Page 30 of Wild Nights

My stomach sunk. "I want it to be a traditional Thanksgiving, and we always have mac and cheese at dinner."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "We don't have to do the same thing every year."

"But it's a tradition." My voice trailed off.

Ginny shrugged. "Traditions change."

My neck and back were sore from working in the kitchen all morning, and it didn't seem like Ginny cared about our family traditions even if they were important to me.

I searched for a recipe that was similar to Ginny's dish and got to work on the mac and cheese.

Mom arrived around two, and Waylon knocked on the door soon after. He immediately put on the TV to watch football. He wasn't very talkative, and I was more than a little annoyed that he hadn't offered to help.

I had a feeling that Oliver helped his family and not just at the holidays. Then I mentally shook my head. Oliver wasn't mine. I had no right even thinking about what his life was like outside our nights together.

Mom unwrapped her contribution, a store-bought fruit and veggie tray. "Everything smells amazing."

I looked around. "I think I remembered everything. We have potatoes, stuffing, turkey, mac and cheese, and cranberry sauce. And the buns."

"What about pies?" Mom asked.

My heart rate picked up. "Ginny was supposed to order a few from the store in town."

Ginny walked into the kitchen, her face falling. "I forgot to order pies. I'm sorry."

I tried not to let my frustration show, but I was annoyed. "That was your one responsibility."

"I'm sorry. I've just been so busy."

I sighed and lowered my voice. "There's more to life than a boyfriend, Ginny. You're neglecting our family."

Anger flashed in her eyes. "We don't have to have a picture-perfect Thanksgiving."

I threw down the oven mitt. "I'm trying to carry on the traditions from our family, and you don't seem to care."

Ginny threw up her hands. "You're the only one who cares. We don't need all this food."

"We don't have dessert." I don't know why it mattered so much, but I wanted the perfect holiday with the food we had every year. When Mom suggested scaling back a few years ago, I stepped in to carry on the tradition. I didn't want anything to change.

"You don't need to cook a big meal. I would have been happy ordering food from a local restaurant," Mom said gently.

"But that's not Thanksgiving. That's— I don't know what that is." I floundered, unsure what to say to Mom without hurting her feelings.

"We don't have to have a perfect Thanksgiving," Ginny said again.

"It's one of my favorite holidays." What could be better than eating your favorite foods with your family?

Ginny shook her head and walked into the living room. She sat in Waylon's lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

Mom sat on a stool across from me. "Does this havesomething to do with your father leaving right before Thanksgiving?"

"No." That had been the worst holiday of my life. Mom cried all day, and we'd eaten sandwiches and microwavable mac and cheese. I'd tried to pretend that everything was normal for Ginny's sake, but it hadn’t been. I’d held out hope Dad would change his mind, but he hadn't.

Mom tipped her head. "Are you sure? You've always been almost frantic on the holidays, wanting everything to be perfect. I expected you to outgrow it at some point. But you never have."

I swallowed hard because that part was true. The day ended up being stressful for me. "I want to have a nice day. Why is that so bad?"

"We don't need perfect. I just want to spend time with you."

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