NADIA AND I ARE LYING ON THE COUCH WATCHING TV, and my mom’s on her computer working on her Thanksgiving spreadsheet. It’ll be a small Thanksgiving this year. My dad’s brother’s family is coming from New York City, and our California grandma was supposed to come, but she decided at the last minute she didn’t want to make the trip, which upset my mom. Next year, she keeps saying, we’ll go to California instead.
A couple of times we’ve had Rennie and her mom over for Thanksgiving. Last year it was super awkward, because Ms. Holtz kept trying to flirt with my dad’s divorced friend from the hospital. Rennie asked me afterward if I thought her mom had a chance with him, and I didn’t know how to tell her that he only dates twentysomething Estonian models. I wonder what she and her mom are doing this year.
“Can we have mashed sweet potatoes this year instead of sweet potato casserole?” Nadia asks.
“You love sweet potato casserole,” my mom protests.
“All that cream and butter and sugar?” Nadia shudders. “Rennie says it’s pure fat.”
“You only have sweet potato casserole once a year,” I tell her. “You’ll live. Besides, Mommy already ordered it.”
“I think our family should be eating healthier,” Nadia says with a shrug.
My mom sighs. “I can check and see if it’s not too late to change it,” she says, and goes off to call the caterer.
“Thanks, Mommy!” Nadia calls after her.
Casually, I ask, “What is Rennie doing for Thanksgiving?”
Nadia motions for another throw pillow. “She’s having dinner with Ms. Holtz’s boyfriend and his son. She says that Rick has a friend who’s a fancy chef and he’s going to cook for them.”
I roll my eyes. Rick owns a sub shop and he lives in a one-bedroom apartment right above it. He’s a nice guy, but somehow I don’t picture him hanging out with fancy chefs. This sounds totally made-up. “When did Rennie tell you this?”
“She gave me a ride home yesterday since you were at the library,” Nadia says.
I don’t like the way Rennie’s been glomming on to Nadia one bit. Twice now she’s called the house phone asking to speak to Nadia about yearbook photos or something. I know her; she’s doing it to get under my skin. I nudge Nadia’s foot with mine. “Don’t listen to Rennie on everything. Sometimes she says stuff just to say stuff.”
With wide eyes Nadia asks, “Are you guys in a fight?”
“No . . . we’ve grown apart.”
“But did something happen?” Nadia presses. “To make you grow apart?”
“Why?” I ask her, thinking back to our fight in the graveyard. “Did Rennie say something?” She wouldn’t dare.
Nadia hesitates for a split second, and then she shakes her head.
“Nadia!”
“She didn’t say anything,” Nadia insists. “But I’ve noticed you haven’t been hanging out as much.”
“Well, nothing happened specifically. We’re different people, that’s all.”
Nadia absorbs this. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Rennie’s so . . . sparkly. She makes everything feel like . . . an event. I don’t even know how to describe it.”
I frown at her. “If Rennie’s so sparkly, then what am I?”
Hastily she says, “You’re fun too. In a different way.”
I don’t say anything, but I’m still thinking about it hours later. Am I boring compared to Rennie? It’s true that I’m more cautious than she is, and I’m not the life of the party the way she and Reeve are. But if I was so boring, why would she have been best friends with me all these years? Because there’s nothing Rennie hates more than being bored.
I hate that Nadia puts her on such a pedestal. Like she sees Ren as this magnetic force of nature, and I’m her goody-two-shoes older sister.
If Nadi only knew the trouble I’ve gotten into this year. She wouldn’t think I was so boring then.
My mom always tries to make us get dressed up at Thanksgiving. She says that if we eat this fancy meal in sweats, it won’t feel special. We go along with it to make her happy. Nadia’s in a strapless green tartan dress with a poofy skirt and a cardigan on top. I have on a mauve knit miniskirt with a sheer blouse tucked in.
My dad’s in a dress shirt and slacks; my mom has on a wine-colored knit dress with a cowl neck and a gold cuff. I make a mental note to ask her if I can borrow that cuff, maybe take it with me to college.
The adults are in the living room drinking the wine my uncle brought, and us kids are hanging out in the TV room. We have two cousins on my dad’s side—Walker, who is Nadia’s age, and Ethan, who is ten. Walker and Nadia are pretty close, even though we don’t see them often. Ethan’s a brat, but it’s not his fault. His parents are always telling him how great he is because he’s a violin prodigy.
“How’s Phantom?” Walker asks Nadia, adjusting her head-band. We’re all lying on the sectional, and Ethan’s playing video games on his phone.
“He’s good! I’m going to show him next month.” Nadia spreads cheese on a cracker and pops it into her mouth. “He’s the best horse in the world.”
I nudge her with my toe. “Don’t forget whose horse he is!”
“You hardly ever even ride him anymore,” Nadia says. “He’s basically mine now. I bet he wouldn’t even recognize you.”
I frown at her. “I was there last week!” Or was it the week before? She’s right; I’m like an absentee horse parent. I’ve been so busy with swimming and Reeve and my college applications I’ve totally been neglecting Phantom. Tomorrow. I’ll go out there tomorrow and bring him a whole bag of baby carrots and spend the afternoon grooming him.
“Pretty soon you’ll be at college and he’ll be all mine!” Nadia fake cackles, and Walker giggles.
“You’re right,” I say. “You have to take extra good care of him when I’m gone.”
“I already do,” Nadia says, stuffing another cracker in her mouth.
Dinner lasts forever, with everybody making toasts and the dads having a brag war. My dad tells everyone I have a good chance at valedictorian, so they’ll have to come back for graduation to hear my speech. I have to correct him and say it’s salutatorian, and it’s not like that’s a guarantee. My uncle starts quizzing me on which colleges I’m applying to.
“Boston College,” I say. “Wellesley. Maybe UC Berkeley.”
My dad frowns. “Berkeley? We never talked about Berkeley.”
I take a bite of turkey and stuffing to buy myself time. When I’m done chewing, I say, “It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
Luckily, my aunt saves me by bragging about Ethan winning some violin competition and maybe getting to do a performance at Juilliard.
After dinner, everyone’s all cozy watching old black-and-white movies in the TV room. I’m sitting next to my dad on the couch; he has his arm around me, and I have my head on his shoulder. It is nice to have him home.
I’ve got my phone in my lap, and when it buzzes, I nearly jump. It’s a text from Reeve. My dad tries to read over my shoulder, but I scurry off to the kitchen. The text says, What are you up to? I write back, Watching TV with my family. He writes back, Same. Wanna come over?
I read the text over and over. Does he mean come over and watch TV with our other friends? Or does he mean watch TV just us, up in his room by ourselves?
I text him, Who’s coming?
And he texts back, Just you.
Wow. I wonder if his family will think I’m Reeve’s girlfriend.
When my dad comes into the kitchen to get more water, I ask him, “Daddy, can I go hang out with my friends tonight?” I don’t tell him that I’m going to a boy’s house, and that he’s the only friend who will be there.
My dad considers this. “Are you bringing Nadia and Walker?”
“Um, no.”
“Then my answer is no,” he says.
“Daddy!” I make a face at him. My mom would have said yes. I shouldn’t even have asked him.
Shaking his head, he says, “Final answer, Lilli. It’s Thanksgiving, and your family’s only in town for a couple of nights. Come sit and watch the movie with us.”
“In a minute,” I say in a snotty voice. “I have to tell my friends I can’t come.”
So that’s what I write back, and then I hang around in the kitchen waiting for Reeve to text me back, but he doesn’t.
