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Chapter 68

The morning sun was low in the sky when Claire awoke the next day. Nick was still sound asleep beside her, so she climbed carefully out of bed, trying not to jostle the mattress and wake him up. She tiptoed out of the guest bedroom and into the hall, wondering if she was the first one up. The house was very quiet. Creeping to the back of the house, she found the door to her parents’ bedroom halfway open. She stuck her head in to peek and saw that the bed was unmade, but her mother was not in it. Just as she was wondering if her mom had come back to sleep at all, Claire padded into the kitchen and found a short note from her.

Kyle & Claire,

Already gone back to the hospital. Don’t worry; I called ahead, and your dad is doing fine. Take your time getting up here, and make sure Amber and Nick get breakfast.

Love,
Mom

Claire smiled. So typical of her mother – she was always concerned for everyone else. Deciding to take her advice, Claire started hauling ingredients out of the cupboards and fridge and assembled them on the counter. If she couldn’t go to the hospital yet (because she wasn’t going to leave Nick behind, and she didn’t want to awaken him either), she could at least make sure she had breakfast ready for Nick, Amber, and Kyle when they got up.

The bacon was almost done frying and she’d just finished scrambling the eggs when Amber waddled in, dressed in fuzzy slippers and a long nightshirt that stretched tightly across her very pregnant stomach. “Mmm, something smells good,” she commented, running a hand over her round belly.

“Morning,” Claire greeted her with a smile. “Yeah, I decided to make breakfast while I waited for everybody else to get up. Mom already went back up to the hospital, but she said Dad’s fine.”

“Oh good,” said Amber, returning the smile. “And thanks for making breakfast! I’m sooo hungry… this baby’s gonna be a little chowhound, I can already tell! This eating for two thing is tough stuff – I feel like such a pig lately.” She grunted as she lowered herself into one of the kitchen chairs, and Claire laughed.

“Hey, look on the bright side – at least you have an excuse to pig out.”

“Ugh, not for much longer I don’t,” Amber replied, sticking out her tongue. “I’ve gained so much baby weight, I’ll probably never lose it all…”

“Well, if you wanna try aerobics or Tae-Bo or something once you’re feeling up to it, lemme know; I’ll do it with you,” Claire offered. “I could definitely stand to get toned.” She flexed her right arm and made a face at her puny bicep. She’d never been particularly ripped, but months of lying around, weak from cancer treatments, had robbed her of the muscle mass she’d once had, and she still hadn’t built it back up yet. Though she felt pretty good these days, she didn’t have the stamina she’d had before either. It wouldn’t hurt to start working out regularly and try to get herself back into the kind of shape she’d been in in college, before leukemia had ravaged her body.

Amber smiled. “I just might take you up on that, Claire. Thanks!”

“No problem. Want some breakfast now?”

Just as Amber opened her mouth to say “yes,” another voice cried, “NOOOOOO!!!” Claire looked up as Kyle leapt melodramatically into the kitchen and practically threw himself between his wife and the plate Claire was loading with food. “You can’t eat that!” he sputtered to a startled Amber and then rounded on Claire. “And you… what do you think you’re doing, trying to poison my wife and child?!”

Claire rolled her eyes and set the plate down, picking up a spatula instead and brandishing it threateningly at her older brother. “Are you making fun of my cooking?” she demanded, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to look serious. “Cause so help me, if you are…”

“He’s not,” a second male voice interjected, and Claire glanced over in surprise to see Nick wander nonchalantly into the room. Although he’d dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, he looked as if he’d just woken up – his hair was sticking up in odd places, and his cheeks were rosy from sleep. “Cause if he was,” Nick continued, his eyes shifting to Kyle, “he’d have to answer to me.” Raising his eyebrows, he puffed his chest out and tried to look menacing, but only cracked himself up instead. “Just playing, dude; you could totally take me.”

Amused at Nick’s unexpected playfulness, Claire smiled. Her brother did too, replying, “Maybe, but I’d be too afraid to – I’m sure you have bodyguards who could kick my ass.”

Nick laughed along with him before telling Amber good morning and then crossing the kitchen to Claire. “I think your breakfast looks awesome,” he told her, pulling her in for a quick good morning kiss. His arms lingering around her waist, he added, “It’s good to see you guys playing around. I take it the word on your dad is good?”

Claire nodded thankfully and told him what her mom’s note had said. “I want to get ready and run up to the hospital when we’re done eating, but she said to take our time; there’s no hurry.”

Nick nodded too. “That’s cool. We’ll eat, and then I’ll go up with you… if you want me to, that is.”

“Of course I do,” she replied with a smile, “as long as you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t have flown back three days early if I minded.”

Her smile was brief, as his words reminded her of why he was supposed to fly back that week anyway. “Hey, guys?” she asked, turning to address Kyle and Amber, as well as Nick. “What are we gonna do about Thanksgiving? Mom’s not gonna want everyone here if she has to take care of Dad, but Grandma and Grandpa Ryan are flying in on Wednesday…”

“Well, she won’t have to do anything; we can take care of the cooking and cleaning and everything,” Amber offered immediately, giving the most obvious solution.

“I don’t know… you know how Mom gets,” said Kyle, speaking more to Claire than his wife. “She’s pretty anal about the house being perfectly spotless and all that, especially when Dad’s parents are coming. You know she’ll probably try to clean everything all over again, even if we do it first.”

“That’s true. Maybe we shouldn’t have it here,” Claire replied, without stopping to think of a good alternative.

“Where then? I guess we could try it at our house… but I don’t know if everyone will fit. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, you, Nick, Amber, me…” He ticked off the numbers on his fingers and cast his wife a doubtful look. She shrugged helplessly, her brow furrowed. Their starter home was the perfect size for them and a new baby, but simply too small to house the whole family for the holidays. Claire doubted they would all even be able to squeeze around the small, round table to eat.

And then Nick spoke up. “What about my place?” When all heads turned to him, he inclined his head towards Claire and amended, “Our place. I mean, it’s big enough…”

Claire could have kissed him, but she held back, watching her brother’s expression as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, tipped his head in consideration, then nodded slowly. “Hey, that would be cool,” he said, then added, “If you’re sure.”

Claire glanced up at Nick, who looked back down at her and smiled before turning back to Kyle. “Sure, no problem. We’re almost family, right? It’ll be great.” His tone was casual – he was playing it cool, as if it were no big deal either way – but Claire thought she could pick out a hint of excitement in his voice. Sure, it probably made him feel good to be able to offer up his spacious house for the holiday, but she suspected it was more than that. As long as she’d known him, he had never (as far as she knew) hosted any kind of big family gathering for the holidays. He’d spent last Thanksgiving with AJ and his mother, and Christmas at Howie’s parents’ house; from what she gathered, he’d been spending holidays with his surrogate brothers’ families, rather than his own, for years. After the stories she’d heard, she couldn’t say she really blamed him, but she still felt sorry for him, for her family was such a big part of her life; she couldn’t imagine going months without talking to them the way he did. She was glad, therefore, that he was beginning to feel like a part of her family, and the more the idea of hosting Thanksgiving at his beautiful house sank in, the more she liked it.

“It will be great!” she echoed Nick with a burst of enthusiasm. “There’s enough extra rooms to have Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa stay – even for you two to stay, if you want to. And the dining room is huge, so we won’t have a problem seating everyone for dinner. Speaking of dinner, I was thinking of getting Mom’s recipes and doing the cooking myself…” Her voice tapered off on that last suggestion, as she braced herself for more of Kyle’s teasing about her cooking.

Just as she’d suspected, he instantly clutched his throat and feigned that he was choking, until Amber smacked him and shot him the sort of disapproving look only a wife could give, which got him to stop. “That sounds perfect,” Amber said, “and I can come over on Wednesday and help you with the cooking.”

“Only if you feel like it,” replied Claire. “I’m sure I can handle it. I gotta start sometime, right? Might as well be this year.” She smiled with confidence, and at that moment, with everything falling into place, it really didn’t sound like too large a feat to accomplish.

***

By Wednesday, however, Claire was a basket case, and Nick was afraid if he stayed in the house with her for too much longer, he’d go insane himself. He’d hired his cleaning lady to come early and give the house a thorough cleaning, but just an hour after she’d left, Claire was running around the house, checking to make sure that the bedspreads in the guest rooms were unwrinkled and that there was no hair in the drains.

“You haven’t met my grandmother!” she told him almost hysterically, after he had laughed at her. “She’s so anal about this kind of stuff! I think I’d die of shock if I ever found a speck of dust in her house. This place has got to be spotless.”

In between running rampant with a Swiffer cloth to get rid of the inevitable specks of dust that lurked in his house, she was also buzzing around the kitchen, littering the counters with pots, pans, and all kinds of ingredients in her frenzied attempt to put together the dishes she’d stick in the oven in the morning to cook for their Thanksgiving dinner the following afternoon. The last time he had popped in, the room looked as if a tornado had just roared through it, so he’d sought shelter in his studio, where he sat now, scrutinizing a very rough cut of the song he’d written for her, which he’d recorded by himself in LA the week before as a demo.

“And when I didn’t want to live for me, you made me live for you,” his own voice crooned in his ears. “So the least I can do is return your favor… know that I’ll always be by your side…”

A knock on the door interrupted the second chorus, and he tore his headphones off. “Come in!” he called and watched as the door swung open.

Claire’s face appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey,” she said. “Any chance you’d want to run to the store for me and pick up a bag of cranberries? I didn’t buy any because Amber’s making the cranberry sauce, but I forgot Grandma’s stuffing recipe calls for them too, and I just don’t know if I have time to-“

“I’ll go,” he volunteered dutifully, standing up. She’d already had to run back to the grocery store at least twice that morning to pick up ingredients she’d forgotten; he figured it was his turn anyway. “Just cranberries?”

She paused, thinking. “I think so. I’ll call you if I think if anything else, ‘kay?” Flashing him a toothy grin, she chirped, “Thanks!” and darted in to kiss him on the cheek before scurrying back to the kitchen. Shaking his head in amusement, Nick swiped his demo CD and followed her, grabbing his keys on the way out of the house.

He popped his demo CD into his car’s player and automatically joined in to his own singing as he whipped the car around his circular driveway. He hoped this song would make the final tracklisting for the album. Raw as the demo was, he liked it (although maybe he was biased, having written it). When he’d shown the guys his lyrics and sang a few bars of his intended melody, they had liked it too; in fact, it was Kevin who had helped him put together a piano arrangement for the tune he’d come up with, and Kevin’s light piano playing could be heard beneath Nick’s voice on the track. The ultimate question was, would Claire like it?

She will, he thought assuredly, switching to the radio as the song came to an abrupt end. After all, what girl could resist a guy writing a song for her?

He continued to think of his fiancée as he navigated the car to the grocery store. Though he couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of her running around like a headless chicken, trying to make sure everything was in order for her grandparents’ arrival for the holiday later that afternoon, he was also a little worried about her. She’d been under a huge amount of stress this week, what with her father and now all these Thanksgiving preparations that she’d somehow ended up in charge of.

He knew she could handle it, but at the same time, he wished he could be more helpful. Offering up his house for her family’s Thanksgiving was about the best he could do, considering she’d hinted that he was better off staying out of the way when it came to the cooking and cleaning, and when it came to her dad, Jamie pretty much had the consoling part down pat.

He frowned as he thought of Claire’s high school sweetheart. There was no need to worry about Jamie for the time being – he’d left for home early that morning, to go back to his own family for the holiday. Still, the fact that he’d even been there pissed Nick off. Deep down, he understood why Claire had called him too. He remembered last December, when she’d abruptly booked a flight to Iowa to be with Jamie after his own father’s heart attack. When the situation had reversed itself, of course she would want support from him – she’d known he would understand.

I did too though, he thought somewhat forlornly. I understood… But when it came to comforting her, Jamie had sort of left him in his dust.

He sighed, hoping the whole situation had been left in the dust by now. Jamie was gone, Claire’s dad was on the mend, and tomorrow he’d join her family – his soon-to-be in-laws – for a nice Thanksgiving dinner that would hopefully lift everyone’s spirits. He was looking forward to it – meeting her grandparents, sharing dinner with her family, almost as if they were his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been with his own family for Thanksgiving; it was just kind of a given now that he would spend it with Brian and Kevin’s family, or the Doroughs, or AJ and his mom. At least this year he would feel more like he was meant to be there, as Claire’s fiancée, not just the unfortunate friend with the dysfunctional family he wished to avoid on the holidays.

His mother had actually called him earlier in the week to invite him over for Thanksgiving; she’d sounded rather upset when he had told her he was already back in Florida and would be spending the holiday with Claire’s family. He was expecting a repeat of the fight they’d had before Christmas a good seven years earlier, when he had chosen to be with his girlfriend Mandy’s family instead of his own. But her next words had surprised him.

“Well, how about Christmas then?” she’d pressed him eagerly. “You could always bring her too, if you want. And I’d love to meet her parents, considering you are marrying her. Maybe we can all get together for the holidays! Then I could help her and her mom with the wedding plans…”

Nick thought that sounded like a terrible idea, but he’d vaguely told her he would talk to Claire about it. He hadn’t, of course – there was no way he would subject her nice, normal family to his crazy one, and he’d whisk Claire off to Tahiti to elope before he’d let his mother interfere with their wedding.

Still, he supposed he should be glad he and Jane were back on speaking terms and that she’d finally warmed to the idea of him loving another woman. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all; maybe she just felt guilty and missed him. He figured it didn’t really matter; he’d already decided that this kind of relationship was the best he was ever going to have with his mother – a phone call now and then, the occasional sniveling message on his answering machine or voicemail, and maybe, once in a great while, a visit. He regretted the situation, for his estrangement from his mother had separated him from the rest of his family too. But someday, things would be better. The kids would grow up, move out, and break free from her clutches. Maybe his dad would someday too. But for now, he’d resigned himself to spending another holiday without seeing them.

He jerked the steering wheel suddenly, sharply making the turn into the supermarket parking lot he’d nearly missed. Pausing his thoughts to concentrate on his driving, he drove up and down the aisles, looking for a parking spot.

***

Hours later, Nick was pulling out of an entirely different parking lot – that of the Tampa International Airport. He had accompanied Claire there to pick up her grandparents, who had flown in from their home state of Maryland and were now sitting in the backseat of his Durango. He drove carefully, making sure to stay at the speed limit, for he wanted to make a good impression on them.

After all of Claire’s panic over the way the house looked and how well the food was going to turn out, he had expected Arthur and Sonja Ryan to be fussy and strict, but so far they had been nothing but pleasant. Nick was relieved; he wanted to like Claire’s family and have them like him in return, for they were going to be his in-laws, and he knew it was them with whom he’d be spending most of his holidays from here on out. He had no desire to show Claire what Christmas with the Carter Clan could be like.

He listened in silent amusement as Claire caught up with her grandparents, resolvedly enduring her grandmother’s critique of her appearance (“Your hair looks lovely, dear. Oh, I am glad it’s grown out again,” she commented, then pulled a 180 and added, “But you know, you do look awfully thin, sweetheart; are you sure you’re eating right?”) and her grandfather’s continual, “What? What was that?” to which Sonja would snip, “Oh, Arthur, turn up your hearing aid!”

But once they’d arrived home and were seated around Nick’s living room, the conversation turned to Nick. They asked him all the standard questions, including ones about his “band,” as Claire’s grandpa Arthur called it. Nick quickly realized that although they had been told what he did for a living, neither of them had the slightest clue who he was. That was just as well with him; he found it refreshing.

“Well actually, no, I usually don’t play any instrument; see, it’s more of a vocal group really – we sing,” he explained patiently. “You know, like five part harmony?”

“Ohh, like the old barbershop quartets!” Sonja exclaimed, joining her hands delightedly. “Remember, Arthur, how we used to ride into town to see that one group perform? Oh, what were they called?”

“What was that?” asked Claire’s grandpa, cupping his hand behind his ear.

“Yeah, we’re, uh… something like that,” Nick replied with an awkward chuckle.

“Oh, I just love singing groups!” beamed Sonja. “Now what part do you sing, dear? Wait, let me guess – bass? You’re so broad-shouldered; men who are broad always seem to sing bass.”

Nick glanced over at Claire, who was hiding a playful grin, clearly enjoying this. Turning back to her grandmother, he smiled and answered, “Actually, no; I’m more of a tenor.”

“Oh, a tenor! Now that takes talent! I’m sure you have a lovely voice. We’d just love to come and see one of your performances, wouldn’t we, Arthur?”

“Say again?”

“I said, we’d love to-“

Nick’s thoughts wandered as Sonja repeated her sentence; he suppressed a smirk as he pictured Claire’s eighty-year-old grandparents surrounded by masses of shrieking teenagers at a Backstreet Boys concert. “Well, uh… yeah, if you want to, I’m sure I could work something out with the guys,” he said noncommittally.

“Oh, that would be lovely!”

***

“Your grandparents are a riot,” Nick said to Claire that night, as they lay in bed, waiting for The Daily Show to come back from its commercial break.

Claire smiled, glad he had gotten along so well with them. “They’re something, aren’t they?” she replied with a laugh. “I love ‘em to death.”’

She had been so worried about what they would think of everything – Nick, his house, her cooking (although tomorrow would be the real test for that) – especially her grandmother, who, though she meant well, could be incredibly nitpicky. But it was her grandma who had pulled her aside when Nick was out of earshot and whispered what a nice young man he seemed to be.

“And very handsome too,” she’d added, an almost girlish smile alighting her wrinkled face. “Such a shame, though, about his leg. Sometimes I just don’t understand why the good Lord puts young people through such ordeals.”

Her eyes, dulled by sorrow, focused on Claire, who smiled tightly and replied, “Sometimes I don’t either… but everything happens for a reason, you know. I think maybe in our case, the reason was so Nick and I would find each other.”

Her grandmother beamed at her and squeezed her arm affectionately. “You’re a good girl for being there for him. Some women wouldn’t, you know. An old classmate of mine fell in love with a young Marine. Oh, they were absolutely smitten with each other… she’d write to him while he was stationed far away, and he would come home to visit her whenever he had leave, even if it was only for a few days. But then he was badly wounded in the War… lost both of his arms, poor soul. And Patsy… well, the poor girl, she just couldn’t cope.”

Claire shook her head slowly. “That’s terrible,” she declared. “I’d never dream of leaving Nick just because of his leg. I loved him before, I loved him after, and I always will love him. It hasn’t changed anything.”

The memory of their earlier conversation caused Claire to look over at Nick again. He’d returned his attention to the commercials on TV; a small chuckle escaped his slightly-parted lips as the flickering light cast from the television played off his face, seeming to tint his skin different hues. Smiling, she reached beneath the sheets and patted his thigh, thinking of how nice it was to have him there.

She’d had trouble sleeping lately, what with the burglar scare, doubts about their relationship, and worry over her dad; not to mention, she’d been plagued with bad dreams, which left her flushed and drenched in sweat, her heart racing as if she’d just sprinted a mile. But tonight, she was sure she’d have no problem falling asleep, for Nick was there… and besides, she was exhausted.

She yawned just before Nick rolled towards her, having interpreted her touch in a different way. His hand found her hip under the covers and trailed down across her bottom before working its way back around to the front. She reached down and intercepted it as it was sliding up her shirt, his fingers light on her stomach. “Mm, Nick,” she murmured, dragging his hand out from under her shirt and pushing it down upon the mattress. “Not tonight.”

“No?” he asked with a questioning frown.

“I’m really tired,” she replied apologetically. “And hot,” she added as an afterthought, kicking her legs up and out from under her half of the covers. The room seemed stuffy all of a sudden; she felt as if she were burning up.

“Yeah you are,” Nick said, his tone sexual, his eyes panning up her body from toe to head, lingering on a few select areas.

She groaned. “Nick… my grandparents are right down the hall!”

“We can be quiet.”

She shook her head. “No. Not tonight. I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like it,” she said, then added quickly when she saw his face fall, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

He frowned, but nodded and rolled back over onto his back, pulling the covers tighter around his chest. He didn’t speak for the rest of the TV show, not even during the final block of commercials. When she realized he wasn’t going to, Claire heaved a sigh of annoyance and rolled out of bed. She was tired and hot, and the combination was making her cranky. Nick’s pouting was not something she could take right then.

In the comforting silence of the dark kitchen, Claire poured herself a glass of ice water and drank it quickly, savoring the icy trail it left on the way down her throat. She paused to take a peek into the fridge at the arrangement of dishes she’d prepared for tomorrow’s feast, dishes which she’d just have to put in the oven, along with the turkey, in the morning. Pleased with herself, for everything had seemed to come together very nicely so far, she let the refrigerator door shut and set her empty glass on the counter. Then, yawning, she wandered back up to bed.

Nick was lying in his classic sleeping pose when she came into the bedroom – flat on his back, his arms across his chest, his eyes closed. He always looked so cute that way that she could not stay frustrated with him, and she smiled despite herself. As she climbed back into bed beside him, the thought hit her that he might be faking – another way of pouting – but she supposed it didn’t really matter. If he was, she’d play along.

“Night, Nick,” she whispered and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek before rolling in the opposite direction and wearily closing her eyes.

***