We walked the rest of the way in silence. I filled my backpack with potatoes, green beans, turnips, sweet potatoes, and stuffing. I carried the turkey breast in my arms, and Jaime carried the milk. His backpack held pie crust, sugar, flour, butter, and apples. He placed a bag of rolls on top so they wouldn’t get squished. We had everything we needed for a great American dinner.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, having a Thanksgiving dinner.” I looked at my turkey-baby, saturated in rainwater from the walk home. “This is a disaster.”
“Eh, insanity makes life interesting. I’ll help you cook, but you have to show me how.”
“You’ll have to help me with the measurements. I don’t know what a milliliter is,” I confessed.
“I’ll do my best. I’m not too good in the kitchen.”
My mood had lifted, and I felt half-normal. “How can you not be too good in the kitchen? Your ma is an excellent cook.”
Jaime passed the milk to his other hand. “She is, but I never paid attention. I just enjoyed eating it.”
“Typical male.” I threw him a side smile and he grinned in return. “Well, I’m not a great cook, but I try to put love into it. My mom emailed me all the family recipes but they’re in cups and teaspoons. It might be a little wonky. Consider yourself warned.”
Jaime laughed. “Hey, it’ll make the day even more interesting.”
By the time we opened the door to our apartment, it was close to eleven. The entire house was awake, but they looked like something out of the Night of the Living Dead. Bags under their eyes, pale, dehydrated skin, and Medusa’s hair greeted us, not to mention the stale scent of beer and body odor.
“Phew!” I said. “I’m opening windows.” I ran around the living room, cranking the top windows open to get the air circulating.
“Morning.” Marty yawned and stretched. Her tank top rose above her belly button and her hoop piercing sparkled in the light. I sneered and clenched my teeth. I wonder what Scott thinks of that sexy piercing. Her big, blue eyes made her look innocent, but I knew how she operated now. She didn’t care who she hurt as long as she got what she wanted, and I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to realize. I ignored her and made my way to the kitchen.
“Need any help?” Scott asked Jaime.
Jaime and I dumped our food on the small kitchen island. “You’ll have to ask Rory. She’s the chef today.”
I shook my head, afraid to face him. Instead, I stuck my head in the refrigerator, searching for an invisible item. “No. All set.” I pulled the sweetest smile from somewhere deep inside and mustered, “You’re the guest. Sit, relax, and enjoy your day.”
Scott leaned into the couch and turned on the television. British accents filled the room.
“Dinner will be served at five,” I announced. “Marissa, if you and Zoey can chop the potatoes and apples, that would be awesome. I’ll get the turkey in straight away, and we’ll start the sides around two. Jaime, what time are Aoife and Owen coming over?”
“Around three, I think.”
“Okay, at three o’clock we’ll have the table set.” I looked around the kitchen, counting the chairs. We had a table for four and three stools at the island. We’ll slide in a desk chair from one of our bedrooms. It’ll be lovely. “Questions?”
I refused to let the betrayal of my supposed best friend ruin my favorite holiday.
Chapter 32
After a quick tap on the wooden door, Owen and Aoife barreled into our living room like they lived there. “Happy Thanksgiving!” I called from the oven. “Owen, Aoife. You remember Marty and Scott.” I gestured at the couch, and they looked up from the vegetable platter and waved. My upbeat voice hid the surrounding tension, and my carefully composed face hid the confusion that followed me like a trail of cigarette smoke.
Owen and Aoife dropped their coats on the arm of the couch and grabbed a drink. “Five o’clock somewhere, right?” Aoife held her can up in the air. “Slainte.” She and Jaime clinked beers, and I stuck my head in the oven again, rearranging sides.
Zoey sat beside Marty, and her knee rocked rhythmically. She cleared her throat, and quickly told Marty about the weekly farmer’s market in the center of Galway. “It’s open on Saturday if you want to go, but we’d need to get there early because it’s busy. Local cheese, scones, vintage clothes, and music,” she listed. “It’s a fun time.”
Marissa leaned across the island. “Need any help?”
“Dinner should be ready in forty-five minutes. Want to get the table set?” I asked.
She set three plates on the island and squeezed five more on our square table. It was tight, but it would do. I wanted to sit Marty and Scott up at the counter away from the group, but I didn’t know which of my friends should be the sacrificial lamb and sit beside them.
After setting the timer on the oven, I sat beside Zoey and a gracious smile drifted across my face. I hadn’t made eye contact with Scott or Marty since Zoey spilled the beans. Marty’s betrayal stabbed me, and my heart was bleeding all over the kitchen. Survive the day repeated like a daily mantra.
“So, Marty,” Aoife said, “How was your flight?”
She flipped her hair back and smiled. “It was fine. We watched a few movies and tried to sleep.” She glanced at Scott, and I imagined her nuzzled into his shoulder with a shared blanket over them.
