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“Aren’t you going to see yourfamily?”
“No. Not anymore. Dad can come seeme when he wants, but I’m done with my pilgrimage to the Mother WhoDoesn’t Give a Shit. At least for a while.”
I grab his hand and place a smallkiss on his knuckles. “Good for you.”
He shuffles in his seat. “So, whatdo you say? Can I hang out with the Nowaks this Thanksgiving?”
“That might not be a bad idea. Iusually drive up early on Thursday, stay overnight and return onFriday. But we could also drive back late on Thursday. I’ve done ita few times.”
“It’s up to you.”
“I’ve never brought a guy toThanksgiving before.”
His eyebrows shoot up.“Seriously?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “Never hadrelationships significant enough to get to the meet-the-parentsstage.”
The pitch of his voice drops everso slightly, and he pulls his hand out of mine. “It’s okay, Roxie.I don’t have to go with you. I just thought I’d offer, since youwent with me.”
“No, it’s not that. I wouldactually love for you to come.” I clasp his hand between both ofmine.
In all honesty, I’m conflicted.I’d love to spend the holidays with him. Preferably naked andsurrounded by cats. But I also don’t want to get my family evenmore ammunition to give me a hard time later. And I don’t want tobring them into this bubble Chris and I have, because they willruin it.
“You could say I’m your neighborwho doesn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. Which is true.”He looks to the side and smiles, but it feels fake. “I assume Ican’t stay with you. Which is okay. I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“I don’t really know. It’s not ahuge house. I don’t know where you’d sleep. And I have no idea howthey’d react to us sharing a room. Plus my childhood bed is prettynarrow.” I’m not even sure what I’m saying. Don’t I want him tocome with me?
“Hotel it is then,” he says. Helooks pretty bummed out.
I grab my phone and text Mom.“There,” I say and show him the text. “I’ve told her I’d bebringing someone with me for Thanksgiving.”
Mom texts almost immediately.Is it a boy?
I smile. Yes, it’s aboy.
Finally! Followed by anassortment of celebration emojis.
He’s my good friend and neighbor,Chris.
Oh. Well, that’s OK, too. We wouldlove to have him.
Chris keeps looking at my phone asI text with Mom, his body wooden. He looks serious, the kind ofserious where something bothers him, but he pretends itdoesn’t.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You got gloomy all of asudden.”
“I’m fine.”
After a few minutes of silence, wesplit the bill and walk to Chris’s car.
“Roxie?” I hear someone behindus.
I turn around and see Rick withhis arm around a young woman.
“Rick? Oh, my God, it’s good tosee you!” I smile and give him a hug, then size up the curvyredhead next to him. “And is this the woman you told me so muchabout last time I saw you?”
