“I’m so bummed.”
“We are too, honey. But what can you do? We’ll FaceTime with you all at some point.”
“Remember, I have an Android so you have to call Taylor’s phone, not mine.”
“Right, right,” she said as if the technology made sense to her.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“We will, thank you. Please try to have fun.”
I sighed. “It’s not going to be easy.”
We hung up and suddenly reading a biography about the life and times of the British artist Rowan Barnes was the last thing I wanted to do. I shut my eyes and was starting to twitch my way to a nap when my phone rang again. Taylor, probably calling with last-minute instructions now that our guest list was down two people.
“I talked to Mom,” I said as I picked up. “It sucks.”
“Chelsea,everythingis canceled,” she wailed.
Her voice had that out-of-control pitch that always made my heart freeze, but then again, my drama queen sister deployed it for everything from Emmy nom announcements to snowfall predictions.
“The pipes burst,” she sobbed. “Our whole first floor is under water!”
“No! What happened?”
“Ryan’s mom did laundry yesterday and we didn’t realize that something was wrong at first,” she hiccuped. “The pipes drained in the ceiling all night and then this morning the whole ceiling collapsed into the kitchen. It was awaterfall!”
I felt a little sick. Her dream kitchen was barely three months post-renovation. The project had been a hellish experience of delays, missing components, and cooking on the grill and washing dishes with the hose in their tiny backyard.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I said, easing off the couch. “I’ve got buckets. We’ll get it cleaned up, don’t worry.”
“No, Ryan said not to come.” Her voice was shaky and it broke my heart. “We... we need to get everything figured out with insurance first. And we’ve got an emergency plumber on the way.”
“Tay, are you sure you don’t want me there?”
She sniffled. “Yeah, don’t come. I’m sorry I ruined your Thanksgiving.”
It was typical Taylor, taking the blame for something that was out of her control.
“Stop, don’t worry about me. I feel awful foryouguys.”
“You don’t even know. We don’t need this stress right now.” Her voice rose. “The baby will be here soon and we don’t have akitchen!” I heard Ryan saying something to her in the background and her voice went muffled to snipe back at him. “He told me that I need to stop stressing out.”
“I mean, he’s sort of right?” I said gently. “It’s probably not good for the baby.”
More rustling from her. “Okay, the plumber is here, I gotta go, I gotta go.”
She hung up before I could respond.
And just like that, within the span of an hour, my Thanksgiving celebration had gone down the drain, literally. I threw myself back on the couch and reached for Birdie, who was camped out in her usual spot behind my knees.
“I guess it’s just us.”
I glanced around my sunny apartment and tried not to feel sorry for myself. It was just a day, after all. And I had plenty to be thankful for. A veggie pot pie I could pop in the oven when I was ready. My four-legged besties I could take on a hike later. A new hardcover book about a quirky recluse that had cracked theNew York Timesbestseller list and was close to four hundred pages long. I sighed.
“Maybe some pre–Black Friday online shopping will help?” Edith wandered over to me and stood on her back legs with her paws resting on the edge of the couch, surveying me. “You really are adorable.” I rolled over to rub her shoulders and she met my hand with her teeth.
“Why are you such a little jerk?”
