Max

I am far too relaxed after the late night/early morning’s Mattress Olympics to be embarrassed about showing up at my parents’ house just in time for Thanksgiving dinner.

We swing by to pick up Dianne first. She seems oddly pleased all the way to the dinner. She sits smirking in the back seat of the car for the entire ride. “Oh god, she knows,” I keep thinking.

Throughout dinner, Dianne seems chipper. She and my mom hit it off fantastically. They even make plans to meet up early the next morning for Black Friday shopping.

If that isn’t enough, Stoner is nurturing me like I am his queen. He puts turkey on my plate, along with stuffing, cranberries, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole.

“Eat up, sweetheart. You must be starving.”

Fortunately my mother and father are oblivious. Thank god for all the other rowdy guests around the table.

I grin stupidly at Stoner as he finally gets around to filling his own plate.

“Thank you for filling my plate,” I say.

He grins back at me. “You’re welcome. I hope I filled it enough.”

He’s no longer talking about turkey. “More than enough. This is the biggest turkey dinner I’ve ever eaten. And the most delicious.”

Relatives be damned, I am actually starting to get aroused all over again.

But goddamn I’m hungry. We glance at each other as we eat our fill, grateful for each other and grateful that all of my aunts and uncles and cousins are distracted by the sheer number of people around the table.

Soon, I feel Stoner’s hand on my knee. It both comforts and electrifies me. This is nice. So nice I have to tell him.

“This is the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had, Stoner.”

He nibbles at his mashed potatoes. “And this is the nicest day, ever, of my life.”

We ogle each other like smitten idiots until someone across the table from me clears her throat, loudly.

“Are you wearing the same clothes you were wearing when you left yesterday?”

This gets my attention. It is Sam, eyeing me suspiciously.

“I didn’t pack all that many clothes for this trip,” I say.

Sam scoffs. “Presumably you habitually change clothes from one day to the next, though.”

I squint at her. “A shut-in who wears her robe ten days in a row has no room to take inventory of my habits.”

Sam starts to raise her voice. “You weren’t even here to help this morning. Mom was freaking out.”

She is trying to make me feel bad, but it's not working.

“You want to talk about helping? Girl, you do not want to go toe to toe with me on that score,” I hiss.

I feel Stoner’s fingers squeeze my knee, and I know he’s trying to tell me arguing is not worth it. He’s right.

I search for my positivity. “Sister, I love you, but try as you might, you can’t ruin my Thanksgiving. I’m happy, and I’m truly sorry you feel the need to point out my flaws.”

Stoner puts down his fork and reaches across the table.

“What’re you doing?” Sam asks him.

“I want to shake your hand,” he says.

Incredulous, Sam meets his hand in the middle with hers.

He takes it and holds on to it tenderly. “Samantha, I want you to know something.”

People around the table are starting to notice and the room is getting quiet. Stoner continues, “I love your sister. I always have. I always will. And whatever drama you want to dish out at her, you have to dish out to me. It doesn’t bother me. We’re both here for you if you need to talk. And you’re right, we’re both wearing the same clothes we were in yesterday because Max spent the night at my place last night. Or, this morning. Whatever. But we’re adults, and we have no reason to be ashamed of that. Your sister deserves happiness. Now that it’s all out in the open, do you object to me hanging around? Because whether you do or not, you’re all stuck with me.”

Everyone is now transfixed on us. I should be crawling under the table, but I’m not. I’m a damn adult. It feels good to allow myself to feel like one.

Stoner’s words sink into my skin and fill me up as deeply as if they were made of oxygen. He feels no shame, and why should he?

Everyone else around the table is smiling, smirking or looking totally confused. Then, they shrug and move on with their eating and drinking and laughing and chatting.

Sam opens and closes her mouth for a few moments, then shakes her head as if shaking out the cobwebs. “Fine,” she half whispers, and returns to her food.

After a few moments, Samantha seems to be thinking hard about something. I watch her while I eat, waiting for the bomb to drop.

But it never does.

Then she looks up and says to our mother, “Mom? I’m sorry, I have to go make a call.”

“Of course, dear,” says Mom.

I watch Sam go to her room and wonder who she’s going to call. She’s likely going to call her sponsor and spend the rest of the afternoon in her room.

When the family concludes the eating portion of the day, the women wander out to the den to watch Hallmark movies while the menfolk wash dishes.

Soon after that, Sam emerges, her hair pulled up in a nice chignon. She’s wearing eyeliner. And a cute dress, and boots.

“Sam! Where are you going? We’re just about to watch the one where the cookie baker falls in love with the CEO who’s trying to buy out her company, while teaching him a lesson about the spirit of Christmas!” one of my aunties shouts.

“I gotta go, Sam says. “I’m…meeting someone. I’ll be back later.”

Mom gets up to go chase down Sam.

In the meantime, I am in desperate need of a shower.

As if he’s reading my mind, Stoner makes an appearance in the entrance to the den. We lock eyes and I gesture with my chin to my room.