Brandon wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to brunch with his mother and Roberto on a Sunday morning. Jazlyn always insisted on a casual “catch-up” meal, but with her and Roberto, brunch often came with a side of unsolicited advice and an extra helping of emotional turbulence.
He slid into the booth across from them, noting Roberto’s furrowed brow as he poked at his omelet with the kind of suspicion most people reserved for their taxes.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Brandon,” Roberto muttered, barely looking up.
Brandon glanced at Jazlyn, who gave him a quick, reassuring smile. “He’s just mad because his coffee came out cold,” she explained. “It’s his third cup.”
“Oh yeah, sure, that’ll do it,” Brandon replied with a wry grin.
“Not all of us have the patience of saints,” Roberto grumbled, stabbing at his omelet with renewed vigor. “Anyway,” he said, steering the conversation, “Thanksgiving’s coming up. Have you thought about what you’re doing this year?”
Brandon took a deep breath. “Actually, I have plans already.”
Roberto’s fork paused mid-air. “Plans?” He raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing Brandon like he’d just declared himself a vegan.
“Yeah. You know, plans. I do this thing sometimes where I’m… busy?” Brandon replied, adding a touch of sarcasm he hoped Roberto would miss.
“But we’re planning Thanksgiving here, with just the three of us,” Roberto continued, sounding genuinely perplexed. “You, me, and your mother. I was even going to smoke the turkey this year.”
Brandon tried not to laugh. Roberto was one of the only people he knew who could bring more drama to Thanksgiving prep than the actual holiday. “Smoking the turkey?” Brandon repeated, feigning surprise. “You’re not even going to roast it like usual?”
“Roasting is old-school,” Roberto scoffed. “A man with my culinary expertise deserves to experiment. You know how long it takes to get the perfect smoke flavor? Not that you’d care, since you’re busy,” he added pointedly.
“Roberto,” Jazlyn cut in, her voice smooth and controlled. She gave Roberto a small pat on the hand, a gesture that managed to look both supportive and scolding. “Brandon’s allowed to have his own plans.”
“Sure, sure,” Roberto muttered, but his face was a portrait of disappointment. “I just thought, you know, family and all…”
Brandon felt a twinge of guilt, but he’d known Roberto long enough to know that “family and all” was Roberto-speak for “I’m going to sulk about this for the next hour.” “It’s not that I don’t want to be here, Roberto,” he explained. “I just… have something else lined up this time.”
“And what, pray tell, could be more important than Thanksgiving with us?” Roberto pressed, folding his arms and fixing Brandon with an exasperated glare.
Brandon shrugged. “Just… other plans. I’ll catch up with you guys later, though. And hey, that smoked turkey sounds… ambitious.”
“Ambitious?” Roberto huffed. “Brandon, I’ve got the best wood chips you can get! Applewood, hickory—you name it. It’s not ambitious; it’s a culinary statement!”
Jazlyn interjected, putting her hand on Roberto’s arm to keep him from going off on one of his infamous “culinary statement” rants. “Honey, let’s not make Thanksgiving into another debate. Brandon knows where we are if he wants to drop by.”
Brandon shot her a grateful look, but Roberto’s disappointment was palpable. “Sure, whatever. Do what you want,” he muttered. “I’ll just be here, slaving over a smoker for hours on end, alone.”
“You won’t be alone,” Jazlyn said, giving Roberto a pointed look. “You’ll be with me, and we’ll make it a nice, relaxing Thanksgiving.”
Roberto mumbled something under his breath about “relaxing” not being in his vocabulary.
Jazlyn turned to Brandon with her usual gentle smile. “We’ll miss you, of course, but we understand. Just promise me you’ll come over sometime that weekend.”
Brandon nodded. “I’ll definitely make it a point. Maybe swing by for dessert?”
Roberto’s eyes brightened slightly. “We’ll save you some pie, then. It’ll be pecan. Smoked pecan pie,” he added with a defiant smile.
“Smoked… pie?” Brandon asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“Of course,” Roberto replied, looking affronted. “There’s no reason why the pie can’t be smoked too. Just adds depth.”
“Right, depth,” Brandon agreed, chuckling to himself. “Can’t wait.”
The brunch wound down with Jazlyn talking about how she might still make her famous cornbread stuffing “just in case” Brandon showed up, and Roberto sulking periodically but rallying back to his usual intensity whenever smoked turkey came up. As Brandon left the restaurant, he felt a little pang of guilt for not sharing his full plans, but there was no way he was letting Roberto and Garth in on the same dinner. That would be a fire waiting to happen—and if Garth’s fried turkey plans were anything to go by, one fire was enough for one Thanksgiving.
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