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“Nope, that was just dumb luck. Should we celebrate in the bedroom? Never had video sex with a college graduate before.”
“Oh, say it again, baby.”
“Bachelor’s degree recipient,” he teases as I carry the phone back to the bedroom and shuck my shirt once more.
“Three more days,” he groans.
“Three more days, angel.”
Chapter Nine
Final Output
There's no place like 127.0.0.1.
Xander
I’ve helped out making Thanksgiving turkey before, but never in a place that felt so warm. So right. Makes me almost nervous to claim it, but Cam and Dr. Parker—who I’m supposed to call Marty now—feel like family. At least, this is what I imagine family would feel like, if I had one.
Nayla, of course, used to feel like family. But her parents were always chilly toward me. Damn, there’s that familiar guilt again. Crops up every time I think of Nayla. I know I need to fix things with her. Too bad she went home to Ohio for Thanksgiving, otherwise I could.
“A blender for mash potatoes?” I ask when Marty hands me the device.
“If you want them creamy,” he explains.
“Trust the process,” Cam tells me. He looks so freaking cute in his little checker-print apron as he rolls out dough for biscuits.
“This is the most homemade version of Thanksgiving I’ve ever seen.”
“Everything’s better homemade,” Marty says for the second time today.
“This is something I need to learn. Cooking. I’ve been ordering takeout and surviving off of sandwiches,” I admit.
Cam presses his hands into the large white glob until it goes flat, then he folds it in half and repeats the process. “I can show you a few things before you go. We have three whole days.”
He lights up when he says it, and I do too. My whole chest feels this dopey swollen feeling, ever since my plane landed at five this morning.
For a few minutes, the blender drowns out all conversation. When I scoop the potatoes into a baking dish, a thought hits me. “Dr. Par—I mean, Marty—I forgot to say thank you for helping me get my degree.”
Marty twists to look at me from the oven, where he is basting the turkey. Man, that bird is starting to fill the house with wonderful smells. “You said thank you over the phone already.”
“Yeah, but not in person. Actually, I was thinking I know a way to pay you back.”
He snorts. “You don’t have to pay me back, son. You earned that degree, fair and square.”
“For advocating for me then. I didn’t even apply for it. You just made it happen.”
“That’s my job, to make sure Whitmore students are successful.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how it works, in my experience. People only do things for you when they get something out of it. It feels, weird.”
Marty gives a soft laugh. “Get used to it. Now that you’re a part of the Parker tribe.”
Cam pauses with a glass in the air, the one he’s been using to cut biscuits, and gives me a wink.
“Well, I think it’s appropriate to say thank you the only way I know how.”
“With words?” Marty asks cautiously.
