“That doesn’t make it right.”
I nod, unsure how to respond. He’s right, of course, but his family is only saying the same things I’ve heard again and again since the first time I told someone I wanted to teach elementary school. Even in college, I was pulled aside by professors who kindly double-checked that I wanted to go into the field. Complete bullshit, and one of the reasons why less than ten percent of the teachers at my school are men.
“We can hide out in here until it’s time to eat.” His face lights up at the idea.
“They’ll all talk.”
“Why?”
I cock my head and give him a stern look. As if we haven’t already caused enough of a show for the day.
“Oh.” With the number of times we slink away, they’re going to think we’re insatiable. Not that I wouldn’t give anything to strip Covey down and have a repeat of this morning, slower so I can savor it this time.It was over so fast, I didn’t get to commit every minute to memory. Now I’m terrified I’ll never get another chance.
“We could stay here anyway. Play video games.” He leans over and grabs the remote from the bedside table. Covey’s face is so serious, and I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not. Getting out of bed this morning, as the afterglow faded, I worried things between us would change. I underestimated Covey, a mistake I should’ve learned years ago not to make.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. The whole group will be talking downstairs, likely sending his cousin as a scout to spy on us. It’ll lead to an awkward and embarrassing dinner, but right now, I don’t care.I want to be here, beating Covey atMario Kart.
COVEY
I should be a ball of stress, wound up so tight I might snap apart at any moment. What with today being a full day of family fun—heavy sarcasm on that statement—and tonight being the first of many Nutcracker performances. That’s enough to drive anyone crazy. Instead,as Aidan and I race our go-karts around the virtual track, I’m entirely at peace.
I’d never tell him, but having him spend the night helped. If he hadn’t been there, I would’ve stayed up half the night worrying about today. Instead, I focused all my energy on taking care of him. While I don’t love the circumstances that brought us there, the results are pretty damn good.
“Covey? You up here?” my mom calls over the peppy music. I hit the pause button and look at Aidan. Our refuge is about to come to an end. “I’m coming in.” She opens the door—apparently, knocking isn’t a thing anymore—eyes shielded with her hand. “It’s time to come eat dinner.”
“Okay, coming.” I stare at her. Poor word choice? Maybe, but I’m enjoying this, and I deserve a little fun. Did she think she’d be walking in on the two of us naked? Even I’m not that shameless. Even as a teenager, I was never brazen enough to bring someone home for sex. Not that I’m going to volunteer that information. It raises far too many questions about where Ididtake them.
“Are you two… playing video games? When you have family downstairs?”
“Just needed a bit of a break,” Aidan says.
I give him a thankful look for answering the question. I’m sure my answer would’ve been much snarkier.
She turns and shakes her head. “Some things never change.”
“I guess we’re done?” I’m not ready to rejoin the family. This little bubble we’ve created is perfect. It’s the version ofus that I like best, the one that doesn’t include everyone else poking and prodding. Whatever this is between us feels fragile. I’m afraid that if everyone gets involved and has their say, it’ll burst, and it’ll all be over.
“Time for the main event.”
I flop over on the floor, stretching out, and groan. Sitting in that position for so long was not great for my muscles. “I like this better,” I whine. Maybe no one will notice if we sneak out? They’ve already got the pies.
“Yeah, me, too,” he says softly. “But the whole dinner thing is why we’re doing this in the first place, right? All the work to make sure we were ready?”
I swallow hard. I almost forgot that this isn’t real. At some point, our real friendship and the fake relationship blended in my mind. But of course, the whole thing is made up. “Right.” Those thoughts are enough to get me moving. I press up and reach out a hand for Aidan. He takes it easily and lets me pull him to his feet.
There’s silence between us as we rejoin the rest of the group. We get a lot of strange looks from people, a few strained smiles, and one high-five from my uncle, which feels wrong.
In typical mom fashion, the table is arranged with name cards at every seat. I make my way around the table, reading them and looking for my spot. My heart stops when I see Aidan’s name, but not mine. “Mom, shouldn’t I be next to Aidan?”
“Oh, you get him all the time. I put you across from him.” That’s not part of the plan, but I don’t make a big deal about it. Aidan gets to sit next to his mom, which I’m sure he appreciates. I’m not sure why Marina gets the other side. That part seems less fair.
I find my spot—across the table—and sink into the seat. It’s so far away. The same way I felt when they tried to putour desks on the opposite sides of the classroom to keep us from chatting—a good effort by a teacher who underestimated my chatterbox tendencies.
Mere seconds after we’re seated, my mom has food on the table, and everyone is busy shoveling food onto their plates like it’s a contest. Someone watching would think that we’d run out in previous years. Hint: we’ve never run out of food at Thanksgiving.
If anything, there’s usually enough to provide leftovers for a week. And then, it’s only gone because it’s a threat to our gastrointestinal health.
Sure, I haven’t been here in a few years, but looking around at the heaps of food, not much has changed—same serving plates, same traditional dishes, same friends and family.
