After a kiss on her forehead, I ask, “How did you sleep?”
She stiffens and steps out of my embrace. “Why are you asking me how I’m sleeping? My father asks me that to check that I’m taking those pills.”
Her voice is so shrill, I feel like I’ve been doused with ice water.
“When did you speak to your father last, Fal?” I ask, touching her gently.
“He calls once a week,” she says, then chews on her bottom lip.
“Asking how you slept is just an expression,” I tell her. “I left you alone last night. I was…curious.”
Her head tilts. “Because you’re my boyfriend and youcare about me, right?”
“Exactly.” I kiss her on the forehead again, liking how she sighs dreamily when I do it. “And since we are doing holidays together, I am officially inviting you to spend Thanksgiving with my family. That’s if you don’t spend it with your mum and dad.”
Fallon glances at the whiteboard, and my eyes follow hers, finding the date. Thanksgiving is the only empty square. How did I miss that?
“My mother passed away,” Fallon says, knocking the wind out of me. “My father started taking whatever new wife he has at the time on a vacation for the long holiday weekend.”
Having parents who have been married for over forty years and joined at the hip, I admit, this is something I don’t know how to comment on.
I clear my throat. “That stinks. Unless you like being with your dad.”
“He’s been…weird the last couple of years.” Her eyes stay on the whiteboard. “Wow, I have plans for both FriendsgivingandThanksgiving this year!”
At first, she lights up like a star-filled summer night. That’s what gets me. But then she goes straight into anxiety overdrive.
“Okay.” She dashes to her calendar and grabs a marker, black this time, which I am nervous about. “I’ll need a dress. And wine. I don’t have time to grow grapes. Is storebought, okay?” She doesn’t let me answer. “I can make something. A basil butter spread for the turkey? But Daddy Basil might try to smother me in my sleep if I clip any more leaves for a while.”
“Fallon,” I say gently and pull her into a hug. “Fuck, love, you’re shaking.”
Does she really believe these plants can move around and maybe kill her? Like an evil plant version ofToyStory?
I eye the squat pot of aromatic green leaves and send it a warning:Touch her and you die. You and your little brother drying up in my flat.
I swear I see his leaves shudder.
God, I’m sinking into this delusion. But if I have to live in a semi-authentic world to be with Fallon and make her happy, I’ll do it. Reality is overrated.
“You don’t have to bring anything,” I tell Fallon, smoothing her hair. “You’re a guest. My guest.”
“You’re so sweet to me,” she whispers.
Slowly, her body unclenches like I’ve taken the weight of the world off her slender shoulders. It makes me feel like a superhero.
It feels good to be the one who calms her. Dangerously good.
Still holding the marker, she grabs the basil plant and holds it against her ribs. “But why now?”
Christ…
Why was I a git and didn’t invite her the other years?
Thinking fast, I say, “They didn’t believe me when I said I had a girlfriend.”
Her eyes widen. “Why not?”
Errr.Okay, I wasn’t prepared for a follow-up. “Because I stopped letting things get that far. As far as intimacy.”
