by Jamie Howard
“Shut up. You know I’m going to tell her.”
“That’s what they all say.” He shot me an amused look, and for about the thousandth time, I wondered why I’d decided to confide in this knucklehead instead of Ben.
I shot him a look, but all he did was grin, flipping the baseball he had from hand to hand.
“What am I, your dirty little secret?” Dark curls bounced from side to side as she shook her head. Fingers snaked around my wrist, a red fingernail brushing over the warm skin at the base of my wrist. “You ready?” she asked.
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
“It’s about damn time.”
Chapter 29: Bianca
Apple pie? In the oven.
Check.
Music? Blaring through the speakers.
Check.
I stared down at my pitifully small to-do list, both items bearing thick check marks next to them. Seven-thirty in the morning and I already had nothing to do. Gotta love holidays.
Tossing the pen down on the kitchen counter, I spun around on the kitchen stool, drawing my feet up on the rungs. I could clean, again. My gaze coasted over the recently vacuumed floor, the dusted bookshelf, the polished coffee table. Ok, maybe not that.
Hopping down off the stool, my bare feet slapped against the floor. I traded my to-do list for Renée’s list and gave it a once over. Five items left and a little less than a month to do it in. I’d taken care of most of the easy ones. The only easy-ish ones left were ride on a motorcycle, send a message in a bottle, and crash a wedding—none of which I could really work on today. Harper still insisted her friend would come through on that last one, but the jury was still out.
Which left: save someone’s life and bare my soul. I still hadn’t decided who I’d be baring it to, Ian or Harper. Although I was leaning toward option 3—a complete stranger, or option 4—scheduling a session with an actual psychiatrist.
As for saving someone’s life? I was stumped. I wondered if I could get Ian to stick a fork in a socket and let me resuscitate him. No, not electricity, that was way too dangerous. I shook my head. I’d have to keep thinking on that one.
Summoned by my thoughts, my phone gave a cheerful beep at an incoming text message.
Ian: Happy Turkey Day!
Bianca: Happy Thanksgiving!
Ian: What’re your holiday plans?
Bianca: You know, the usual.
I snorted at that—the usual. I wouldn’t hear from my parents today, let alone see them. It may have been one of the reasons that I disliked holidays. Okay, it was the reason. Everyone was busy with their families, stuffing their faces full of food and good memories. Stores were closed, the world resting. All the while I’d be trapped in my lonely house (apartment this year) with nothing more than an apple pie and some good music.
And tequila. This year I’d gotten that too.
I glanced at the glass bottle with its bright yellow label and shifted my eyes to the clock. Definitely too early to start drinking. Another message flashed across the screen, drawing my attention back.
Ian: So, by that you mean you’re spending the day with friends and family, gorging on turkey, stuffing, and pie, and alternating between watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and football, right?
Bianca: If by all that you mean that I’ll be indulging in a homemade apple pie, listening to a lovely playlist of classical music, and working my way through a bottle of tequila, then yes, that’s exactly what I mean.
I jumped when the phone rang, frowning at it. Hurrying over to my laptop, I muted the music before answering the phone. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Ian asked.
“Home. Where are you?”
“You’re in Texas?”
“No, I’m in my apartment. Why?”
The sound of traffic filtered through on his end like a steady soundtrack of background music. “Where are your parents?”
“What is this, twenty questions? I have no idea where they are.” I strode across the apartment and pulled back the curtains—cloudy, overcast, cold. Here and there, people hurried on their way down the sidewalk, bundled in heavy coats and knit hats.
“You’re spending Thanksgiving alone?”
“Unless you count the tequila bottle as company.”
Apparently, my attempt at humor fell flat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Can you do anything other than ask questions this morning?”
“Sure. Pack a bag. I’ll be over in five.”
The line went dead and all I could do was pull back the phone and stare at it. What the hell just happened? And where did he think I was going?
I flipped the music back on, hummed along to “Julie-O,” and went to check on my apple pie. The edges were just starting to turn a golden brown, and the smell, God, the smell. I could practically taste it in the air. Resetting the timer, I shut the oven door and tossed the oven mitts on the counter.
As expected, a harsh knock echoed through the apartment approximately five minutes after Ian had unceremoniously hung up on me. I swung the door open and greeted him with a hand on my hip. “I’m sorry, why do you think I’m packing a bag?” I picked up the conversation right where we left off.
He brushed by me, his eyes roaming over the place. It took me a second to realize it was the first time he’d been here. I still hadn’t managed to decorate at all, but the place was neat and clean. That had to count for something.
Turning back to me, he said, “So, you’re not packed?”
“As I don’t have any plans of going anywhere, no, I’m not packed.”
“Alright then.” He shrugged out of his jacket, folding it before laying it across the kitchen counter. A soft blue sweater hugged tight across his chest over a pair of dark-wash jeans, fancy black shoes on his feet. For Ian, it was quite dressed up. Though the effort hadn’t quite extended to his hair, which, as usual, stuck up all over the place. Turning on a heel, he walked across the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator.
“What are you doing?” I realized I was still standing in the doorway and finally slammed the door closed.
“I’d be a pretty shitty-ass person if I left you to spend Thanksgiving alone. Since you don’t seem interested in coming with me, I guess that means I’ll be crashing here.” His head ducked farther into the refrigerator. “No turkey.” He groaned. “And what is this? Hummus? Oh well. At least I smell pie.” His hand dove down into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Gotta tell Mom I’m not gonna make it.”
I snatched the phone from his hand, hiding it behind my back. “Ian, stop. It’s really not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.” He lifted both eyebrows at me to emphasize his point.
I rolled my eyes at him and went to pull the pie out of the oven as the timer went off, tucking the phone in my back pocket for safe keeping. “I spend Thanksgiving alone all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.” His voice came from just a few feet away, so I wasn’t surprised to find him all up in my space when I turned around. The pie lay cooling behind me, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon mingling with Ian’s cologne. My nose was completely blissed out.
Ian slipped his arms around me, his fingers retrieving his phone from my pocket. He held it up between us. “I’m calling my mom, but it’s up to you whether I’m letting her know to add an extra place setting or get rid of one. Your choice. Either way, this is one holiday you won’t be spending alone.”
My heart squeezed like someone was wringing it out like a dishcloth. The sweet, caring side of Ian was going to be my undoing. I ran a hand through my hair. “Won’t it be weird? Bringing me to Thanksgiving dinner with your family?”
“Not at all. Mom’ll be there, and Ben, but it’s a big thing. We’ve got a bunch of friends who spend the holiday with us for one reason or another.”
I hesitated. He made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. To me, it was a huge deal. In fact, if I told him how much it mea
nt that he was inviting me, he’d probably leave an Ian-sized hole in my door as he sprinted out of here.
“It’s Thursday, Bianca. Our day.” He leaned a hip against the counter, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Did I mention that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday? And that I love turkey?”
“Fine.” I shook my head, already regretting my decision. “Fine, you win.” I held up my hands, palms out, in defeat.
“I think in this situation everyone wins.” He clapped his hands together and pointed to my bedroom. “Get dressed, pack a bag. I’ll make the call.”
“The pie—”
“I’ll wrap up the pie. You didn’t think I was leaving this baby here, did you?”
The closer we got, the higher my anxiety climbed. This was some weird in-between step in my non-relationship with Ian. Meeting his mom was never part of the plan. It was bad enough I’d already crossed paths with his brother.
We drove down a winding road that was all but deserted. Houses poked out from between the trees here and there, playing hide and seek between branches heavily laden with gold and orange leaves. In the car, heat blasted through the vents, but the wind howled in a cold frenzy around us.
The conversation petered out minutes ago, Ian going quiet. Was he having second thoughts? I hoped not, since we’d driven almost three hours to get here. It’d be a long, awkward trip back.
He pulled the wheel to the right, down a long driveway, and I sat forward in my seat to get a better look at Ian’s house. It was good-sized, with beige siding and navy shutters. A large porch wrapped around the front of the house with dark wicker furniture lined across it. There was a well-tended, cheerful garden out front, and a gray stone border separating it from the driveway.
It was cute and quaint and welcoming.
Ian shifted the car into park and pulled the keys from the ignition. He straightened his jacket as he got out of the car, and I took a moment to do the same. I’d gone with a pair of dark skinny jeans tucked into brown leather boots and a white tank top with a button-front red sweater. I glanced down at my outfit, fingering the diamond pendant I’d clasped around my throat. Did I go too casual?
“You look fine,” Ian said with a smile. “Trust me, you’ll be the best dressed person here.” His hand reached out toward me and then backtracked, like it’d changed its mind midway. Instead, he tucked that hand in his pocket while the other one held onto my apple pie, his fingernail playing with the edge of the tinfoil that covered it.
I shifted my bag to get a better grip on it, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than I did a second ago. Following Ian to the front door, I stood next to him and just slightly behind as he knocked and opened the door simultaneously.
The smell of turkey and carrots wafted out the door as Ian disappeared inside. Taking a deep breath, I smiled wide and stepped in behind him.
I came in at the end of the greeting with Ben saying, “—put it away. It’s all taken care of.”
Ben gave me half a smile, nodding in my direction. “Nice to see you again, Bianca.”
“You too, Ben.” I shifted the handle of my bag between my hands. If I walked backward very slowly and slipped through the door, maybe they wouldn’t even notice.
The entryway was already a little on the crowded side when a woman with soft, brown hair came barreling in, running straight into Ian’s arms. She almost crushed the pie between them, but he managed to jerk it out of the way. Relieving Ian of the pie, Ben took his leave and disappeared back through the doorway.
The new arrival wrapped her arms around Ian’s neck, and Ian’s arms circled her waist just as tightly. They clung to each other, and I reconsidered my fleeing plan. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I clenched my jaw and let one phrase play through my head on repeat—I am not jealous.
When they finally managed to pry themselves apart, Ian looked at me sheepishly over the top of her head. My smile was held firmly in place, tacked painfully at the corners.
“Ah, Rachel, this is Bianca.”
She whirled around, tugging her green sweater back in place, an enormous smile sweeping across her face. Before I knew what was happening, she was hugging me too. I stood there, frozen, arms pinned to my sides under hers.
Rachel pulled back, giving me a once-over. “It’s so great to finally meet you. Ian’s told me so much about you.”
He cleared his throat, giving Rachel a slight head shake, a blush tingeing his cheeks.
She snorted out a laugh and took a good step back. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She smacked Ian’s arm, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh, and the way I just . . . God, no. We’re just friends. Really old friends. I would never sleep with him, that’s just gross. Not that I’m saying that you guys are—”
“I think that’s enough, Rach.” Ian clapped a hand firmly over her mouth.
I think she might have bit him because he jerked his hand away, glaring at her. Turning back to me she said, “At least let me take your bag. I’ll show you to . . . you know what? Never mind. Ian can figure out the sleeping arrangements.” She arched an eyebrow at him and went to leave, only to be brought up short by the appearance of another woman—a second brunette, also on the short side, several inches shorter than me. Silver strands laced their way through her hair, and kind, blue eyes looked over us all as she dried her hands on a dish towel.
“What’re you all doing crowded around the door?” She bustled between Ian and Rachel, and I was treated to my second hug of the day. I still wasn’t used to it. What was wrong with handshakes? “I’m so very glad you were able to make it, dear.” Her hands dropped down to cover mine and squeezed them.
“Thank you very much for having me. You have a lovely home, Mrs. Mathis.”
“Not at all, dear, and please, call me Gail.” She herded Ian and Rachel in front of her through the door. “Let’s get you inside, and get you something to drink. Contrary to what Ian’s showed you, there’s more to our home than just the front door.”
Holidays with Ian were like nothing I’d experienced before—pure chaos. The TV, with the Cowboys game still broadcasting, blared from somewhere in the living room, competing with a small, old radio in the kitchen playing fifties music.
Food covered almost every inch of the dining room table so that I could barely make out the gleaming wood surface underneath. Everyone around me kept up a steady stream of chatter, conversations overlapping and clashing until I could barely follow them.
Ian sat across from me, eyes intent on his plate. He was on his third helping of turkey, and that didn’t even count the piles of stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, and dinner rolls he’d eaten as well. My stomach hurt, just watching him.
Rachel sat on my right, every so often whispering helpful tidbits in my ear to fill in the missing pieces of conversations I didn’t quite understand. And then there was Felix on my left. He hadn’t quite met my eyes when Ian introduced me, his fingers running nervously over the armrest of his wheelchair. It was a new injury, according to Rachel, though she hadn’t given any specifics. Honestly, it was hard to pay the thing any mind when the guy himself was such a dominant presence. Crystal-clear blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut diamonds—trust me, no one was looking at the wheelchair.
“Now Bianca, Ian tells me you live in the city?” Gail asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” I held my wine glass by the stem and swirled the burgundy liquid. “For the next month at least.”
“Oh?” Ben cut a glance at Ian and then back to me. “Where to after that?”
“Home for the holidays. Texas, that is. Then I’m taking the bar in February, and after that I’ve got a position waiting for me at my father’s old firm.”
“You and Rach are traveling in opposite directions,” Gavin said, wiping his napkin across his mouth. He missed a blob of gravy that dotted his cheek.
I looked at her in question.
“I got my bachelor’s in computer science from UC Berkeley in the spring and moved back home a few months a
go, but living there long-term isn’t going to work out. So, after the holidays, I’m looking for a place in the city and hopefully a job too.”
“Well, if you’re not planning to move until January, I can always check on my place. I’m only staying through the twentieth, and it’s a decent little apartment. Nothing flashy, but the location is pretty great.”
She laid a hand on my arm. “Really? That would be fantastic. Saves me a lot of trouble.”
Ian’s chair screeched as he pushed it back from the table. Standing, he picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. Ben was two steps behind him.
He’d been acting weird all day. Weirder than usual, anyway. I tried not to read into it. After all, it wasn’t every day he brought home some girl he was casually sleeping with to meet his mom. Although, with the way he kept his distance, I wasn’t even sure she knew anything was going on between us.
There’d even been a significant pause after he introduced me, a space waiting to be filled by who I was, like the night he’d introduced me to Ben. I’d almost been relieved when he didn’t say anything at all. Calling me his friend was just as much a lie as calling me his girlfriend. It hurt a little, but I understood.
Since I was done too, I went to push back my chair to help clean up.
“Oh no,” Gail said, waving me back into my seat. “The women cook, the boys clean.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t help much with dinner—”
“You brought pie,” Rachel interrupted.
“I did bring pie.” I scooted my chair back underneath the table and smiled at them, taking a sip of my wine.
“That’s my girl.” Gail winked at me, and it felt like someone clenched my heart in their fist. I coughed to cover it up, giving my head a shake. It was bad enough I’d let myself fall for Ian; heaven help me if his family wormed their way under my skin, too.
We chatted while the boys cleaned. From the sounds of laughter and crashing that came from the kitchen, I wasn’t sure how much actual cleaning was getting done. Half an hour later, they emerged, laughing, grinning, and drenched with water.
