, I'll show you to the guest bedrooms," she announces, heels clicking on the shiny, expensive marble floor as she walks to the grand staircase.
Walking upstairs, she shows us to our respective rooms before going downstairs to the lavish living room. Robert and the kids are sitting on the large sectional watching the sixty-five inch TV mounted to the wall.
"Joseph, Joslyn, glad you two could make it," Robert announces, standing from the couch to greet us. He has the fakest smile on his face and I know he wishes otherwise.
"You can just call me Joe, Rob," Joe says for the hundredth time since we've met the man, throwing in a little jab.
Robert frowns. "Just call me Robert, Joe."
An uncomfortable tension hangs in the air until a petite woman walks in the room, running her hands over her apron. "Everything is ready," she announces.
"Alright, Nora, we'll be right there," my mother says, eager to scurry off to the dining room.
"Nora?" I can't help but wonder out loud.
"Yes, our chef," Robert says. Of course rich Mr. Big Shot Surgeon would have a chef.
We all go to the dining room and take a seat at the long table covered in enough food to feed a small army. Not a word is spoken as we all make our plates, only the sounds of silverware clanking together.
