I’d given her a big hug and told her I could feel it too. My heart was aflutter, excitement mixed with that familiar feeling of home.This is it, I thought.This is where I want to go to college.
Now I just had to get in.
“Oh, I know.” Nick grinned. “I’m amped.”
“Says the person who already knows what’s next,” Charlie said, elbowing him in the ribs.
Nick responded by trapping his twin in a one-armed headlock. I still wanted to retreat under my covers and cry, but also felt a flood of relief, seeing the twins joke together. Just like between me and Charlie, tension among the Carmichaels didn’t last long. There was stuff swept under the rug, but they were too close for any ongoing tension.
My mom laughed. “And what about you, Charlie? Your parents said you’re keeping your options open…?”
Charlie nodded and sipped his cocktail. “Yes, but that’s all I’ll say on the subject.” He smiled slyly. “The rest is between me and the college counseling office.”
“Okay, come on.” I punched his arm. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, and cocked his head. “Where doyouwant to go?”
I rolled my eyes. It had become a game now, trying to get the other to admit where they’d applied. “Definitely colleges,” we usually joked. “Oh, and some universities.”
It was fun, but in the back of my mind, I kept hearing Nick say that Charlie wanted to go far away for school.Nowhere near here.Part of me worried he’d be living in a broom-closet-sized room at Oxford come next fall. All the way across the ocean. Who knew?
I took a sip of my drink and glanced over at Nick, only to catch him watching Charlie as he spoke. Quietly, thoughtfully, and maybe even a little sadly.
I’m not the only one, I knew.He’s going to miss him too. We’re going to miss him so much.
We went hard on dessert, so hard that I needed to take a moment and breathe after my first plate, but I watched Charlie dig right into his second one (an assortment including slices of pumpkin, pecan, and apple pie, plus a generous scoop of mint chip ice cream). We’d eaten dinner in the front hall with the DePietros from up the street, but now we sat in the kitchen’s breakfast nook. “Does your mom think you have anorexia?” I asked, again noticing how thin he was.
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think so. I just told her the truth—that besides hockey, I run a lot, and Bexley’s food options are at an all-time low—and she seemed to believe that.”
“You look like the difficult child,” I said. Just like Nick, Kitsey Carmichael looked ready for her Thanksgiving close-up. Her gold pleated skirt was stunning.
Charlie chuckled softly. “Iamthe difficult child. That’s nothing new.”
“No, you aren’t,” I protested. “You were just…”
“A challenge,” he filled in the blank, lips curling up in a smile. “I was a challenge.”
I laughed, remembering our younger days. Charlie had beena precocious child and constantly kept his parents on their toes. When we were in kindergarten, our parents started calling himthe mayor, since Charlie knew everyone in the neighborhood and everyone knew him. And I had to smile now, since it was the same way at Bexley. You could drop him in the middle of any situation, and he’d come out with a handful of friends. I loved that about him.
But I also loved how low-key his twin was, how calm and collected. The way he could always put you at ease, the way he anchored you on both smooth and stormy days. The way he was justNick. Suddenly I was choked up, remembering our hors d’oeuvres encounter, and how my plan to talk to him crashed and burned.Try again, my stomach stirred as something buzzed under my fingers.The night’s still young.
“Hey,” I heard Charlie say, and I snapped out of my Nick reverie to see him holding his phone against his ear. “Happy Turkey Day…” He trailed off, a smile breaking over his face. “Oh, really?” He pushed back his chair. “Well, tell them I say hi…”
As soon as Charlie was gone, I too was up and on my feet, dessert plates forgotten. Maybe Charlie could eat seconds, but I only knew one person whose sweet tooth was big enough forthirds. So, heart hammering, I weaved through guests until I found Nick eyeing the pumpkin pie in the dining room. Or, more accurately, mourning whatremainedof the pumpkin pie. Barely a slice, crust already crumbled. “You know…” I said hesitantly. “We have another one.”
Nick sighed. “This is the other one,” he said. “Your mom pulled it from the pantry after everyone ravaged the first few.”
“No, Nick.” I shook my head, even though he hadn’t taken his eyes off the prize. “Trust me, there’sanotherone.”
“Ah, the good old garage fridge,” he said as I slid the pie off its shelf and into his awaiting arms. We hadn’t brought plates, only forks. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
I shrugged and moved next to him, leaning against the hood of my mom’s SUV. Nick was already powering through the pan, but I squeezed the utensil in my hand, too anxious to eat. “Are you having fun?” I eventually asked, to break the silence.
Nick nodded. “Yeah,” he said after swallowing a bite. “You and your mom really do Thanksgiving right.” He pointed his fork at the mudroom door. “This party puts Grammy and Poppy to shame.”
When he laughed, I tried to too, but it was pretty much impossible with tears also pooling in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Nick, I’m really,reallysorry.”
“It’s all good,” he replied, voice level. “You put me out of my misery…”
