Page 150 of Still Bruised
Jude’s gaze whipped to Foster’s before he looked back at her. “I suppose I’m grateful for the invitation to join you for dinner. Thank you very much, if I haven’t thanked you already.”
“No need to thank anyone. We’re glad to have you,” Foster’s dad said with a broad smile.
“Okay, honey,” Mrs. Price said to Foster. “What are you thankful for?”
Foster’s gaze whipped to Jude and his face grew a bit red.
Jude smiled to himself.
“I’m thankful to be here and not in California, enjoying an actual autumn for the first time in a long while.” He smiled at Jude. “And I’m thankful for the company we have tonight.”
Jude fought a smile. He had no idea if Foster’s parents knew if their son was out, so he didn’t want to react too blatantly. He should’ve asked before coming over. Last he’d heard, Foster hadn’t told them yet, but that might’ve changed. A lot could happen in a month.
“Well, it sounds like we all have plenty to be thankful for,” Mrs. Price said. “Let’s dig in to all this delicious food Foster made.”
“I only helped,” Foster corrected, standing to uncover a couple of the casseroles and plates.
“I gave a few pointers,” she said. “You did most of the work.”
“Sounds like she’s making sure to cover herself in case something’s not good,” Foster’s dad quipped.
“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Price said to her husband with a grin.
Jude sat back a second, not wanting to appear piggish by digging in, especially when his hosts weren’t. Everything smelled amazing and if the food was as good as the plate she’d sent home, he was in for a treat. He’d only eaten a small breakfast to leave room for the big meal he’d anticipated—and it didn’t seem like he was going to be disappointed. All the regular fixings were on the table plus ones he didn’t recognize, and they smelled incredible. If they tasted halfway as good as they looked, they were going to have a fine meal.
“Bear with us a bit,” Mrs. Price whispered to Jude. “I hope you don’t mind we’re going in a particular order around the table. Foster’s going to start everything off.”
“Oh, no… it’s fine,” Jude said.
Foster placed a helping of turkey onto his father and mother’s plates before eyeing Jude. “White or dark?”
“Either is fine, but I’d prefer white,” Jude said.
Foster jabbed a couple of thick slices with a serving fork and leaned over the table to place it on Jude’s plate.
“Thanks,” Jude murmured.
Foster grinned. “You’re welcome.”
After the turkey was handled, Foster grabbed a small platter of glazed carrots. Once he added some to his plate, he handed it off to his father—who was seated to Jude’s right. Mr. Price handed Jude the platter after. With the large dish of mac and cheese that came after, he noticed Foster added a scoop to his plateandhis father’s before handing the dish straight across to Jude. It was a likely a bit too heavy for his father to heft with ease, but no mention was made. As Foster moved the platters and casseroles around, it happened so smoothly that it never drew attention to Foster’s dad’s limitations.
There was only one where Mr. Price disagreed.
“That’s an awfully small pile of mashed potatoes there, Foster.”
“That’sa hugepile,” Foster argued.
“The ratio of taters to gravy will be off,” Mr. Price argued.
Jude already had mashed potatoes in hand, so he added another scoop to the one on the man’s plate. “Better?”
Foster’s dad grinned mischievously.“Muchbetter. Thanks, Jude.”
“No problem, Mr. Price. I’ll sneak you all the good stuff Foster’s stingy with. Just point and I’ll take care of it.”
“Jude, you’re my new favorite person at the table. My name’s George, by the way. None of this Mr. Price nonsense.”
“Yes, sir—George.”
