November 23, Sunday
straight bourbon bourbon aged at least two years and not blended with additives
THE BUS hummed along the highway toward our first stop, the morning tour group chattering behind me about bourbon and fall foliage. I sat in the front passenger seat reviewing my notes, though I could recite the facts in my sleep by now. My phone buzzed against my leg—it was Keith Banyon.
Surprised, I connected the call. "Hello?"
"Bernadette? It's Keith Banyon."
We hadn't spoken since our coffee shop meeting, though I'd thought about him occasionally—one of the few people who'd known my mother during that pivotal time.
"Keith, hi. How are you?"
"I'm good, good." His voice carried warmth.
"Listen, I know this is last minute, but my wife and I were talking, and we'd really like to have you over for Thanksgiving dinner Thursday.
Nothing fancy, just family and a few friends, but we thought you might enjoy having somewhere to go for the holiday. "
The invitation caught me completely off guard. Thanksgiving was just four days away, and I'd been trying not to think about spending it alone in my van while everyone else gathered with family.
"That's incredibly kind of you," I managed.
"It's nothing. We have plenty of food. Plus, I figured you could use some friendly faces while you're dealing with all this father business."
Tears pricked unexpectedly at my eyes. "I'd love to come. Thank you."
"Perfect. I'll text you the address and time. Plan on around three o'clock?"
"Three o'clock. I'll be there."
We said our goodbyes just as Jett pulled the bus into the first distillery parking lot. I tucked my phone away, feeling lighter than I had in days. Thanksgiving dinner with people who actually wanted me there. A real family gathering, even if they weren't my family.
The day passed in its familiar rhythm—tours and tastings, bourbon facts and historical anecdotes. By the time Jett dropped me at the campground that evening, the sun had already set, the November darkness settling early.
"Got plans for Thanksgiving?" Jett asked as I gathered my things.
I turned back, surprised by the question. "Actually, yes. Keith Banyon invited me to dinner with his family."
"Keith Banyon?" Jett's eyebrows rose. "Your mom's friend?"
"Yeah. He called this morning." I smiled. "It was really sweet of him."
"That's great." Jett nodded, then seemed to hesitate. "I was going to invite you to have dinner with my family if you didn't have plans. My grandmother always makes way too much food, and she loves meeting new people."
Something warm bloomed in my chest at the invitation. "That's so thoughtful of you."
"No problem." He shrugged, casual but his eyes held something deeper. "I just didn't want you to be alone for the holiday. Glad you've got somewhere to go."
"Thank you for thinking of me."
"Always do," he said quietly, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean, you know. As friends. Coworkers."
"Right. Friends. Have a good night, Jett."
"You too."
I descended the bus steps and watched as he drove away, the taillights disappearing down the campground road.
Standing in the November darkness, I felt an unexpected pang of regret.
Meeting Jett's family, sitting at his grandmother's table, seeing him in that context—part of me wanted that experience.
But why? I'd be leaving in a few weeks. Arizona waited with its promise of college classes and a fresh start. Whatever connections I'd built here were temporary by design. Getting more entangled in Jett's life, meeting his family, creating more ties—that would only make leaving harder.