My boyfriend shoves himself backward, shock and disgust written all over his face. “Are youseriousright now?”
“Sorry!” I try my best to stifle my laughter. “I didn’t know he would spew it everywhere like that...”
Dylan gags. “What the heckisthis?”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I can’t hide my grin.
“Happy—” Dylan starts.
“This is ridiculous,” Garrett cuts in, standing to his feet and glaring at me. “I’m so sick of your childish antics, Cheyenne. It’s Thanksgiving, and all you’ve cared about is your stupid prank!”
Everyone at the table, who was once laughing, now grows quiet. I shift in my seat uncomfortably and reach up, attempting to rest my hand on his forearm.
“It’s just tradition,” I try to explain, but Garrett immediately starts shaking his head.
“No, it’s pathetic,” he sneers. “And I’m so over it.”
“We can talk outside,” I plead, my face growing hot at the scene unfolding. “That would probably be better.”
“I have nothing more to say,” he scoffs, pulling away. “I’m so done with this ... Andyou.”
Chapter Five
Dylan
This is not good.
I run a hand over my tongue, the spicy, tangy mayo giving me the ultimate ick. But also ... watching Cheyenne jump to her feet to chase after her jerk of a boyfriend who’s now running out of the dining room is making me feel some type of way...
It’s a feeling I can’t quite name right now.
“Why did you spew it all over him?” Genna asks, her tone flat rather than accusatory.
“I didn’t mean to...” My voice trails off, my eyes landing on the mess of orangish gunk across the tablecloth. “I mean, I had nowhere else to spew it.”
“Valid point,” she says with a sigh. “But this isnotgood.” She repeats the same thought I’ve been having since the moment I saw that horrified look on Garrett’s face.
“Maybe we should set a new rule that pranks can’t happen at the table?” Mom offers up, giving me a meek smile.
“Yeah...” I don’t even know what to say, trying to ignore the muffled voices coming from the foyer. Cheyenne sounds emotional, and Garrett’s tone seems sharp.
He’s laying into her ... over me.
I need to make things right, and I don’t even know what that means. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m the one who ruined Garrett’s sweater, so I probably should be the one who apologizes. It’s not fair for Cheyenne to be thrown under the bus over the mess I made.
I push back from the table, brushing some confetti off my lap before standing to my feet.
“Let them work it out,” Genna warns me.
“But Garrett is a—”
“Dylan,” Mom cuts me off sharply, her tone chiding.
I choose not to say anything further and exit the large dining room, making my way to the foyer. On one of the white walls I pass, I catch sight of a family picture from one of our camping trips, and right there beside Genna is Cheyenne.
She’s family. Which means I have to intervene.
This was my fault. I’ll just apologize and offer to buy the jerk a new sweater. It is the holidays, after all.
