“False,” I say. “There was none of that. There’s zero sexual tension.”
Jules isn’t buying it. “Poppycock,” she says. “Total rubbish. You were ready to shag before you even met ’im.”
“Yes,beforeI got to know him as Rory, the ordinary American from my hometown. And if that’s not enough of a turnoff, he’s still pretty much with his ex-girlfriend back in Kalamazoo.”
“Why isn’t she ’ere then?” Jules wants to know.
“She broke up with Rory because she thought they were in too much of a routine,” I explain, with the determined air of a disinterested third party. “And because he didn’t make enough money, apparently.”
“And what’s keeping ’er from getting a job ’erself? This isn’t the bloody eighteenth century, for fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t know the details,” I say, though I agree with her. “Just that he’s still in love with her. Which is good,” I add forcefully. “So he and I can befriends. No complications.”
Jules makes a skeptical snorting sound, not bothering to try and muffle it. “Righ’o,” she says. “So you’re going on other dates then, are you?”
“Not right now,” I say. “I’m focusing on myself for a while.”
My preoccupation with finding a British beau is at an all-time low. The night at Annabel’s seems to have turned me off dating altogether, puncturing any remaining illusions about finding an actual gentleman in this country.
Jules has a different take on the matter. “Meaning you’re waiting for Rory to wake up and realize you’re the one ’e wants?” she poses.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” I snap, patience wearing thin. “The very last thing I’d want is to be with someone fromKalamazoo. He represents everything I’ve worked so hard to escape.”
“Alrigh’, alrigh’, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” And just like that, she cracks open a new beer and switches the subject. “So tell me, babes, what’s the plan for our Thanksgiving do, hey?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, unable or perhaps just unwilling to shrug off my grumpy mood. “We don’t get Thanksgiving off over here. I’m not doing anything, I have to work.”
Jules looks more than a bit crestfallen. “Butbabes, I’ve been dreaming of a traditional American Thanksgiving feast feryears. Decades, really. It was one of the reasons I was so bloody keen to get on with you, if you must know …” She trails off wistfully, batting her stick-on eyelashes at me with a pathetically crushed expression that softens me more than I want it to.
To be honest, I’m not too excited about the idea of skipping Thanksgiving either. It always used to be my favorite holiday. As a kid, I loved being Mommy’s little helper in the kitchen and then watching football on TV with my dad and brothers. Between the main course and dessert, we’d go for a family walk around the lake behind our house and then curl up with cinnamon apple cider andcard games by the fire at night, our dog, Murray, snoring happily on the hearth, full from the bits of food we’d snuck him from under the table.
“I guess you and Nina could come over for dinner,” I offer to Jules, as much for myself as for them. “Just something small after work.”
Jules’s grudge is instantly replaced with glee. “That’s ace, babes,” Jules proclaims, twirling her cigarette like a baton. “I’ve already saved a dozen pumpkin pie recipes I’m keen to bake. Never made a sweet pie before, only savory.”
As she’s prattling on about this recipe and that one, my thoughts drift toward Rory, wondering whether he has something to do on Thanksgiving.
“Reckon we should invite anyone else?” Jules says, as if tracking my thoughts. “Any other Americans who might be ’omesick?” She puts on an unconvincingly clueless expression, as if she can’t possibly think of anyone who fits the bill.
Subtlety is not her strong suit. I scowl at her, though I do like the idea of Rory joining us. He was so great when I told him about Harold. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder if he invited me to Career Day more for me than for his students. As a way to help me get my confidence back and be reminded of the goodness in the world. He’s definitely the kind of person who does favors for people under the guise of asking for their help.
“I’m sure Rory already has plans, if that’s what you mean,” I tell Jules, keeping my voice harsh so she won’t guess at the softness beneath. “But I can ask him, I guess.”
“Oh,Rory!” Jules says, all drama and delight. “I ’adn’t even thought of ’im.” She slaps her head lightly.
“Sure you hadn’t,” I grumble, but I text Rory right then, asking if he’d want to join a couple people at my place for Thanksgiving dinner. “And just for the record, if he does come, it willnotbe a double date,” I tell Jules. “He’s most likely officially getting back with his ex at Christmas, so he’s off the market. Not that I’d be interested anyway,” I clarify, flustered. “Just no scheming, that’s all.”
“No scheming,” Jules insists, green eyes glimmering. “We’ll just have some good food and bubble baths, we will.”
“We’re not taking bubble baths at Thanksgiving,” I shoot down at once, feeling very bothered by the idea of being naked anywhere near Rory.
“‘Bubble bath’ just means laugh,” Jules says. “It’ll be a proper good time—that’s all I meant. Now I’m sorry, I’ve got ter run,” she apologizes, as if she had been invited over here in the first place. “Nina’ll be home soon, and I was meant to fold the laundry on the rack. The things you do for love, I tell you …”
With that, Jules bounces off the couch, blowing me a lavish stream of kisses as she disappears through the door connecting our flats.
My phone buzzes, and Rory’s name is back on my screen, along with his Thanksgiving answer.
Thanks so much for the invite! Would be chuffed to bits to join.What can I bring??
