I didn’t know he was always here. I had actively avoided asking questions about him or checking up on his locations for six years, save for the occasional late-night social media stalking. But that was usually fueled by too many drinks on my part and rarely included shout-outs to Linda and Tom’s hospitality on his.
Honestly, Sam Autry was too private to post much online at all. My light detective work had deduced that he worked with something outside, didn’t have any children, never posted a selfie and remained a Chiefs fan. Basically, he could be any single guy in Kansas at this point.
“This feels like a trap,” I whisper-lectured.
She tossed a raised-eyebrow look over her shoulder. “Gainful employment and comfortable housing feels like a trap?” I pressed my lips together. “Wait, Holls . . .” she turned around fully, hands dripping soap on the mat under her feet, “you’re not still into Sam, are you?”
I hushed her immediately. She could have asked the question in sign language, and it would have seemed too loud. “Oh, my gosh, Tea, obviously not. I just . . . he just . . . he kissed my mom, okay?” After he’d kissed me. But that was a shame I’d carry to my grave. “I am not still into him.”
She made her frowny face—the one she always made whenever I brought up the Nightmare before Christmas, as I liked to call it. “Have you ever asked him about that? I don’t think—”
“I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes. There’s nothing to talk about.”
Her frowny face got frownier.
“Girls, let me get this,” Linda scolded as she bustled into the room, balancing the turkey platter in her short arms. “The boys are waiting for you.”
“Mom, you did all the cooking. The least we can do is the dishes,” Teagan argued. It was the same case she made every Thanksgiving.
“Fine,” Linda relented. “The dishes can wait, though. Go teach your brothers a lesson.”
Teagan and I shared a grin. “No problem,” she said.
Outside, the boys were warming up in the driveway. Teagan had told me I’d been replaced by Alex’s wife, Parker, who won a high school state championship ten years ago, so I was excited to play with her. Riley’s girlfriend was new this year. They’d met at a wine festival over the summer. She seemed more like the cheerleader type, but she probably wasn’t going to get out of this game. This was a non-negotiable part of eating at the Meyer’s house.
Teagan and I had grown up playing all the sports together. Teagan hadn’t had a choice. With three older brothers, her parents didn’t know what else to do with her besides sign her up for something competitive every season.
The same argument could be made for my mom—she also didn’t know what else to do with me. But her decision was more convenience-based. If I signed up for everything Teagan signed up for, she knew I’d always have a ride to games and practices. Plus, she could get the season’s cliff notes from Linda without having to pay attention to the finer details. Or really, any details.
We played volleyball, basketball, and soccer together, and one misguided summer, we’d tried lacrosse. Where we lacked in actual skill, we made up for in psychotic competitiveness.
But basketball was our best sport—especially together. We didn’t just love the sport, we’d grown up playing it with the boys. Summers were regularly spent five v. five at the neighborhood park, where the Meyer boys would invite all their high school friends and sub us in under threat of Linda’s wrath.
The key to winning on Thanksgiving was coming prepared. The official ruling was that you had to play in whatever you came in. There was no putting on shorts, changing out shoes, or putting your hair up. Once, I’d tried to take my earrings off and incited a twenty-minute debacle in which Tom had declined the call for a technical but politely requested I put the earrings back on.
It was especially hard to know what to wear because Linda demanded a family picture right before the meal and used it for the family Christmas card. These Meyers were savage.
Thankfully, I was still in my travel sweats and tennies. I was probably the most prepared. The boys—all grown up and hoping to impress females, except Cooper, who had never met a collared shirt in his life—had sported dress pants and button-ups. Although I spotted Nikes on all of them.
Teagan had dressed wisely, too—leggings and a loose tunic top. And Parker was sporting joggers that I suspected were more stretch than structure.
It was only poor Kami who dressed to impress, and this being her first Thanksgiving with the fam, I didn’t know if she’d make it to a second. Typical Riley, though. He probably hadn’t remembered to warn her and also wasn’t expecting her to be here for a repeat performance. The cad.
“Balls and Tea, you’re on opposite teams,” Cooper called out while we did some light stretching in the front yard.
“No way,” Teagan called back. “We haven’t played together in forever. You and Sam can split up.”
They shared a “not likely” grin.
“Girls vs. boys then,” Parker taunted, “if the boyfriends refuse to split up.”
“Wait, I’m not playing,” Kami tried to protest.
We ignored her.
“Babe, that’s not fair,” Alex pointed out.
“Yeah, for you guys,” Parker retorted.
