Page 98 of Good as Gold
“Good boy,” she says. “You want cinnamon sugar? Or chocolate glazed?”
I peek into the box. She’s brought me half a dozen. I can hit the gym later. “Both,” I say. “It’s my birthday. I’ll get the plates.”
CHAPTER35
LEILA
NOVEMBER
Thanksgiving is a week away. This is the first one after my parents’ divorce, and I can’t be in two places at once. So I’m on the phone, begging my brother Nash to come up from Boston for the weekend.
“You can stay here with me, and we’ll have Dad over for a meal, and then go to Mom’s afterward. She wants to eat at six.”
“Let me get this straight,” Nash says. “I have to drive two and a half hours, sleep on your couch, and eat turkey twice in one day just to appease our parents?”
“No, you’re doing it to appeaseme,” I insist. “It’s the first year after my divorce, too.”
“Good point. We should shoot off fireworks or throw a parade, maybe.”
He’d never liked Rory.
I groan. “Do you realize that every time you say that—every time you bash him—it just makesmefeel stupid? Thanks for that.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You’re right. I’m being an asshole. I hate the holidays, though. If they were canceled this year, I’d be fine with that.”
“They’re not,” I grumble. “And you’re coming to help me through it. Besides, I want to see you. And I have some things to talk to you about.”
“Sounds ominous,” he says.
“It’s not, I swear.”
“Good. I don’t suppose Mitch is coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“Mitch who?”
We both laugh. My other brother almost never comes home. But he has a good excuse—the NHL doesn’t take Thanksgiving off, and they barely pause for Christmas. He can’t just pop by for the holidays.
“Someday he’ll retire,” I point out. “Then he’ll have to suck it up and show his face around here.”
“Not likely.”
“Cheer up. I’ll make pumpkin pie and those corn fritters you like.”
“Yeah, yeah. I can be bribed.” We make a plan, and then we hang up.
When I set the phone down, it’s dark outside. It’s only five o’clock, but nighttime shrouds my apartment windows. I get up and turn on more lights. I stalk over to my refrigerator and peer inside.
It’s too early for dinner, so I close it and pace back to the sofa.
The truth is that I’m restless, anxious and a little bit lonely. I’ll probably go downstairs to the bar later, when the dinnertime crowd eases up. I’ll read my book, drink a soda, and talk to Alec while he closes for the night.
Talking to him always makes me think of Matteo, though. Not that I need any help with that. I think of him constantly, especially since he texted me earlier today.
Bought a ticket home to Vermont for Thanksgiving. Staying at Benito’s Thursday through Tuesday.
I want to see you. But if you think that’s too complicated, I’ll understand.
I pick up my phone again and stare at the text for the hundredth time today. I haven’t replied yet.
