Page 117 of Sweet Thing

She smiled at my nervous joke, put them on a plate, and set it before me. At just after six in the morning, I shouldn’t have been eating chocolate cookies, but I needed some bite-sized comfort.

Taking a seat, she grasped my hand. “That was one of the livelier Thanksgiving dinners in memory.”

After Lars and Mabel left, we’d tried to pretend everything was normal. Thankfully my brothers, Aurora, and my uncle Jason, who had joined us for his second meal of the day, managed to Band-Aid the silences and keep the dinner chugging along. Occasionally I’d catch my dad looking at me, like he couldn’t believe what I’d done. Then he’d avert his gaze and study his turkey.

I was a stranger to him.

After dinner, I’d put together a care package of turkey, sides, and two slices of pumpkin pie, and drove to Lars’s house. He wasn’t alone. A Range Rover was parked behind his SUV, the vanity plates announcing its owner.

VICKI 3.

The wandering momma had returned.

A bolt of jealousy slammed through me, though I truly didn’t think Lars was going to fall for Vicki’s charms. He’d come a long way since that night in the Empty Net bathroom, just not far enough for me.

I considered turning back, not leaving the food. Instead I crept up the drive, tiptoed to the door, and left the meal outside, a different brand of cowardice. Once back in my car, I texted to let him know Thanksgiving had come to him.

He sent me a text thanking me an hour later. Nothing since.

“Dad’s disappointed in me.”

“Pfft! Like he’s never done anything risky.”

But had he? Sure, we joked about the one-night stand that resulted in Dino Boy, the start of the Great Love Story, Trademark. But my father had always lived his life with zero regrets. All his choices came from a heartfelt and decent place, while mine were selfish and immature.

“I really hurt him.” I stood to finish the tea, adding a drop of milk to both, and a spoonful of sugar to Aurora’s. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive, Twinkle.”

My father stood at the doorway, looking like he had barely slept. I hated to see it, not only because it meant he was upset, but because he had a game tonight. The Cross-Town Classic against the Hawks played annually the Friday after Thanksgiving, and he needed to be in top form. He carried a Boba tea in one hand—my favorite—and a coffee cup in the other.

“I see you already have a Jean Luc Picard.” Earl Grey, hot. He lingered at the entrance to the coach house, as if unsure of his welcome.

“I never say no to Boba.”

Aurora stood and picked up her teacup. “I’m going to take a shower and leave you two to talk.” She kissed me on the forehead. “Go easy on him.”

Go easy onhim? I nodded all the same, my throat heavy with emotion. Dad took the seat Aurora had vacated and pushed the Boba tea my way.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“You get any sleep?”

“Not much. You?”

“I can nap later before the game.” After a fortifying sip of coffee, he asked, “Where do you want to start?”

“A schoolgirl crush.” At his arched eyebrow, I continued. “I didn’t want that nanny job. I did tell you.”

He frowned at my disjointed thinking. “So this is my fault?”

“Can we say it is and move on?”

He snorted. “So you had a crush on Lars.”

“He overheard me talking about it with Rosie last year before I went away.”

“And?”

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