Chapter Fourteen
Basil
Challenge: Have a party
Thanksgiving morning arrived at last, crisp and clear. I knocked on Chelsea’s door at five a.m. with bags upon bags of groceries. I had to make a couple of trips to my car to bring it all in. Chelsea asked if she could help, but I shooed her out, the same way my mom would if I were at home today.
I was going to catch hell for staying in Charlottesville when my family was gathering in Richmond. I hoped maybe I could convince Chelsea to come with me over the weekend when things wouldn’t be so hectic there. My family wanted to meet this girl who wasn’t quite my girlfriend but wasn’t not, either.
But I couldn’t pass up this golden opportunity to woo her with the constant love in her life: food. It was obvious she used food as a substitute for love, eating her emotions, as they say, taking my food when she wouldn’t admit she wanted me. I didn’t say it. She’d be right to accuse me of body shaming, which I’d never do. Her body was a wet dream.
I could play with the weapons at my disposal. I intended to win her over one of these days. If I played my cards right, by Christmas, I’d be introducing her as my girlfriend. That would show them all I wasn’t as fickle as they believed.
While I set to work, chopping, mincing, measuring, she peeked through the doorway, watching me like I was the best show on Earth. At some point, Elizabeth arrived, and I put on a timer to join them as Chelsea poured out a tiny glass of kirs and said, “Congrats on the promotion.”
Elizabeth clinked her glass with Chelsea’s. “Thanks.”
“How do you like working full time for Kate?” Chelsea asked.
“It’s great. Did you know she even gave me a title?”
“Oh, what? Princess of the press? Queen of the quill?”
“Empress of editing? No. Nothing quite so posh.” She polished off the kirs. “I’m simply Associate Editor. But it will look good on my résumé if I ever need to look for another editing gig.”
From what I’d gathered, she’d managed to talk the editor at the university press into giving her more hours with more pay. I slipped up behind Chelsea and laid a palm on her shoulder. “Does this mean you get to quit your other jobs?”
“Don’t have to. Ursula might have a buyer for the inn. And I left the news station.”
“I have some news as well,” Chelsea said. “For the last little while, my commission work has been steadily growing to the point I’m going to need to cut back on my hours at the coffee shop. I don’t want to quit in case I jinx it, but making lattes doesn’t pay enough to justify turning down art work.”
Elizabeth held up her now-empty glass. “Congrats to being one step closer to your diabolical scheme to abandon me and take your show on the road.”
I didn’t love the sound of that. “You never let me see what you’re working on. Show me something.”
She bit her lip, like she was afraid to share this side of herself, but I wanted to learn everything. She relented and fetched her laptop, setting it on the dining room table. “I’ve been working on this commission for a fantasy author.”
“Wow.” A hooded woman arched a flaming bow and arrow straight at us, blue-lit woods surrounding the figure. “That’s badass.”
“It’s not done yet,” she said, closing the lid, like we’d used up our allotted time.
“What’s it for?”
“Cover art for her book.” She went to put the laptop away.
Elizabeth said, “When I get published, I’m going to make Chelsea do my covers. I’ll get it put in the contract and everything.”
A knock at the door caught her attention, and she turned to let Evan in, shouting, “It’s snowing!”
Out the front window, enormous flakes dropped like they’d been cut from paper by kindergartners. Evan and Elizabeth ran outside to catch them on their tongues, but Chelsea and I stayed in to enjoy the beautiful view.
Elizabeth came back inside, shaking snow from her hair. “Good call on the forecast, Mr. Spurlock.”
Evan glanced over at her like he wanted to lick the chill off her cheeks. “I told you.”
Chelsea said, “Are you sure you didn’t call for an eight-inch pounding?”
Elizabeth did a spit take. “Warn a girl.”
Then an oven timer dinged, and I headed back toward the kitchen. “Are we making dick jokes again? I had one.” What was it? “Shit. I forgot.”
Evan glowered. “Is dinner ready yet?”
Thanksgiving was always one of my favorite holidays. The aromatic blend of cloves, nutmeg, and orange along with the savory char of meat would have made a statue salivate.
I started with an appetizer of smoked pheasant. Evan and Elizabeth both made satisfyingly appreciative moans of pleasure. Chelsea said, “If my mouth could orgasm, this would do it.”
“Holy mother fuck,” Elizabeth said. “I could eat this all day.”
Evan stared at his empty plate, like he was trying to conjure up more. “That was amazing.”
Then I passed around salmon in filo, pleased with how well it turned out, and preened when Elizabeth said, “I’ll never be able to eat anything ever again. What did you do to make that taste so delicious?”
I said, “Nothing. It’s just filo and salmon.”
Chelsea scoffed. “The hell it is. There’s no way you didn’t add some secret ingredient.”
We shared a wry smile, then my dick joke came back to me. “Oh, I remembered my joke.”
“Well?” Chelsea urged.
I pointed toward the window. “It’s coming fast and hard.” It wasn’t high quality, but I wanted to get in on the fun. Chelsea and Elizabeth stared at each other for a half a beat before dissolving into laughter.
When I carried out the main course, they all gathered around the table, set with everyday plates and silver. I’d laid out a nice tablecloth, and the candles in the centerpiece made the feast seem like the occasion it was. And if the decor hadn’t proven it, the food marathon would have done the trick.
The squab I’d made in place of turkey had been braised in white wine and rosemary. I added lobster to the mac and cheese. My sweet potato casserole was old school with toasted marshmallow for nostalgia, and I added dried onion and bacon to the green beans. Cranberry, Southern dressing, gravy, and buttered rolls rounded out the table. A pumpkin pie waited in the kitchen along with whiskey-spiked coffee with whipped cream.
“Eat, drink, and cranberry!” I said to delightful eye rolls. “Laugh now, or I won’t serve the pie later.”
They all gave dutiful hearty laughs and then began to fill their plates.
Chelsea said, “Don’t mind Bas. He was raised in a punitentiary.”
Elizabeth ladled gravy over her dressing and mused, “Ours is not to squander pie. Ours is just to do or…” She looked to Chelsea.
Chelsea winced. “Or dine?”
I snorted. “Excellent team work. I will assimilate you all into the pun collective yet.”
Soon, we were too busy eating to talk, but I loved hearing the grunts of pleasure, seeing the closed eyes of bliss. This was what I wanted to be doing with my life.
“I could die on the spot,” Chelsea exclaimed, going back for thirds of the sweet potatoes.
“Seriously, I’m going to eat until I injure myself,” Evan said, dragging a roll through the gravy. “It’s all fun and games until you bust your pants.”
“Over-the-top incredible,” Elizabeth agreed.
This was how I showered love on everyone. Chelsea and I weren’t nearly at the point where we’d make such declarations, but there was time. I hoped to talk to her tonight about where we were heading as a couple. As much as she’d pushed me away at first, we’d fallen into such a comfortable rapport. She was so easy to please, with food, with sex. With me. I’d never clicked with someone like this. This was more than friendship, more than casual sex, and I wanted her to agree to be exclusive. I wanted her to agree we were starting something real . It was time to put a label on whatever we were and quantify us in a way I could explain to my nosy family.
Once everyone had pushed their plates back, Elizabeth asked, “How is it you’re not working in a fancy restaurant?”
I knew she meant it as a compliment, so I offered some insight into my prospects. “The other day, I talked to a guy who wondered if I’d be interested in opening a new restaurant on Main Street with him.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Chelsea said.
“I miss running a kitchen, but I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a businessman.” I sighed. “The market gives me some freedom, but they control almost every aspect of what I make. I get paid, so I shouldn’t complain, but there has to be more to life.”
Three heads nodded like I was preaching to the choir. All of us were defined by our work, chasing part-time jobs or ill-fitting careers to maintain a lifestyle.
Evan said, “Sometimes it feels like treading water.”
Elizabeth shot him a quizzical glance. “But you’re doing what you love, right?”
“I’m doing what I’m trained to do. I know it sounds dumb, but I’d love to find a quieter job. There’s a lot of stress to being on-air—without stroking a green-screen cock at that. And honestly, I don’t like being a public figure.”
As he spoke, Elizabeth’s eyes softened. “I didn’t know that.” She laid her arm on the table, adjacent to his, so close she was nearly brushing his hand. “What would you rather be doing?”
He extended his index finger and linked it with hers. She curled hers in return. “Wouldn’t it be nice to retire to a cottage somewhere—up in the mountains or in the woods—and do whatever with your time?” He shook his head. “Maybe one day.”
Elizabeth hummed in agreement. “If I could write all day long with no other cares in the world, I would, and yet I also dream of a 401k and a dental insurance plan and paid time off.”
“I dream of seeing the world.” Chelsea sighed.
“Of buying a house,” Evan added.
“Of being in charge,” I threw in.
“Of waking up with a partner who isn’t named Chelsea.” Elizabeth laughed.
Chelsea smacked her, but I chuckled. “Some of us have different goals.”
Evan stretched and stood up to peer out the front window. “Guys. Check it out.”
The snow falling during our dinner blanketed the ground. The wind blew it around in wisps of soft cotton candy, and it had drifted into layers. Everything was white.
Chelsea picked up her phone. “My mom texted me. I’m gonna duck into my room and give her a call.”
I started gathering dishes. “I’ll clear the table.”
“Leave it. You should relax.” She paused, looking at me like I was on the menu. “Thanks for doing all this.”
I got the sense she meant more than just the food. For keeping her company, lavishing her with attention and love. I wanted to rush Evan and Elizabeth out so Chelsea and I could snuggle up together, drink wine, share more about our lives, forging a connection that grew stronger by the day.
Before she disappeared into her bedroom, I wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her in close for a quick kiss, thankful to have been able to spend a day spoiling her. Seeing her relaxed, glowing in the post-feast haze, was all the reward I could ever ask for.
Later tonight, when we were alone, I’d start the conversation I’d been thinking about all day, about us, and where we were headed. I’d put myself on the line and ask her to be my girlfriend.
And then, in an ideal world, we’d work off these calories the best way possible.