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When I get backto the apartment, it’s loud chaos even though most people aren’t coming over until two. Ruthie’s already there with Izzy, and Izzy’s watching some kind of crafting show on YouTube while Ruthie and Mira make various side dishes no one else signed up to make and babysit my mashed potatoes.
The second I open the door, Ruthie’s head whips up and she drops the pan lid she was holding. I can see the anxiety in her eyes, so I nod and smile.
“You did it?” she shrieks, piercing my eardrums.
“I did it.”
She runs over and hugs me, and Izzy does the same, even though she probably doesn’t know why her mother’s so happy.
“There’s no way I’m missing out on a group hug,” Mira says, and she comes over and joins in too—Ruthie and I holding her up because she’s swaying on her crutches—and it feels right in every single way.
“I can’t believe you’re finally free,” Ruthie says.
She doesn’t know everything, but she knows that I quit my job today because I was able to “work something out” with the Feds.
She’s already insisted on sending Big Mike a gift. For his sake, I hope it’s not one of her winter fruitcakes.
I spend the next hour helping them prepare the side dishes and decorate the table and kitchen island, both of which feature a long line of paper turkeys. Mira showed me how to make them the other night, during a break from my work for Big Mike, and we started giving them each different expressions. Quizzical Turkey. Existential Dread Turkey. Seen-it-all Turkey. Tofurkey.
The first people to show are Burke and Delia, followed quickly by Deacon, who tells me that I’m “one hell of a lucky man.”
I can only agree with such an obvious statement.
We’re all on our first round of drinks—Drunk Pilgrims for everyone but Izzy, who gets a Sober Pilgrim, when the buzzer sounds.
I answer it, expecting Leonard to say something dirty into the speaker, the way he always does when he comes to visit, but Shane says, “Let me up, man.”
My gaze darts across the room to Burke, who’s mid-conversation with Delia and hasn’t noticed. I press the buzzer as Mira reaches the door on her crutches.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Shane’s here,” I say in an undertone.
“Wasn’t he supposed to have dinner at his boss’s house?”
“At noon.”
Her eyes widen. “Some shit went down.”
“Maybe.”
Definitely. I look around for Ruthie, because if Shane’s had a shit day already, he probably won’t want my sister sniping at him. But she’s busy talking to Delia and Burke. Izzy’s still glued to that show, watching some talking slime doll gesticulate while a woman pretends crafts that probably took hours to make can be produced within minutes.
Children’s TV baffles me.
“Let’s find out,” I say as I open the door.
Shane’s already on the other side, looking jumpy. He’s wearing a suit, although if he had a tie on, he’s already removed it. There’s a bottle of scotch in his hands.
“That’s the good stuff,” Mira comments with a nod.
“Should be,” he says, slapping it against his hand. “I took it on my way out of the old guy’s house.”
Well, then.
“Come on in,” I say.
“There’s plenty of food,” Mira says, “although Shauna and Leonard are supposed to bring the turkey, and they’re not here yet, so what we have is a lot of alcohol and pies and side dishes.”
