Page 68 of Goodbye Again
“Ice,” JP answers plainly.
I groan and flop on the bed, covering my face with my arms. “Mom is going to be pissed. And I was so excited for newborn snuggles with Emily’s baby.”
JP flops next to me with a sympathetic groan. “I’m sorry.”
“I can hear it now:I told you to come on Wednesday and not Thursday, Julia. Quit treating us like the plague, Julia.”
“I hate how she treats you,” he says softly.
“She just hates boundaries.”
“So stop going altogether,” he suggests, and it makes me scoff. “Family isn’t everything if they’re the ones hurting you.”
“I know. But Emily will be there and now that they’re procreating, I don’t want to sever ties completely.” I sigh and drop my hands to my side, letting his words settle over me. “It’sgoing to be my first Thanksgiving alone. That’s weird,” I say, then consider. “But maybe it’s kind of amazing.”
JP encases me with his arms. “Nope. You’re coming to my Thanksgiving at my parents’ house.”
“No, I’m not. Ellie will be there.”
“She’s with her dad in San Diego.”
“Oh.” I consider for a moment, then shake my head. We aren’t even dating. No way am I meeting this man’s family.
“So you’re coming.” He’s already up and moving, grabbing his things like he needs to hurry home to hismotherto tell her he’s going to have a special guest at Thanksgiving. I groan again and throw my hands over my face.
“JP, you don’t have to pretend.”
“Pretend what?” he asks, slipping his wallet in his back pocket.
“Pretend that we’re more than... this!” I gesture around the room that is still warm with everything we did to each other last night. He chews on his lower lip, acknowledging exactly what I’m saying.
“We’re friends, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Come as my friend. I won’t even hold your hand.”
“Or pretend you know me?” I tease, remembering our first encounter at Emily’s gender reveal party.
He scoffs out a laugh, the memory absorbing his senses. “Oh, I know you. I’ll never be able to pretend not to,” he says, kissing my cheek. “I’ll text you the address.”
“We aren’t driving over together?” I ask.
“Well, Mom wants me there in”—he checks his watch—“an hour to help make the lasagna. But if you want to spend all day there, you can.”
I shake my head. Having my own car will provide an early escape if necessary and shorten the awkward meet-the-family day. “I’ll be fine.”
“Cool. Love you.” He kisses my nose, then freezes in the doorway.
The moment is so fast and natural it takes me three seconds to realize it happened.
“I mean...” he starts to clarify, but his shy smile is drenched in guilt.
“It’s fine,” is the only thing I can think of to say before he leaves.
SIX HOURS LATER, I’Mdressed and on his mother’s doorstep just north of the city with a bottle of Italian wine and a plate filled with one of my favorite appetizers—a peach, prosciutto, and goat cheese crostini.
I almost brought deviled eggs because my recipe is to die for, but I was terrified he has an aunt who makes them and would wish every ounce of ill will on an outsider stepping on her turf.
The large wooden door swings open, and all the perfect scents of herbs, garlic, and butter waft toward me. A petite woman in her fifties stands in front of me with dark hair barely streaked with gray, chocolate-colored eyes and the brightest red-lined smile. “Buongiorno!You must be Julia.”
My chin snaps back for half a second, absorbing her accent. “Hi, yes, I’m Julia. It’s so nice to meet you.”
