Page 28 of The Apparent Trap

“Are you ready for tonight?” he asks her, although I notice his gaze flicks over to me for just a second.

“Yeah, are you sure I can’t bring anything?” she asks.

“No, I’ve got it all under control. I have to admit I had one of the line cooks at the restaurant do a bit of the prep, so I’m really in good shape.”

“Well, it’ll be nice to celebrate,” Carmen says, genuine. “It’s weird for me . . . not being in California.” I know Carmen’s working the trifecta of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, since she doesn’t want to be seen as anything but a team player while she’s in her trial period—another joy of working in live television. I hadn’t really considered that she’s probably going to be missing California a lot the next few months.

“I’m glad we can start a new tradition.” It’s so clear how sincere he is. And I’m just about to admit that I’m a little choked up by watching these two have a moment, but then he turns toward me. “And hey, Ezzie, you and your dad should come over too.”

“I’m sorry?” I reply, stunned by the sudden gesture.

“Your dad is important to Carmen, and there’s plenty of food, and well, I think it would be nice to have everyone together, don’t you agree?”

This son of a bitch. This is his big plan? Ruin the Chinese-food-and-movie Thanksgiving tradition my dad and I have? Stick us all in a room together like one big happy family? Doesn’t he see all the ways this could go horribly wrong?

But his eyes are boring into me, that way only his can. They’re saying they see all my bullshit. They’re playing with that hint of mischief he always has. They’re asking me to say yes.

I’m about to tell him to shove his impromptu train-wreck plan up his ass when Carmen exclaims, “Oh Lee, that would be so fun!” I whip my head in her direction. Surely she can’t think “fun” is the best word to describe an awkward nonfamily dinner. But I’m apparently wrong, because she keeps going. “Mark was saying he and Ezzie just do Chinese food and a movie, so I bet he’d love that.” And she turns to me, not knowing she’s insulted my favorite activity. “Would that be okay? I know you already spent all day with me, but, well . . .” She smiles, and I can see the way her cheeks have flushed beyond just the cold. “That seems like such a lovely idea.”

I’m trapped. And he knew I would be. He knew Carmen would want not only to spend time with my dad, but also he probably correctly guessed that she’d like a buffer in general to their growing dynamic. Having her boyfriend and the one coworker she mildly tolerates would, of course, make it all go down easier for her to spend her first holiday with her tentatively-back-in-her-life, formerly absentee father.

What an asshole, setting me up like that. And okay, my beans idea was uninspired, and we clearly needed something bigger. But tricking me into an awkward meal on Thanksgiving? The main advantage to having a small family is that I never have to have awkward family meals on holidays!

“I agree, that sounds so nice,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. From the way Lee’s holding in a laugh, I can tell he’s noticed my conundrum. But there’s no out. “My dad and I would love that, thank you for the invitation. What time should we be there?”

“How’s six o’clock?” he says.

“Great.”

“Great!” Carmen claps her hands together, like the task is done and she’s already moved on. “I’m gonna go run home for a bit—” She pauses. “Unless you need to talk me through anything else for next week?” I’m surprised that she even thought to mention it. But maybe that’s some progress.

“Thanks for asking,” I say sincerely. “But neither of us are back in until Monday. Five hours straight of live television outside probably qualifies us for a bit of a break.”

“Absolutely,” she says, clearly happy to be given permission to be done. She gives both of us a wave and wanders off. I immediately turn to Lee.

“Why did you assume we’d have nothing planned for Thanksgiving?”

“You literally survive on BLTs. There’s no world where you were cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner.”

I’m surprised he’s noticed that. “Still,” I say, flustered.

“I told you I’d have a plan, and I do,” he says. “You know that scene in My Best Friend’s Wedding where Julia Roberts gets Cameron Diaz to sing karaoke and she’s horrible?”

“First Friends and now My Best Friend’s Wedding?”

He shrugs. “I’m a man of varied tastes.”

I ignore the thought. “That karaoke scene literally makes Cameron Diaz more adorable to the man Julia Roberts is trying to steal.”

But he brushes it off. “Yeah, but that idea is good. We need to create scenarios where it highlights more specifically how big the generational difference is. I bet in their everyday life they can talk about stuff that’s current, which makes the age difference less noticeable.”

“Should I even ask what we’re doing?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve got it under control. Just convince your dad to come—”

“Yeah, like it’s gonna be hard to convince him to get a home-cooked meal around the girl he’s unfortunately mooning over.”

“Okay, so there you go, part one solved,” he says. “And then just show up.”