18. Gobble Gobble #3
Charley gets dressed in one of her father’s old rugby shirts, then ventures downstairs to find her mother and Joey all dressed up, drinking champagne—they’ve apparently gone through an entire bottle by themselves—and shouting at the football game on TV.
“Charley’s here!” Fran’s eyes glitter, her smile is manic, she’s drunk again already. Fran hurries to pour Charley a glass of champagne in one of the Waterford flutes that Charley knows Fran and Charley’s father received as a wedding gift.
What the hell? Charley thinks. She drinks.
And drinks and drinks. Champagne with the charcuterie platter, then more champagne in the backyard while Joey deep-fries the turkey with Fran and Charley standing back at a safe distance.
Then wine with dinner. Charley’s first sip of Syrah reminds her that she has completely forgotten to FaceTime Davi, who must be having the world’s most miserable Thanksgiving at school.
Charley is a terrible, thoughtless friend, but she can’t exactly excuse herself now.
With dessert, Joey mixes up something made with peanut butter whiskey, which sounds disgusting but is the most delicious thing Charley has ever tasted.
She does two shots, contemplates a third.
She is drunk. So drunk that Joey starts to seem slightly less evil. Maybe Charley should just try to appreciate Joey’s strengths: He’s young, he’s energetic, he’s fun. He makes her mother happy.
“What should we do tomorrow?” Fran asks. “I was thinking we could drive up to Longwood Gardens to see the lights.”
“I’m going to the Walters,” Charley says.
“And I have that Weezer concert,” Joey says. “Remember?”
In her mind, Charley hears the record-scratch sound effect, because Joey’s words instantly kill the vibe. The vibe is now bleeding out all over the dining room rug.
“What fucking concert?” Fran says.
Charley oh-so-carefully stacks the bone china dessert plates while Fran and Joey go to town.
“Weezer is playing tomorrow night at UConn, Ant and I have front-row tickets, I told you this, Fran, you said fine, it would give you and Charley alone time. You said you wanted to take her to Sabatino’s—”
“I never said that—”
“Do you think I’m making this up?”
Charley, who is in the kitchen, pokes her head out. “I’ll be back from the museum by four, Mom. I could go to dinner—”
“You’re going to meet your little girlfriend!” Fran screams. She brandishes her Waterford wine goblet, which is heavy enough to count as a weapon.
“Mom,” Charley says.
“See what I have to deal with?” Joey says to Charley. “Your mother is psycho.”
“Because you’re cheating on me,” Fran says. “Ant’s happy to serve as your cover story. He was against this marriage from the get—”
Charley nearly laughs. She and Joey’s video-game-playing slimeball friend, Ant, have something in common.
How many times do I have to tell you… You change your passcode every three days, you’ve been working out… You should hear how insane you sound, Fran, this behavior is beneath you, your daughter is home for Thanksgiving and you’re ruining it… You’re the one who’s ruining it, buddy…
Charley leaves the dishes by the sink, even though she traditionally dries while Fran washes. She goes upstairs to FaceTime Davi, but Davi doesn’t answer. Well, it’s only seven thirty—why does time move so slowly on Thanksgiving?—so maybe she’s still at the Wullys’.
Charley lies back in bed with her eyes open. The room is spinning.
She wakes up in the dark with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. She reaches for her phone: It’s only ten forty-five. She has a missed call from East, then a text: I’m going to bed, Charles. I love you. Call me tomorrow when you wake up.
Charley clicks out of her phone. She drank so much that she doesn’t remember eating. Did she have any of her mother’s sweet potato soufflé? She wants some now, plus a huge plate of stuffing with gravy. And fourteen glasses of ice water and thirty Advil.
When she turns on the light in the kitchen, she finds Joey devouring bites of apple crumb pie straight from the pan. He’s wearing only his boxers and a Weezer T-shirt.
“Hey,” Joey mumbles with his mouth full.
Charley recalls feeling slightly less hate toward Joey during dinner, but that must have been due to her buzz because seeing him now fills her with revulsion. Why is this person living in their house?
“That T-shirt is passive-aggressive,” Charley says.
“Your mother said the same thing.”
Charley moves past him to the counter, where the leftovers are still sitting out. Fran must have stormed right up to bed; the sink is filled with dirty dishes.
“Did it not occur to you to clean any of this up?” Charley asks. She takes down an everyday plate and piles it with a full Thanksgiving dinner, then sticks it in the microwave. “We don’t work for you.”
“You know what, Charley.” Joey pauses for so long that Charley turns around to look at him. He has a can of whipped cream, which he’s squizzing onto the pie bite by bite. “Everything that’s going on between me and your mom is your fault.”
“My fault? I’m not the one making you cheat.”
Joey takes another bite of pie. There’s whipped cream on his lip. He’s abhorrent.
“Are you fucking Beatrix?” Charley asks.
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“My friend from high school? High school here, Loch Raven. You know her. I know you know her. I used to work with her at Towson Hot Bagels?”
Joey throws his fork into the sink with a clatter, wipes his mouth with the bottom of his T-shirt. “I can’t wait to get out of here tomorrow.”
“If you’re cheating on my mother, I will kill you.” Charley says this with the calmness of a mob boss. She takes her plate from the microwave and digs in.
Joey laughs. “Have a good night.” He exits the kitchen, leaving both the pie and the whipped cream out. Of course he does.
“You’re a pig!” Charley calls after him. When she brings a forkful of stuffing to her mouth, her hand is shaking.
Back upstairs, Charley tries Davi again. But she doesn’t answer.
On Thanksgiving morning, Davi wakes up to a text from Liam: Are we going to the thing at the Wullys?
Davi lies back in bed, savoring the word “we.”
Davi had planned on skipping the Wullys and driving East’s truck to the KFC in Capulet Falls instead, but now she realizes how shabby that sounds. Liam deserves “the whole big turkey thing.”
Yes! Davi writes back. She adds the turkey emoji and the fall leaf emoji. She wonders what Pippa thought of their picture.
The Wullys live in a meticulously restored Victorian with stained glass windows, hand-carved woodwork, and a turret.
The interior is warm and inviting; it smells like butter, sage, and woodsmoke, and Alistair weaves and wefts between their legs.
The football game is on, Mr. Wully is resplendent (“having a dazzling appearance”) in his Lions jersey.
There are eight other Tiffin students crammed into the Wullys’ den: seven boys, none of whom Davi has ever noticed before, and Sunny Wu, a fifth-form girl whom Davi knows vaguely because she plays the drums. Davi has seen her in the school talent shows; everyone says she’s good enough to play with a real rock band.
Also in the room are the Wullys’ two grown sons and their girlfriends, who jump to their feet to shake hands and offer Liam and Davi spots on the sofa. The older son, KJ, who looks eerily like Mr. Wully, offers Davi the relish tray.
Davi would normally be sort of allergic to a gathering like this—all the boys are freaks and Sunny, although talented, is weird—but because of Liam, she decides to play along.
She has never imagined the Wullys’ homelife.
She’s impressed by the house and the sons with their stylish girlfriends and the generosity of hosting Thanksgiving for people who would otherwise be sitting in the dorms.
The turkey belongs in a painting: It’s burnished to the color of mahogany, the ham is honey-glazed, the green beans are topped with crisp slivered almonds. Everyone fills a plate at the buffet, then takes a seat at the Wullys’ massive dining room table, with Mr. and Mrs. Wully at either end.
“Before we eat,” Mrs. Wully says, “let’s go around the table and say something we’re grateful for.”
The other kids are thankful for their parents, their siblings, their pets. One kid named Bruno said he was grateful his roommate was away so he could stay up late playing 2K26.
Davi’s anxiety ratchets up as they draw closer to her turn. Sunny Wu, on Davi’s left, says she’s grateful for Dave Grohl and Neil Peart, and Mr. Wully raises his glass and says, “Neil Peart was the greatest drummer who ever lived.”
Davi scrambles for something pithy (“having substance and point”) to say, but she has no siblings, no pets, she can’t mention her parents, nor can she say she’s grateful for Alix Earle.
“I’m grateful for Tiffin, and for you, Mr. and Mrs. Wully, for inviting us here tonight like we’re your family.”
“You are our family,” Mrs. Wully says.
Those four words pierce Davi like a knife between the ribs (she shouldn’t have watched Mr. Wully carve the turkey), and her eyes burn with tears. Liam squeezes her hand under the table, but this makes things worse; she starts weeping.
“I just need a minute.” Davi leaves the dining room and heads for the front porch.
Outside, the cold air is as startling as a slap in the face.
Maybe this is all Davi needs. But gazing down the charming Haydensboro street at all the homes with their cheerfully lit windows, each containing its own Thanksgiving, makes Davi cry harder.
She’s lonely is the thing.
She hears the sucking noise of the front door opening. Liam steps out.
“Come here,” he says, opening his arms.