Melt Your Headaches, Call It Work

November

“Alright Georgie, Libby’s leaving!” Ryan called, standing awkwardly next to me. I was heading over to my mother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, and Georgie had been sulking for two days straight over it.

“She’s not going to come down,” I sighed, staring up at the staircase. “It’s not like I’m leaving for a week, or something, just for tonight.”

“Georgie’s just really attached to you,” Ryan explained. “Plus, I think she’s annoyed at Keltie.”

“Oh, because was she supposed to spend Thanksgiving with her mom?” I whispered, instantly feeling sorry for her.

“Yes, but Keltie’s off with…Brent…and I don’t have anything planned on such short notice, so we’re not doing anything. We probably won’t even have a turkey,” Ryan shrugged. I stared at him in annoyance.

“Oh no, Ryan, you can’t do that!” I sighed. “You know what? Go grab your coat, I’ll get Georgie, alright? Just, do as I say.”

Ten minutes later, Georgie was settled in nicely in the back while Ryan sat in the front seat, staring at me quizzically. I smirked to myself as I drove to my mother’s home, ready to give Georgie one of the best Thanksgivings of her young life.

“Alright, we’re here!” I exclaimed, parking the car in front of the familiar house where I had spent my entire life living. I could hear shouting coming from inside, and saw that my cousins had arrived, as well as Spencer and his family.

“Libby, you really don’t have to do this,” Ryan muttered as I helped Georgie out of her car seat. “We can just go back home and I’ll—”

“Grilled cheese is not a thanksgiving dinner,” I interrupted. “Plus, my mom doesn’t care, all it means is that there’s more people to fawn over her pies. C’mon, Georgie, I want you to come meet my family.”

Inside, my dad and Uncle John were cheering on the football game, surrounded by Ted and my cousins. My Aunt Margaret was annoying my mother in the kitchen, while Spencer was attempting to help.

“Spencer, go watch the game,” my mother teased. “You cook every day of the year, just relax and let me take over.”

“But—”

“March, young man! Ginger, tell you son to be watch the game!”

“Mom, stop bugging Spencer,” I called, pealing my coat from my shoulders. Ryan looked around stiffly, as though nervous to be around us crazies. “Ryan, we’re not going to eat you. We need to stuff you with food first,” I teased.

“Libby!” my mother shuffled into the living room, her mixing bowl in her hands and an apron reading it’s MY kitchen, MY rules. “Get over here and stir this bowl. And don’t be rude, introduce me!”

“Ma, this is Ryan Ross, my boss,” I grinned, taking the bowl from her hands and stirring the pumpkin pie filling. “Ryan, this is my mother Vyolet O’Callaghan. And mom, this is Georgie.”

“Welcome, welcome,” my mother grinned, ushering them further in. “Georgie, why don’t you head upstairs, the kids are up there. Ryan, you can watch the game—Libby! Counter-clockwise, not clockwise!”

Georgie looked up at me, her eyes wide. I grabbed her hand and led her upstairs, showing her the photos of me as a kid that graced our hallways. When we finally reached my old room, I opened the door and gently pushed her inside.

Spencer’s younger sisters and my cousin were playing Rockband, singing along to Journey and failing out constantly. “Hey everyone,” I called, knocking on the doorframe. “Is there room for one more person?”

“Libby!” Tanya, Spencer’s fifteen year old sister, dropped the plastic guitar and ran to hug me. “You have no idea how weird it is not having you be at Spencer’s! I mean, it’s crazy!”

“Hey there Tanya,” I grinned. “Tanya, this is Georgie. Georgie, this is Tanya. Tanya’s going to teach you how to play Rockband with the big kids, okay? I have to go help out downstairs, but if you need me just come on down, alright?” She nodded slowly after a few seconds, and took Tanya’s hand reluctantly. “Thanks, Tanya.”

“No prob, Libby. Now go watch the game and keep Spencer from burning the turkey again.”

“I only did that once!” Spencer shouted, the scowl present in his voice. It took a while to pry Georgie from my leg, but once she had, I was able to sneak downstairs and watch the festivities.

“Who’s winning?” I asked, plopping down in front of the football game next to my cousin John. “Hey there, John-Oh.”

“Libby,” he nodded, barely taking his eyes from the screen.

“Ryan, did you meet everyone?” I asked, noticing his awkward position in one of our worn armchairs.

“Libs, I love you, but you have to shut up,” my father muttered, waving his hand at me to shut up. Ryan looked at me with the ghost of a smile on his face as I settled back in my seat, watching the game.

After dinner, we were adequately stuffed and ready to get to the best part of Thanksgiving; the O’Callaghan Annual Family Football Tournament. Every year it would be my family vs. my cousins in a game of full out tackling football.

“Are you ready to get your ass whooped, Libby?” John smirked as I tied up my old sneakers.

“If I recall correctly, coz,” I shot back as I stood up, “Last year I kicked your ass!”

“Hey, save the bad mouthing for the field,” Ted sighed as he rolled his eyes. “Now c’mon, let’s get this started!”

With a haughty glance over my shoulder at John, I jogged over to where Ted, my dad, Spencer, and, surprisingly, Ryan, stood, all eagerly awaiting the game. We would be playing against my uncle, John, John’s older brother Eric, and two of John’s friends, Garrett and Kennedy.

“Wait, is this tackle football?” Ryan hissed as Ted talked strategy with Spencer. I nodded, bending over to stretch. “Aren’t you afraid of getting, I don’t know, hurt?”

“Hey, bossman,” Ted called, glaring at Ryan. “Something you need to know about my sister; when she’s aiming for you, duck, cause she had got one helluva tackle.”

“Don’t worry,” I sighed, stretching my arm across my front. “I won’t be tackling you, Ryan. I’m going to get John. Anyways, how did you even get dragged into this?”

“I have no idea,” he muttered. “I’ve never played football in my life.”

“Can you run?” I asked with a raised brow.

“I, uh, I guess—”

“Then when you get the ball, run.”

“Hey, get in here! We want to start the game before the lights gone!” my uncle shouted. We gathered around, joining a sort of huddle. “Alright, there are only two rules: no eye gorging, and no nail scratching, alright? Now, on the count of three, may the best O’Callaghan’s win! One, two, THREE!”

We lined up, John holding the ball. Ted glanced over at me, and I smirked. As soon as “hut” left John’s mouth, I had tackled him to the ground. As he lay groaning on the grass, I stood up, patting down my clothes.

“Like I said,” I shrugged. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

As the afternoon progressed, the game became fiercer and fiercer until we were all haggard and winded. My family was leading by one touchdown, with the others breathing down our necks. John had a personal vendetta against me, hoping that he wouldn’t be embarrassed in front of his friends.

Ryan turned out to be a useful tool, quite good at running when he needed to. So when the sun was just beginning to set and the game was coming to a close, it was nice to know that someone would be able to run down the length of our field when we were all otherwise preoccupied.

“Run, Ryan, run!” my mother shouted from the deck, eager to crush Aunt Margaret. “Georgie, you come here and watch your father run,” she chided, hoisting the small child into her arms.

“Run, Daddy, run!” Georgie echoed.

Spencer and I were on either side of Ryan, trying to keep Eric and Kennedy from crushing Ryan. However, John was quicker than I thought and managed to slam me into the ground, leaving only Spencer as a defense.

Ryan managed to make it past Eric, and when Kennedy jumped for him, Spencer tackled him in return. Ryan sprinted into the touchdown zone, and my mother went wild.

“You take that, Margaret!” she bellowed, dancing around with Georgie. “Third year running!”

“Oh hush, Vy,” scowled Margaret as she stepped back into our house and away from the cold air. “Boys, come in!”

“You did it!” I shouted, shoving John off me. After a seconds pause, I turned back to the tousle-hair teen on the ground and extended my hand. “No harsh feelings, coz?”

“Aw, Libs,” John grinned, taking my hand. “You know I could never hate you. I mean, after all, I did let you win.” Somethings never change.

[&cut]

We returned home at eleven o’clock at night, Georgie passed out in my arms and Ryan’s full of leftover turkey, pie, and stuffing. With yawned goodnights and sleepy movements, I tucked Georgie into bed and stumbled into my own room, falling asleep before my head hit the pillow.