Page 53 of The Friendly Fall

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Feeling frozen in time, I sit here, my mind spinning with possible ways to explain myself. I mean, other than my photography page, I don’t evenhaveany social media anymore. When I left Chicago, I wanted to be as elusive as possible…

Maybe I could just pretend while they’re here.

The idea seems like a terrible one, and at first thought, it really is.

But…

Could I do it?

I mean, Icouldplay it off like Nick is my boyfriend, and that he’s just too busy to see them while he’s here.

But then they won’t like him.

Well, thatandI see Nick nearly every day, even with the ramp being complete. I chew the inside of my cheek as I reach for my phone.

I’ll just have to tell my mom the truth. That’s the answer.

I hit the call back button and put the phone to my ear. It rings and rings…

And rings.

Her voicemail message pops up and I let out a frustrated sigh, setting the phone back down. I’ll just have to wait for her to call me back.

I reach back out and open my laptop again, my photography page loading.

Can’t wait to meet Nick at Thanksgiving!

I stare open-mouthed at my mom’s comment.Ugh.This is going to be a mess—one that I need to figure out…

Andpronto.

Chapter Nineteen

Nick

Something is off with her…

I can’t put my finger on it, but Eliza keeps slipping me these looks across the table. It makes it nearly impossible to pay attention to the plate of lasagna in front of me.

“So, what’re your Thanksgiving plans, Martha?” Ms. Marilyn looks at my mom, who’s happily seated beside me. She was more than thrilled when she was extended the invitation for dinner at the Willis house.

“Well, as you know, Mara and her family will be coming in. We’re planning on eating earlier in the day this year; that’ll let the kids eatall that dessert in the afternoon instead of the evening—right before bedtime.” Mom laughs, and Marilyn and I join in.

But Eliza says nothing, her eyes on her plate.

Gently, I nudge her under the table, and when her head jerks up, I give her a smile. “You got a lot on your mind?”

“I’m sure she does,” Ms. Marilyn mutters in a nearly inaudible voice.

I’m not sure what to make of it, and Eliza jumps in before I can ask anything more.

“My business is just growing super-fast, and I have a lot of scheduling on my mind. You know how stressful that can be,” she says, before shoving a bite of the Italian dish into her mouth.

Mom nods, like she gets it.

But I don’t buy her answer at all, and Marilyn only halfway rolls her eyes.

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