Page 109 of Let's Get Textual

He bolts out the door.

“Cheater!” I shout, following closely behind him.

We rush down the stairs then skid around the banister and into the first living room where my inner child gets the best of me and I shove Zach.

He goes toppling over, landing face down on the floor, groaning.

“Ughhh.”

He doesn’t move, and I start to feel a little bad for pushing him.

I backtrack to kick him gently with my foot. “You good?”

I can’t make out what tumbles from his lips. Bending over, I get close to his still form. “What?”

He lifts his head. “I said…you’re evil.” Then he grabs my leg out from under me and before I know it, I’m pinned beneath him. “But I’m winning this race.”

He presses a quick kiss to my lips and takes off, leaving me stunned and still lying on the floor.

I can hear his chair slide across the floor and I know he’s won.

Groaning, I make my way to the dining room, where I find Zach patting himself on the back for his performance. Jack’s grinning at us both.

“Did you need to make a speech for the Academy?”

I take a seat next to him as Rose pushes through the door holding the turkey.

“Your pajamas!” she shouts, nearly dropping the platter.

“Here, babe.” Jack stands, helping Rose with the meal. “You grab the knife?”

She waves him off. “Who cares about that? She hasRyan Goslingon her PJs. Hey girl! I need them. Buy them for me.”

Jack sighs and turns to me. “Where’d you buy them, Delia?”

“My friend Zoe had them made for me, but I’ll talk to her about hooking you up with a set, Rose.”

She claps her hands together excitedly and Jack mouths athank youas she bustles back through the door, returning shortly with an electric knife. Jack stands at the head of the table as Rose takes her seat at the other end.

“Delia, I know this is your first Thanksgiving with us, but we like to go around the table and discuss our goals before we carve the turkey.”

“Goals?”

“Yes. Which side—or sides—do we want to finish off first, and how many plates do you intend to eat?”

“This family is the best,” I say, amazement clear in my voice.

“Goals, Delia.” Zach snaps his fingers. “Let’s hear them.”

“I think we should eat the casserole first, less carbs.”

“And plates? How many are you contributing to this meal?”

“My goal is…three plates.”

“What a wimp,” Shep says.

Zach sits back in his chair. “I’m so disappointed.”

---