42 thanksgiving
By eleven in the morning, I regret coming home for Thanksgiving.
Not because I don't love my family.
I do.
Unfortunately, they're just deeply committed to humiliating me at every available opportunity.
"Jackson," Mom says from across the kitchen, "can you carry this into the dining room?"
Before I can answer, Jenny goes, "He can't. He's too busy thinking about his roommate."
I nearly drop the tray in my hands.
Dad bursts out laughing immediately.
Mom tries to hide a smile behind her coffee mug.
And I just stare at my sister with genuine hatred.
"You are a disease."
"Correct."
Jenny grins at me from her spot on the counter, completely unbothered. She's been home for less than twenty-four hours and has already somehow informed every living member of our family that I'm emotionally compromised.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
Dad points at me while carving turkey like he's conducting an interrogation. "So what's her deal?"
"She's a person."
"Interesting," Jenny says thoughtfully. "Defensive already."
"I'm going to physically fight you."
Mom ignores all of us completely. "What's her major?"
"Psychology."
"Oh, she analyzes you for fun then," Dad says immediately.
Jenny nearly falls off the counter laughing.
"Actually horrifying," she says between breaths. "He'd never survive that."
I rub a hand over my face. "Can we please talk about literally anything else?"
"No," all three of them say in unison.
Traitors.
Every single one of them.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon and turkey and whatever weird candle Mom insists on lighting every Thanksgiving. Football blasts from the living room TV loud enough to shake the walls while Jenny keeps stealing pieces of pie crust every time Mom turns around.
It's loud.
Warm.
Chaotic in the way only family can be.
And somehow Everly keeps slipping into the middle of it anyway.
Mom asks if she likes football.
Dad asks if she's sarcastic "or just mean specifically to you."
Jenny asks when they get to meet her.
"That's not happening."
Jenny narrows her eyes immediately. "Interesting phrasing. Not 'I don't want you to.' Just 'not happening.'"
"I hate psychology," I mutter.
"She's corrupting you already."
The worst part is that beneath all the teasing, I secretly like talking about Everly.
Even now.
Especially now.
I like hearing her name out loud.
I like answering questions about her.
I like the way my mom smiles softly every time I mention something small about her without realizing I'm doing it.
She likes old horror movies.
She steals fries constantly.
She hates my music.
She falls asleep with textbooks all over her bed because apparently using shelves is beneath her.
Every time I say something without meaning to, Jenny notices immediately.
"You smile every time you talk about her," she says smugly.
"I literally don't."
"You literally are right now."
"I hope your coffee tastes bad tomorrow."
"See? Emotional."
Dad's openly grinning now too, which honestly feels like betrayal.
Dinner itself settles the house down a little.
Not quiet.
This family is biologically incapable of quiet.
But softer.
Football murmurs from the living room while everyone crowds around the dining table arguing over stuffing and whether cranberry sauce should legally exist.
Mom keeps reaching over to fix everyone's plates even though we're all adults.
Dad keeps telling the same stories he tells every Thanksgiving.
Jenny keeps kicking me under the table every time my phone lights up.
Because yes.
Everly texted me earlier.
And yes.
I answered immediately like a loser.
At some point during dessert, Mom disappears into the kitchen and Dad follows her a few minutes later, leaving me alone clearing plates while Jenny dries dishes beside me.
For once, she's quiet.
Which immediately makes me suspicious. "You're plotting something."
"I'm reflecting."
"Even worse."
She bumps my shoulder lightly with hers before setting another plate down.
Then, without looking at me, she says, "You gonna screw this up again?"
Straight to the throat.
Classic Jenny.
I stare down at the sink for a second, watching soap bubbles slide slowly across the water.
Because the answer should be easy.
I already did screw it up.
Weeks of it.
Hurting Everly over and over because I got scared and stupid and too deep inside my own head to realize what I was doing before it was already wrecking both of us.
But Tuesday changed something. The conversation afterward changed something too.
And now every time I think about her, it doesn't just feel terrifying anymore.
It feels important.
"I don't want to," I admit quietly.
Jenny glances over at me then, her expression softer than it's been all day. "Good."
That's all she says. But somehow it still settles heavily in my chest.
We finish dishes after that while Dad yells at the TV from the living room and Mom pretends she isn't equally invested in the game.
Warm noise fills the house from every direction.
And suddenly I'm thinking about Everly again.
About how different this is from the stories she's told me about her own family.
Not bad.
Not unloved.
Just... heavier somehow.
More complicated.
I picture her sitting at our dining table laughing at Jenny's insults and stealing food off my plate and arguing with my dad about football teams she doesn't even care about just to annoy him.
The image arrives so naturally it catches me completely off guard.
Because for one terrifying second, it feels less like imagination and more like something I genuinely want.
Something real.
Something permanent.
And that realization scares the hell out of me a little.
Later that night, after everyone finally drifts upstairs and the house goes quiet except for the TV downstairs, I end up sprawled across my childhood bed staring at my phone again.
Everly's contact sits open on the screen.
I hesitate for a second before typing.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Come back again.
I stare at the typing bubble way longer than any sane person should.