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Hey, Big Guy (Complete Story 6/25/19)


TQuintA

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The story will be on temporary hiatus while I attend to some computer issues.  But I assure you, I have finished the next 20 chapters and will resume regular posting as soon as I am able.

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On 5/15/2019 at 8:31 AM, TQuintA said:

The story will be on temporary hiatus while I attend to some computer issues.  But I assure you, I have finished the next 20 chapters and will resume regular posting as soon as I am able.

thanks for all the amazing post regarding this story. As well as the heads up.

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Chapter 44

            Later that day, we were at our usual lunch table, James and me eating a mountain of food that the cafeteria ladies had set aside just for us as per Charles’s instructions.  Dave and Luke had gotten there earlier and were already mostly done with their meals.

            “I don’t think I can put all of this away,” James said, staring at the food.

            “That’s my line,” I said.  “Weren’t you the one telling me about how you need to eat to grow?”

            “You have almost 80 pounds on me.  Charles gave me the exact same diet and workout routine as you.  The only thing different is the amount of weight I’m lifting.”

            “Eat what you can, leave the rest,” I said.

            “It’s going to be like Thanksgiving every day,” James muttered.

            Thanksgiving again.  Gathering my resolve, I said, “I don’t want to break up the group for Thanksgiving.  We could always stay here,” I suggested. 

            “If we stay here, Charles will find us,” James said.

            I hadn’t thought of that.  “I’d invite you all to my house, but I haven’t quite figured out how to explain all of this,” I gestured to my massive bulk, and added, “yet.”

            “People are easily deceived with lies,” Dave said.

            “My mother’s a pediatrician.  It’ll take more than ‘I’ve been working out’ to convince her.  Besides, my house is all wrong.  We don’t really do Thanksgiving.  On the plus side, that means they won’t miss me.”

            “What do you mean your family doesn’t do Thanksgiving?” Luke asked.

            “My father’s vegan, so he’s out on principal alone.  My mother says the holiday reinforces antiquated notions of gender, so she refuses to cook.  I usually spend Thanksgiving alone in my room playing video games.”

            “You should’ve said something, buddy,” Luke said, consolingly.  “You could’ve always come over my house.  We do it up right.”

            “I’ve met your family, Luke.  It’s not for me.”

            “Why not?” he asked.

            “How much football is involved on Thanksgiving at your house?” I asked in return.

            “All of it,” Dave answered.  “They watch football, they play football, they wear football jerseys, and there’s a football for a centerpiece.”

            “You’ve never been to my house for Thanksgiving,” Luke objected.

            “And until I propose to you, I never will,” he turned to face James and me.  “He showed me pictures.”

            “It’s true,” Luke admitted.  “Thanksgiving at my house is football-centric.  You would all hate it.”

            “What about your house?” James asked Dave.

            “On Thanksgiving, Mother wakes from her chardonnay nap at 2, the servants have dinner ready precisely at 3.  Rather than hello, Mother tells me how glad she is I’m not ugly.  Dinner feels more like a meeting with an accountant.  She lists all of her recent purchases detailing exactly how much each item cost and all of her new sources of income detailing exactly how much each one is bringing in.  By five, she retreats into her wing of the house, and I don’t see her again until Christmas.  Unless there’s a death in the family.”

            “Poor little rich boy,” I said.

            “Right?” Dave said.  “We were never the Gilmore Girls, but since Father died, that house is practically Antarctica.”

            “What about your family?” Luke asked James.

            “Turkey dinner.  Uncle Henry spends two days making everything.  It’s really lavish, and it’s usually themed around an artist they’re exhibiting at his gallery.”

            “Did your Uncle Henry teach you how to cook?” I asked.

            “Yep.”

            “I’m in.”

            “Me too,” Dave said.

            “If you don’t go to your house, won’t your mother be upset?” James asked.

            “I doubt she’d notice.  She always looks surprised I’m at the dinner table.”

            “If you’re in, babe, I’m in too,” Luke said.  “You’re more important to me than football.”

            “Won’t your family miss you?” James asked.

            “They’ll be glad for the seat,” Luke said.

            “That seems heartless,” James responded.

            “It’s pragmatic,” I said.  “Luke has four older brothers, all married, three with kids.  His younger sister is still in high school, but she’ll probably bring her boyfriend.  His aunts and uncles pour in from all over the state, dragging his cousins who aren’t old enough to escape the gravity well.  It’s usually about thirty people.”

            “Forty,” Luke corrected.  “And I call them often enough.  They won’t miss me.”

            James was flustered.  “I don’t think you’ll find it all that fun.  After dinner, Dad lectures us about an important person from Native American history to compensate for his guilt at celebrating the holiday at all.”

            “Sounds better than being alone,” I said.

            “Or being without Dave,” Luke added.

            “Or Mother’s financial report,” Dave contributed.

            “I’ll call my dad.”  James pulled out his phone and walked away while dialing.

            “Why does he always walk away from us when he uses his phone?” Dave asked.

            “Uncle Henry taught him that it was rude to have a private conversation in public,” I explained.

            “Do you think his dad will say yes?” Luke asked.

            “I think he’ll say yes so loudly we’ll hear it from here,” I said.

            As soon as I said it, we saw James pull the phone away from his ear as though someone was shouting through it.  They exchanged a few more words, and James came back to the table.  “They said yes.”

            “They?” Luke asked.

            “It’s Sunday afternoon.  Uncle Henry was sitting right next to him.”

            “One small hitch,” I said.  “They saw me less than a month ago.  How do we explain the 50 extra pounds?”

            “I told them about the invitational.  That you were working on getting as big as you could by December12th.”

            “That could work,” I said.

            James was typing something into his phone.  “I’m emailing Charles’s plan to Uncle Henry now so he can plan Thanksgiving around it.”

            “He’s cool with that?” I said.

            James got a text in response.  “His gallery recently began displaying a bunch of Ancient Greek statues of Olympians and wrestlers.  He was already planning an homage to that.  He called it, ‘blessed kismet.’”  He showed me the text.

            “So, it’s going to be a healthy Thanksgiving?” Dave asked with slight disdain in his voice.  Then, after a pause, added, “Still better than Mother.”

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