Dinner is a disaster. I almost wish Kate and I had invented another fake trip and had not come home for the holidays.
No matter that this past Thanksgiving was possibly the saddest weekend of my life. I was alone at my buddy Daniel’s place, where I’m still crashing on the couch. Kate tossed me to the curb at the beginning of the school year, making it impossible for me to find a half-decent, affordable house in Ann Arbor. Thanks again, Kate.
Anyway, I spent Thanksgiving alone, as all my friends had gone home for the long weekend. I ate a solo, microwaved lunch, since I was too depressed to cook a proper meal. The rest of the day I spent alternatively stalking Marco’s Instagram and my mom’s. The first provided romantic shot after romantic shot of their romantic Canadian gateway. Kate’s face was never in the pictures for obvious secrecy reasons, but anonymous body parts appeared here and there, or the odd photo from behind. The worst one—joined feet under the sheets—made me want to puke. Mom’s photo documentary of the holiday wasn’t stomach-churning, but watching my loved ones enjoy the best homemade meal and many good times still made me tragically homesick.
Hard to call what I would consider sadder. To have stalked my ex’s new boyfriend or my mother on socials. I even sunk as low as creating a fake Instagram account to watch Marco’s stories without him knowing it was me. Talk about hitting rock bottom.
But, dreary as Thanksgiving was, today is making a good show at competing for Chuck’s Worst Day Ever. In fact, I’m ready to call it a night. Dinner is over, and we’ve all moved into the Warrens’ cathedral-ceilinged living room for the traditional eggnog nightcap. Only this year, it comes out of a bottle as we’re drinking our very own Bluewater Springs Chocolate Company’s Vanilla Eggnog.
We started testing bottled eggnog a year ago in a few local supermarkets. At first, I was skeptical about producing store-bought eggnog, but one sample taste changed my mind. Probably because Dad and Lillian used the same recipe they’d been making at home forever. And the market agreed with me. This holiday season, we’re rolling out our eggnog nation-wide with plans to go international. We’re also adding a nutmeg flavor variant.
Delicious as the eggnog tastes, the syrupy drink isn’t enough to sweeten the bitter pill that my life has become. So, the moment Nana Fern dozes off on the Warrens’ couch, I seize my chance, gently elbowing my dad.
“Dad, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t we drive Nana Fern home?”
Dad pats my knee. “You’re probably right, son.”
“Mind if I catch a ride with you?” I ask. “I’m tired of driving.”
“Nonsense,” Lillian, Kate’s mom, interjects from her seat on the couch perpendicular to ours. “You’re sleeping here, Love.”
“Here, you mean…”
“In Kate’s room, of course.”
Out of my control, my voice raises to a squeal. “I can’t sleep in Kate’s room!”
Kate, who’s chilling by the fire with her dad, only catches this last part and turns to stare daggers at me. “What did you just say?”
“I didn’t say anything,” I defend myself. “Your mom is insisting I spend the night.”
Alarm instantly replaces the annoyance on her face. “Mom, you seriously can’t expect us to sleep together in a twin bed.”
“Of course not, Honeybun.”
“Oh. Good.”
“That’s why we’ve refurbished your room!” Lillian smiles proudly. “Tell her, Mick.”
Kate’s dad makes jazz hands. “Surprise!”
Kate reacts with an I’ve-had-enough-surprises-for-one-night face, and, for once, I agree with her. “What have you done to my room?” she says flatly.
“Not much, Honeybun, don’t worry,” Lillian says. “We’ve only upgraded the bed and added some closet space. Nothing too serious. All your stuff is still there.”
“Thank you, Lillian,” I say. “But I was looking forward to my bed and my room. I have all my stuff there.”
“But it’s already decided,” Lillian says. “Josiane Masson said she’d rather have you both under the same roof—apparently it’s easier to coordinate for the photo shoots. She also wants to snap a few spontaneous shots of you acting naturally as you eat breakfast in the morning all sleepy-eyed and in love…”
“Mom!” Kate says, sounding as determined to send me home as I am to go. “Chuck hasn’t seen his parents in months. I’m sure they’ll want to have some time together in private. Don’t you, Abigail?” She looks hopefully toward my mother.
Mom, who’s busy leafing through the latest issue of the Bluewater Springs Digest, raises her head. “Sorry, Darling, what did you say?”
“I was trying to explain to my mom how you surely want to have Chuck at home for the holidays.”
Puzzled, Mom looks at Lillian. “Isn’t Chuck sleeping here? I thought it was decided. I haven’t made his bed or cleaned his room.”
“See?” Lillian smiles in victory. “Chuck is staying. It’s settled.”
“Mom,” I plead. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come home with you? I can make the bed and clean the room, it’s no big deal.”
“But why would you, Darling?” She calls everyone ‘darling’. Mom gets up and kisses both my cheeks. “You belong with Kate. Plus, we spend more time here than at our house, anyway.” She nudges my dad. “Bud, we should really get going. Nana Fern is well past her bedtime.”
I try not to freak out as my get-away-from-Kate plan leaves without me. A few Kate-free, drama-free hours were the only thing that has kept me pushing through this lousy day. I was craving the loneliness of my old room, where I could’ve relaxed on my own turf and read a book in peace or shot up a video game. I sure could tear to pieces a few goblins right now. It’d be great for my nerves.
And, if I had any doubts, the look Kate shoots me across the room promises anything but relaxation. Heck, she’s probably going to make me sleep on the floor.
***
She doesn’t send me straight to the floor, but that doesn’t make our sleeping situation any more comfortable.
Tension radiates off Kate as she manhandles the bed, throwing off the covers like they personally offended her. Grabbing the pillows, she constructs an impenetrable wall down the middle of the bed. “That’s your side. Stay there.”
I shrug. One side of the bed is way better than the floor, so I’m not complaining.
“I know you’re probably heartbroken there’s no PlayStation here,” she continues, “but I’m sure you can survive a few hours without one.”
Yeah, okay, the thought of powering up my old console and blowing off some steam with a game crossed my mind, but… “You know I’m not addicted to gaming?” I say. “I can live without my PlayStation.”
Kate scoffs. “Yeah, right. Go tell that to someone who hasn’t lived with you for the past three years.”
Before I can reply, her phone starts to vibrate. She glares at me, pressing a finger to her mouth. “Not a word.”
I drop on the bed and cross my arms over my chest while Kate moves closer to the window and picks up. “Hi, Marco.”
I can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but from Kate’s answers, I’m pretty sure I know what they’re discussing.
“Yes, it went well,” she says. “No, no, they were a little shocked at first, but now they’re happy for me… Yes, they can’t wait to meet you… When? Uh? Spring break, maybe… No, it isn’t worth making the trek up here sooner… Don’t worry, I’m fine… Yeah… Me, too… Night.”
I’m not sure what that “me, too” at the end stood for. Was it in response to I miss you, me too? Or a more serious I love you, me too? Could Kate really be in love with Sweaty Posts?
“That sounded an awful lot like you were lying,” I say.
“I wasn’t lying,” Kate hisses as she sits on her side of the bed and gets under the covers. Despite the denial, her cheeks flush in that adorable way that used to make me lose my head. Still does. And is probably not the best thought to have before sharing a bed with my ex—pillow barrier or not.
“I was only anticipating the truth,” Kate continues. “It doesn’t matter if we tell our families tonight or tomorrow, the endgame won’t change.” She turns away from me and switches off the lights. “And now I would like to sleep, if you don’t mind.”
I don’t even try to say I’d like to read awhile to avoid another pointless confrontation. I just lay there staring at the dark ceiling, wallowing in my misery. Morning will come soon. I can do this…