Page 19 of Titan’s Mate

Brock was consulting a list on the island, in curly girl handwriting. “Kitty says yes. Beans in the freezer, mushroom soup and crispy onion topping in the pantry. And there should be potatoes.”

“Uh oh.” Titan’s voice came from what she assumed to be the pantry. He appeared in the doorway with a net bag of potatoes that had sprouted two-inch stalks. He squeezed a potato, and his fingers left dent marks in it.

“Well, that’s not good,” Mari said.

Brock stuck his head in the refrigerator and rummaged. “On the up side, Jaeda left us a pumpkin pie. Unfrozen, with nothing growing out of it.”

“Excellent.” Mari gave one longing glance at the Macy’s parade, which was just returning from a commercial break, then turned to the men. “I’m going to make the supreme sacrifice for you,” she announced. “I’m going to give up my dream of watching the Macy’s Parade lying on the floor on fluffy pillows, with café mocha, and I’m going to go to the grocery store with you and we’re going to save Thanksgiving.”

She glanced at the coffee pot, which was full. Another thing to be thankful for. “I don’t suppose you have a travel mug?”

“I don’t even know if we have any money,” Brock said.

While Mari found a mug in one of the cupboards, Titan went into the dining room and got a Winnie-the-Pooh cookie jar out of the buffet cabinet. Reaching in, he pulled out a fistful of cash.

“Crew petty cash,” he said. “For emergencies. Like when we’re out of beer.” Then he frowned. “It’s a holiday. Are there any supermarkets even open?”

“There must be,” Brock said. “We can’t be the only unprepared idiots in the world.”

“Excellent,” Mari said. “Who’s driving?”

Chapter 8

An hour later, the guys were standing in the meat department of the second supermarket they’d tried, hands on hips, staring down into the poultry section of the meat cooler with the exact same disgruntled expressions they’d had in the bathroom back at the house.

The empty poultry section.

There were no unfrozen turkeys to be had. No frozen turkeys. No turkey breasts. Not even any chickens or game hens.

Same as the first place they’d gone—the only other one in a fifty-mile radius that was open.

To add insult to injury, both supermarkets were all out of potatoes.

“We’re doomed,” Titan said finally. “We’ve fucked up Thanksgiving.”

“Kitty is never going to let us hear the end of it,” Brock added. “We are a Thanksgiving disaster.”

“No, we’re not,” Mari said. “I refuse to concede defeat. We just need Plan C.”

“How many plans do you have?” Brock asked, curious.

“They go from A to Z,” Mari said absently, drumming her fingers on the edge of the cooler, thinking. “Then you start back at the beginning—AA, BB, CC…”

“I’m not sure I can handle that much optimism,” Brock replied. “Are you sure it’s healthy?”

Titan said nothing.

Mari glared at them. “Honestly, am I the only one who’s really trying here?”

The guys looked at each other. “Pretty much,” Brock admitted.

“I think football and junk food is happening after all,” Titan added. The big lummox actually sounded hopeful.

“Hell, no,” Mari said. “This is probably my last Thanksgiving on earth, and I demand a festive dinner. Even if it’s not turkey.” She added, “And yes, I’m playing the demon tumor card. Deal with it.”

They sighed simultaneously, but she could tell she’d guilted them into submission.

She began issuing orders. “You two. Pick out some good meat. Lots of meat. We’ll have to grill. Meet me at the checkout.”