My Ex-Bestfriend

Thanksgiving news

Deja vu hits me hard when I approach the bright red door that I knocked on every day at least once most of my childhood. As part of my ritual like I did back in the day I say a quick prayer that Michael would answer or even Mr. James, who was mildly more cordial than his wife.

Today I have the distinct honor of Mrs. James answering the door. I feel like as a child she saw magazines of the perfect cookie cutter housewife and she created a vision board to encompass that whole era. Her hair is perfectly quaffed into a bob, not a single strand out of order. Make up perfectly assembled with the signature bright red lipstick that only true pros can meticulously perfect. She dons a festive apron with painted turkey handprints I bet is decades old belonging to Michael. Despite being on her feet all day playing hostess she completes the look with her wedged heels. Clearly that's the biggest red flag of her sociopath tendencies because who wears shoes in their own house?!

" Hi there sweetheart!" She leans in and gives me a peck on each cheek like she has done that a hundred times before. I remain stiff as a board as shock permeates my body at this new greeting. I have grown accustomed to her sigh along with the forced pageant smile.

"Uh hi, Mrs. James. I brought this." I hand her the pie, noticing a faint hint of disdain in her Disney smile.

"Oh how thoughtful. The boys are right this way." Before she can usher me in the family room Michael is taking quick long strides to greet me. He reaches me swiftly, wrapping one arm across my back and resting it on my hip in a possessive way as he plants a kiss on my cheek. Mrs. James's nostrils flare slightly before her award winning dutiful mother mask is back on.

"Michael, honey can you take this pie from me and place it in the kitchen. I am afraid I'll drop it." Without missing a beat he jumps up to her beck and call leaving me there stranded,  just as I'm sure she intended.

"Your Dad just got here too, although he didn't bring a pie." To some this would be a casual comment but I speak fluid passive aggressive this was another slight dig that she throws without Michael around.

I see Walt sandwiched between my Dad and Mr. James on the couch watching the parade on TV in a heated debate over which is the best float. My dad ruffles Walt's hair, releasing a jolly laugh when Walt proclaims his favorite part is the girls that can "kick really high." Mr. James smirks and pats his shoulder as well. I sigh cause this is all worth it for Walt. Family. Family is everything and something I never had a lot of. I know Michael can buy him anything but you can't buy a family.

The day drags on but the biggest blessing of the day is Mrs. James spending most of her time in the kitchen. I am not greatly domesticated in the kitchen arena thanks to a dad who preferred take out menus and a mom who died too young, but even if I was Martha Stewart in the kitchen Mrs. James would never allow me into her sacred oasis, which is fine by me.

The boys burn some energy by playing a game of football outside that Michael declares is a family tradition. I wouldn't know, I was never invited over until today. My dad taught Walt the art of the perfect spiral. He deems this a necessity for any man to learn. They end their outside time with Michael and Walt playing a game of Horse while the grandpas cheer them on. My heart squeezes in my chest with joy at the sight of all these men in Walt's life. This past year was truly a blessing in disguise.

Dinner is served and I am particularly thankful that I bribed Walt with a new video game if he tried everything on his plate cheerfully. Grandparents forget what it's like for kids who are picky eaters and I didn't want any further judgment cast down upon me today.

Mrs. James peppers me with questions at dinner as she interrogates me about Walt's life up to this point.

From asking if I "actually got prenatal care" and  if he was caught up on all his "shots"  to then segwaying into how his grades are in school. I thought I was the investigative reporter but it felt like I was being drilled for information on a salacious news piece of teen moms.

Michael seems unphased and thinks each question warrants a polite answer. My dad is aggressively chewing his food while quickly shoveling more in to prevent an outburst.

A few forks still scrape the plates but most of dinner fills our happy bellies. Michael stands up and excuses himself briefly as he goes and grabs a box from the doorway.

He stays standing as the flap of the box is open but everyone sitting can not see what's inside.

"I can't wait any longer and I want to announce some good news!"

All eyes are on Michael as he reaches in and grabs a Jersey sporting the infamous purple and yellow lettering, the Wizards. He grabs one and throws it to Walt, which I am grateful he catches and it doesn't land in a plateful of food. "Say hello to your newest Wizards Point Guard!!"

Mrs. James gasps and throws her hands up and starts clapping. Mr. James has a smile stretched across his face as he gives him an atta boy. Michael continues handing out jerseys to everyone at the table, even my dad.

My dad holds it up but cocking an eyebrow at me. Shock covers my features but my dad can see the glimmer of anger that is looming just under the surface. My dad might not be a cuddly physical touch kind of guy but he knows how to read every single one of my subtle features. Right now he knows I'm pissed but won't show it.

" They called me yesterday and I had these overnighted for everyone to celebrate!"

Just when I think Michael has grown and matured, he does this. He didn't even discuss this with me. How can I tell him we don't want to uproot our lives for him to be on a basketball team? How did he not realize this was a conversation that we needed to have before a decision was made? Does he realize the "Co" in Co parenting requires two people! Not wanting to make a scene and spoil his big news I take the damn jersey and smile. Of course when we were kids we dreamed of this moment but we aren't kids, we just have one.

"Congrats Michael, " I say as I muster all the enthusiasm I can.

Michael is riding high and he doesn't notice my lack of excitement. Not with Walt dancing around on cloud 9 to have a dad on his favorite NBA team. The news killed the rest of whatever was left of dinner and we all relocated to the family room.