Chapter 3
THREE
ELI
Jack doesn’t bring Thanksgiving up the rest of the day, which is fine by me.
We do talk about our Friendsgiving, though, with Seth and Fred.
The group chat had been active the day before, giving us enough information to make a game plan.
We’ll hold it at Gavin’s house on Saturday afternoon.
Everyone will bring something, and we need to put it in the chat so we don’t get three batches of chocolate chip cookies and no pies—Jack insists we need a pie, despite the fact that his mom makes three and there will definitely be leftovers of hers.
A spontaneous trip to the grocery store convinces Seth we don’t need a turkey.
To start, there are only small ones and giant ones left, and when we see the prices of those left in stock, Seth says he’s happy with a bag of chicken tenders.
He gets a bag of those and a thing of barbecue sauce as his contribution.
While we’re at the store, we all find what we’ll need.
Jack claims he can make a chocolate pie using boxed pudding mix. In this case, I believe him.
The rest of the day passes pretty quickly, with work at the library and then dinner at Jack’s house, and Monday and Tuesday go by at about the same speed. Wednesday, our last day before Thanksgiving break, Coach comes over to us during Gym.
“Jack, Elliot, when were you gonna tell me?”
Jack looks at me, silently asking what we forgot. “Uh . . .”
Coach runs a hand over the fade in his ginger hair, which he always keeps neat. “My team, throwing a feast and not inviting me. Of all the betrayals, this one cuts deep.”
“You want to come to our Friendsgiving?” I ask.
“Gavin told me about this Thanksgiving party last period. I could make an appearance,” Coach says. “You didn’t come last year, Eli, but I throw a barbecue for the guys at the end of the school year. Many have requested my recipe for oatmeal scotchies.”
Jack smiles. “You bake, Coach Lutz?”
“In the oven and in the sun, Blondie,” Coach says with a chuckle.
“I heard this was your idea, though”—he places his hands on our shoulders, leaning forward—“and wanted to say I love it! You’re practicing in small groups, but maintaining the overall team bond. We’ll be stronger than ever next year!”
“Yeah!” Jack cries.
“The Falcons will be ready to fly,” I say.
Coach grins. “But first, we feast!”
He lets us go and heads over to the corner of the gym, where a group of boys are getting a little too rough. Jack retrieves a basketball and bounce passes it to me. “Guess we should have invited Coach Lutz.”
“He’s not really offended,” I tell him. I should have thought of it, though.
Coach didn’t come to the end-of-season party, but something like this is different.
I know the track coach does dinners with the team once every month or two.
A few of the coaches like to make appearances at team events, just to show they care about us off the field.
Coach will probably swing by, hand out his apparently famous oatmeal scotchies, and leave not long after.
“It’s probably a good thing you’re making your beloved rolls,” Jack says. “From the chat, seems like we’ll have a lot of desserts.”
“Keep mocking my favorite and you won’t get any,” I tell him.
“After Mom’s Thanksgiving, you’ll have a new favorite.”
I’m sure that’s true. “McG was impressed by our report, and you know it,” I say, skirting his comment.
“Because you put in an analysis of how hot gravy affects the structure.”
“Because he knows they’re good.”
“I’ve half a mind to give you an intervention.”
“I’ve half a mind to chuck this ball at you.”
Jack grins.
Thursday morning dawns cold and clear when I raise the blind on my bedroom window. It’s earlier than I typically wake up, and despite common courtesy telling me I shouldn’t, I don’t text Jack—I call him.
He picks up by the third ring. “Hello?”
“Morning.” I press my hand to the window. His voice is blurred with sleep. “Did I wake you up?”
Jack yawns. “From a dream with you in it. Bit rude, really.”
My lips quirk up. “Is it too early to start Thanksgiving?”
“Mom’s probably already started the turkey. Thing takes forever. So, no.”
“I can bring you breakfast,” I offer.
“Just you is enough, but I’ll never turn down food. Want to go for a walk, or come hang out on the couch for a while?”
“I could do with some couch time first. Be over in a few minutes.”
I put the phone down and grab my clothes for the day, Jack’s words echoing in my ears. Just you is enough. Warmth steals over me like stepping into a hot shower, spreading from my core in a tingling, pleasing ripple.
Uncle Remington isn’t up yet. I debate leaving a note on the refrigerator, to remind him I’m going to Jack’s.
We haven’t spoken other than quick greetings since Sunday.
I haven’t been home very much. He’s said nothing about Thanksgiving, in those quick interactions.
I let my hand fall instead of picking up the pad of paper and pen.
He knows where I’ll be. I’d prefer if he didn’t come, anyway. I want this warmth to last all day.
I reach Jack’s house within twenty minutes of calling him, my cheeks stinging from the rawness of the air. Jack must have been waiting at the door; it opens before I do more than reach for the handle.
“I brought donuts,” I say, stepping in and holding up the box, my backpack halfway to the floor.
Jack pushes the door shut, pulls me close, and kisses me. The box drops to the floor next to my backpack.
I’m vaguely aware of Widget running over, sniffing and wiggling and wagging his tail, waiting to be pet. Low music sounds from the kitchen, along with a faint humming I know comes from Mrs. Benson.
Jack eclipses everything. Pushes away all thoughts, draws all attention.
His hand curls on the back of my neck and I twine mine in his soft hair.
Spearmint washes over me, the scent and taste of his toothpaste strong.
I don’t realize I’m moving until my back hits the door.
It puts a breath of space between our lips, and Jack’s laugh is a warm exhale on my skin.
“Good morning,” he says with a dazed smile.
“We should say good morning like this more often,” I say, touching my lips to his again.
It has to be a few minutes before we surface from each other, and Jack leads me into the kitchen by the hand.
Mrs. Benson beams, pausing in the process of spreading a pie crust. “Eli! I didn’t even hear you come in!”
“Morning, Mrs. Benson. Sorry I’m a little early.”
“Why would you be sorry about that?” She walks over and puts her arms around me, holding her flour-covered hands out. “Couldn’t wait for a hug. Don’t think I got you with flour, did I?”
Jack inspects me, walking in a circle, eyes moving up and down my body, and grins. “Looks good.”
Mrs. Benson pats him on the cheek, leaving a powdery handprint. She sucks in a small, feigned breath. “Oh, dear. Looks like I got you, Jack.”
The indignation in his raised brows is priceless. Especially when he reaches for the flour on the counter to retaliate and she swats his hand away.
“Go on,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ll let you know when I need you to sample things. You keep an eye on the time so we don’t miss the parade!”
“But I have flour—”
I grab a napkin from the basket on their counter and brush the flour from his cheek. “Now you don’t. Let’s go.”
We sit on his couch and Jack curls against my side immediately, resting his head against mine. For about two minutes, everything is quiet aside from the low music and humming in the kitchen. The morning is once again peaceful. Then Jack bolts upright so fast I almost jump from the couch.
“I forgot you brought donuts!”
I fall back against the cushions with a laugh as he rushes to the doorway and returns with the box, already taking a giant bite of one. “Thought I was enough?” I tease.
He swallows and blinks at me. “You are. But when you bring food, I want the food, too.”
He has a sliver of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. I brush it aside with my thumb. “You’re a mess this morning.”
He sticks the other half of the donut in my mouth and flashes that elfin smile. “A hot mess. Just like you.”
I almost choke, chewing and laughing at the same time. Jack nods. “Definitely hot, especially with your eyes getting a little red and watery. And that glare you can’t keep because you’re secretly amused. Very attractive.”
I shove him, trying to regain my breath. I cough to clear my throat, getting past the choking bit. “Jerk.”
Jack picks up another donut. “You love me.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
Jack’s grin widens. I grab my own donut from the box between us. “You’re still an idiot.”
He leans against me again. “Don’t they say only fools fall in love?”
That warmth stirs beneath my breastbone. “I’ll be a fool for you, Jack Benson.”
“Just be you,” he says, shifting his head to my shoulder. “But I’ll be one for you, too.”
The morning passes in a contented blur. Jack and I snuggle on his couch for a bit, just talking, before we turn on the TV to get it set to the parade.
Hugh runs out of his room like a cheetah, zooming onto the couch to tackle Jack and then into the kitchen to see what Mrs. Benson is up to.
Janet stumbles out a minute later, mumbles a greeting, and goes into the kitchen.
“She’s been staying up late,” Jack says, his eyes following his sister. “And trying to stop drinking coffee.”
The quiet is broken with the toddler’s awakening, but it’s the bustling I’m used to at Jack’s house.
We play with Hugh on the carpet and on the grass out front.
Mrs. Benson calls us in periodically to sample things and eat appetizers of cheese and crackers and sausage. We watch snatches of the parade.
All the while, the aroma from the kitchen becomes more tantalizing, and when Mrs. Benson says it’s time to set the table because we’ll eat soon, Jack turns to me.
“See if your uncle changed his mind,” Jack urges. “Just for Mom.”
I frown. “He won’t have.”
I pull my phone from my bag and check it anyway, and stare at it. Jack walks up behind me about ten seconds later. I tilt the phone so he can see the screen—and the notifications on it. Two missed calls.
From Mom.
“Call her,” Jack says in a soft voice.
I swallow hard. Jack’s pale hand touches mine, fleetingly. That warmth that had just abated swirls again, and I call her.
“Elliot?” she says upon picking up.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Your father and I are home for Thanksgiving. Where are you?”
“I’m at Jack’s house, like I told you.”
“Your uncle did say something about you being at a friend’s house, but that doesn’t answer my question. Where are you? Do you need to be picked up to come home and spend the holiday with us?”
My hand tightens on the phone. “I’m spending today with my boyfriend and his family, Mom. You’re all invited if you’d like to come.” I give her the address at Jack’s approving nod. “Are you coming?”
She’s quiet on the other end of the phone, and then I hear her say something to my father. “We didn’t realize you had a boyfriend. Of course we’ll come to meet him and his family.”
I hate the twisted feeling in my gut. The desire I can’t shake, the eagerness to see them again after so long, knotted and twined with anxiety and fear that they’ll mess everything up. “See you soon,” I say, and hang up.
Jack’s lips are tugged up in a slight smile. “Hey Mom,” he calls into the kitchen. “We’re gonna need stuff for three more place settings.”