“Oh, shut up, Nicholas!” I’d laughed, and then kissed him.
He grinned and pinched my side, making me giggle more. “I love that.” He was flushed once we broke apart. “I love your laughter.”
The memory made my heart ache now, as I refilled a six-year-old’s plastic cup of apple cider. Nick had just walked into the kitchen and was heading straight for the impressive spread of hors d’oeuvres, everything from a baked Brie with raspberry jam to balsamic bacon-wrapped Brussels sprouts and butternut squash soup.
Try it, I remembered Luke telling me.Try explaining yourself.
“Here you go, Jenna,” I said, handing the little girl her cup. “I’ll see you a little later, okay?” I pointed to where Nick was now piling food onto a plate. “I have to go talk to Nick.”
Jenna’s eyes grew wide. “Is Nick yourboyfriend?”
I ignored the grimy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Nope. He’s just a friend.”
But someday, I prayed, hoping he would understand, hoping we could fix things.
“Well,Ihave a boyfriend,” she informed me. “His name is Ryan, and he’s in my class.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I replied, glancing over to see Nick sitting at one of the island’s barstools, only an arm’s reach away from the appetizers for when it came time for seconds.
“But Tori doesn’t believe he’s my boyfriend,” Jenna continued. “Because—”
“Have you checked out the dessert table yet?” I interrupted.
“No!” she exclaimed. “Where is it?”
“Oh my gosh! In the dining room!”
Five seconds later, she was gone, and I was moving toward Nick. “Hey,” I said, my hand quivering as I lightly touched his shoulder. “How are you?”
Nick turned to look at me, and I half-expected his eyes to widen since this was our first time speaking post–golf course, but they didn’t. They were as calm as could be. “Hey,” he said after swallowing his mouthful of food. “I’m good. How’re you?”
I nearly fell to the floor.In pieces, I thought.I am in pieces.
“Congrats on the big win!” I said instead, stalling. “First place. That’s awesome!” Bexley had beaten Kent in overtime at their Thanksgiving tournament.
“Thanks,” he replied, smiling without showing his teeth. Not even close to his real smile. “It bodes well for the rest of the season.”
“Oh, definitely! I bet you guys have a ton of momentum now.”
“Yeah, we’re really pumped.”
Then it got awkward, with neither of us saying anything. Even though my house was bursting at the seams with noise and an oven timer was going off, I could still hear crickets.Okay, I thought.Here you go. Ask if he wants to talk somewhere—
“I’m gonna go check out what’s happening in the basement,” Nick said. “I’ll see you later?”
He didn’t even wait for me to respond, nodding in confirmation and then hopping off the barstool to leave the room. Shoulders sinking, I barely had time to blink back tears before someone called my name. I turned to see Mrs. Carmichael. “Sage!” she said. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” I replied. The twins’ mom wrapped me in a hug, Charlie behind her. We hadn’t talked much about our fight, but weweretalking again. He’d found me after exams, with Pandora’s as a peace offering. “A CTL,” was all he said. “Your favorite.”
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Mrs. Carmichael apologized after giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “There was”—she gestured to her son—“a wardrobe issue.”
“Yeah, what are you wearing?” I asked Charlie, because I’d seen pictures of the Carmichael twins on Thanksgiving, and they always looked ready for an autumn family photo shoot. Nick looked so dashing in a pair of black watch plaid pants, but Charlie just had on a navy sweater and brown cords, with one of his usual striped ribbon belts cinched tight.
“None of it fits!” Mrs. Carmichael exclaimed, as if reading my mind. “He came downstairs and I thought he was wearing Nicky’s clothes.” She shook her head. “Sage, I don’t care how you do it, but make sure my son eats tonight. I don’t care if you have to hold his hand or force food down his throat. Heneedsto eat.”
I nodded.
“It’s hard to believe,” my mom said as she handed the twins and me tumblers of her famous Thanksgiving cocktail, a sweet auburn-colored concoction. We were allowed one drink since it was a holiday. “It’s hard to believe that in a few weeks, you’ll hopefully know what’s next.” She and I exchanged a smile. “This is the place for you, Sage,” she’d remarked after a college tour last month, crisp Vermont wind whipping through the air. “I can feel it.”
