Page 43 of Kiss the Girl
“Try her phone.”
“No, I’m not trying to get hold of her right now. I want to make sure she doesn’t overhear your side of the conversation.”
“Uh, why? What is my side of the conversation going to be?” I already didn’t like where it was going.
“I talked to Dad yesterday after dinner. He sounds good.”
“Heisgood. He’ll get another scan next month, but Dr. Pearson is optimistic. Way more than he usually is.”
“That’s good to hear. That means I only have Mom to worry about.”
A tingle alerted me that trouble was coming. “What do you mean?”
“I’d break it to them myself, but you’re right there, so I figure you can manage them better.”
“Break what to them, Tabitha? You’ve been busted for running drugs? You’re pregnant with a two-headed alien love child? What?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to make it home for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, even worse, then.”
“Come on, Grace. Don’t be like that. I’d come home if I could.”
“Would you, though?”
“Grace.”
“Tabitha,” I answered with no inflection. I was not helping her out of this one.
“It’s work. I can’t leave.”
“Seriously? You’re not taping on Thanksgiving Day.”
“No, but I’m doing a big segment on theTodayshow the day before, and another one on New York One about leftovers the day after. It takes a full day of travel just to get out to Creekville, and there are no Thursday flights I can take to get me back by Friday morning.”
“Then cancel Friday. It’s just a local show.”
“A local show inNew York. That’s eight million people.”
“They don’t all watch the morning news.”
“But over a quarter million of them do, and with my cookbook coming out, I need to get my name out there and get preorders rolling in.”
“This is lame, Tabitha. Mom and Dad are going to be so bummed.”
“That’s why I want you to handle it. Having you there will remind them that they won’t be alone for Thanksgiving.”
“How is it that you guilted me into quitting my job and coming here by telling me that family comes first but you can’t even make it home for Thanksgiving because of a single TV appearance?” It was mean, meaner than I usually was, but I’d been handling my parents for eighteen months almost entirely by myself with the exception of a couple of holiday visits from Tabitha. And now she wasn’t even going to do that much.
She was quiet, and I could hear her hurt in the silence. But I wasn’t going to make her feel better about this.
“I know you don’t get it,” she finally said, “but this is how it is for me right now. I’d be there if I could, but I can’t. I’ll tell them myself. Consider this a head’s up so you can distract them or something, maybe cushion the blow.”
“Fine, Tabitha.”
“Grace…”
“I said it’s fine, Tab. I have to go.”
