Chapter 26
IN THE FOLLOWING days, I spend nearly every free second with Rudy.
At the end of a long day, he’ll be waiting for me at the subway station so we can walk home together.
I love the scent of freshly ground coffee that always lingers around him.
It makes me feel safe and warm. We’re kind of a perfect match, really: the coffee fiend and the walking medium-roast coffee bean.
I’m much more at ease now that the issue of live music at the Christmas party has been resolved.
Buzzkilled, the band we saw on stage at the Battle of the Bands, was interested in the gig, and when I told them how much they’d be making, the deal was done.
Lead singer Kristen gave Rudy an incredulous look when I told her what the game plan was.
She looked like she might smack him upside his overly gorgeous head.
Dude, why would you say no to that? she yelled out, horrified. I knew you scrambled your brain that time your drunk ass fell off the stage. Works out for me, though. This’ll cover rent for a few months.
Rudy just shrugged, completely unbothered, before wrapping an arm around me, happy to be done with my incessant badgering.
Thanksgiving weekend has been sneaking up on us.
When Lauren first brought it up, it just seemed like a fun opportunity to be a part of a real American Thanksgiving.
But now it’s so much more of a thing. It’s basically a whole meet-the-family event that has me breaking out in anxiety sweats every time I think about it.
Part of me would rather go out for tea with Karen, who chewed me out at work the other day when she caught me daydreaming about a certain lead singer with well-defined washboard abs.
When I asked Rudy who all would be coming, he mentioned the equivalent of the entire Von Trapp family and multiple generations of descendants, sending me into an emotional tailspin.
His cousin is only thirty-five, but he’s already spawned four kids, and his brother is responsible for bringing two squealing rugrats into the world.
There are some seriously impressive swimmers in this gene pool.
And that’s how my clammy palms and I find ourselves in the backseat of Joey’s rickety car. Lauren’s riding shotgun and keeps sneaking peeks over her shoulder at the back seat. Rudy has his arm around me and he’s been keeping me calm with gentle hand squeezes.
Ugh, you two are so cute together, she squeals with every mushy glance. I love everything about this. It just . . . makes sense. Right, Joey? She gives him an eager look.
It definitely makes . . . me wanna throw up, Joey replies, shaking his head. What the hell happened to you, Rudy? What have you done to the grouchy Grinch we all know and love?
I’m about to shoot back a pointed response when I catch a glimpse of his grin in the rearview mirror.
With a chuckle, Rudy presses a kiss to my temple.
You’re lucky you’re not showing up empty-handed this year, Rudy, Lauren pokes, nodding at me.
I’m preparing myself for another lecture about my crumbling ovaries.
I downloaded Tinder the other day. Maybe I can find myself a date by Christmas, at least. She steals a glance at Joey, who’s working a little too hard to ignore that last comment.
He’s got a tight grip on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Tinder? he finally caves, without shifting his gaze. That’s not really your thing, is it?
Lauren looks smug, now that Joey’s taken her bait. Why wouldn’t it be? It seems to be working pretty well for you.
He’s quick to set her straight. Sure, but I’m on there for very different reasons. He’s getting more prickly by the second.
Oh yeah? What reasons?
It’s kind of fun watching this unfold. Lauren knows exactly what she’s doing. With Rudy fully immersed in twirling one of my blonde curls around his finger, he’s barely paying attention to this interaction between his sister and his best friend.
Just . . . You know . . . Sometimes I just need some . . . some physical contact.
And I don’t? Who says I’m never in need of a good—
That snaps Rudy back to reality. Hey, I’m right here! he complains loudly. I really don’t need the full play-by-play. Can I please just live under the illusion that you’re a sexless being?
You’re such a hypocrite. Have you heard me complain even once when you’ve been subjecting Emma to your little tonsil exams? The last time I had sex, was—
LA LA LA! Rudy shouts, plugging his ears. I don’t wanna hear it!
After two and a half hours of driving—and two and a half hours of Lauren picking out her Tinder profile pictures while Joey looked like he was being force-fed lemon rinds—we finally reach Lauren and Rudy’s parents’ house.
Ho-ly shit, I mutter under my breath, as soon as I’m out of the car and taking in the full scope of their massive beach house.
White wooden siding with dark blue shutters.
A tall wooden staircase leading up to the veranda and the front door.
A view of the grey ocean waves—big and wild in this stormy November weather.
It’s not hard to imagine how incredible the summers would be here.
I can picture myself running into the water for a refreshing morning dip before settling on the veranda with a warm croissant and a cup of great coffee to wash it down.
I look from my outfit to the house and back.
Most days I look like I’m on my way to a damn job interview, but I thought today of all days would be the right time to go with a more casual outfit to match Rudy and Lauren.
I didn’t want to show up overdressed. Now that I’m seeing the house, I wonder if my usual look would have made a better impression on the people inside.
Why didn’t you say anything? I squeak when Rudy pops up next to me, interlacing his fingers with mine.
He gives me a bewildered look.
I would have worn something completely different, I explain as I jerk my head toward the house.
Oh, that, he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
My parents really don’t care what you’re wearing.
If they did, I wouldn’t be on the guest list either.
He gestures to his rugged boots, then gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
They’re going to see exactly how great you are, just like I do, he whispers in my ear, before dragging me past the pile of pumpkins displayed on the veranda.
Looks like Mom’s been at it again, Lauren chuckles, shaking her head as she rings the doorbell.
When she catches my puzzled look, she points out the pumpkins. She loves fall and always grows tons of pumpkins. I bet we’ll be having a pumpkin soup appetizer, followed by stuffed pumpkin as the main course, and a round of pumpkin pie for dessert.
Oh shoot, too bad I don’t like pumpkin, I joke, just as the door swings open to reveal a startled look from a pair of big brown eyes.
You don’t like pumpkin? Rudy’s mom sounds shocked. Her dark hair is swept into a bun on top of her head and there’s a white smudge—probably flour—right next to her nose. Why didn’t you say something? She gives Rudy an accusatory glare. I would have cooked something different instead!
She’s only kidding, Mom, he says, giving his mom a quick hug. This is Emma, my . . . He looks over at me with a warm glow in his eyes. . . . girlfriend.
I shake his perplexed mother’s hand as I break into a grin so wide that my face might split in two. Fedde never once introduced me as his girlfriend.
I’m Emory. So lovely to meet you, Rudy’s mom replies. Girlfriend? she adds, looking at her son with wide eyes. I thought she was just a friend of Lauren’s. You should have said something!
Her gentle reprimand leads us into an awkward silence. A silence that absolutely must be filled. By yours truly.
So . . . I say, launching into my monologue.
. . . those pumpkins are gorgeous. Especially the big one with the little face.
You did an amazing job with that one. It’s the most perfect pumpkin I’ve ever seen.
I don’t really eat them that often, but I have heard amazing things about your pumpkin pie.
I smile politely at Emory, who still seems a bit out of sorts about everything. I can’t believe I’m acting like Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice—that scene where he’s complimenting Mrs. Bennet on her excellent boiled potatoes. I keep rattling on, undeterred.
This is going to be my very first American Thanksgiving. I can’t wait to see what it’s like. I’ve only ever watched them on TV and—
Rudy manages to shut me up with a quick kiss, earning us a surprised-yet-charmed look from his mom.
Let’s get inside, Rudy says, rubbing the red tip of his nose. It’s freezing cold out here.
As we hang our coats up on the rack, we’re welcomed by the aroma of sweet potatoes and roast. It smells delicious. A bunch of kids—roughly between the ages of five and ten—come barrelling down a wide staircase that connects the front hall to the upper level of the house. It’s total mayhem.
Emory counts the staircase children with a furrowed brow. Has anyone seen Elliot? she yells out over all the commotion of feet and voices.
In the kitchen! shouts a little girl as she zips down the banister. Once she’s landed, she realizes who just arrived. Uncle Rudy! she squeals, storming into him before wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up in delight. Airplane!
I’m smitten as I watch him lift up the little girl, then toss her into the air.
Yeesh, you’re getting so big, Rosie! I won’t be able to send you up in the airplane much longer! he jokes, while she lets out a gleeful shriek. I guess she’s still in that age bracket where getting so big is considered an unequivocal compliment.
Elliot! Uncle Rudy and Auntie Lauren are here! She’s screaming so loud that my ear drums might not make it out of this ordeal intact.
The kitchen door swings open with the sound of a muffled little scream. I fling my hand up to my mouth at the sight of Rudy’s little nephew in the doorway, barely managing to stifle a laugh.
Lauren can’t contain herself, though, and she bursts into laughter, howling, Elliot, what happened?
It’s stuck! Elliot groans, pointing at the enormous turkey that seems to be sitting on his shoulders.
Elliot! Emory yells. She sounds horrified. Take it off! That’s our dinner!
I think I’m gonna sneeze, Elliot squeaks in a muffled warning against his impending snot explosion.
Don’t you dare! Emory rushes over to her grandson. How did you even come up with this plan?
It was Joey’s idea! Elliot chirps.
Everything goes quiet as we all whip around to see Joey with a huge grin on his face, clearly deeply amused by the whole situation. But his eyes grow wide when he clues in that he’s the one being implicated in this crime.
It wasn’t me, he says, sticking his hands up in the air defensively.
No, Joey from Friends! Elliot chokes out. I just wanted to scare Uncle Rudy.
Bend over, Elliot. Emory grabs the turkey by its wings and starts to pull.
Ouch, Elliot yelps. I still need my head to stay on, you know!
Rosie is doubled over laughing as she watches her little brother in his predicament. I told you it was a stupid idea, she howls. It didn’t work out for Joey either.
My head’s a lot smaller than his, asswipe, Elliot retorts.
Nuh-uh, jerkwad!
Children, please . . . Emory jumps in. Where are you getting this awful language from?
From her. Rosie points directly at Lauren, who feigns immediate innocence.
I should have known. Emory sighs, picking Elliot up and tilting her head toward one of the doors. This job calls for the big tools. Why don’t you all head into the living room. Everyone else is already there.
And with that, she disappears into the kitchen.