Claud looked ready to burst into laughter, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Thanks, Mel, but I’ve forced myself onto Charley’s family and I’d feel rude if I stopped doing that.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “She has not forced her way in. I swear to God, my parents like her more than they like me.”
“Do you have a nice Thanksgiving, Charley?” Lowe asked quietly.
I nodded at him. “Me, my mom, my dad, my big sister Andie. My grandmother sometimes too, and now Claud. I’m the only female in my family who can’t cook, so I get to sit and watch the game while they all cluck in the kitchen.”
“Cluck?” Claudia asked, clearly offended.
“Like a hen.” I nodded. “Who’s mashing the potatoes? They all answer at once—cluck, cluck, cluck. Who checked the bird last? Cluck, cluck, cluck. We’ve all brought our best pie dish, which one should we use? Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.”
The guys laughed and Claudia twisted her mouth into a moue. “That is a gross misinterpretation of the situation. I don’t own a pie dish.”
“Oh, really?”
Claudia exhaled. “Okay, I do. And maybe we cluck a little, but the hen noises are worth it once the food is on the table. No one makes pumpkin pie like Delia Redford.”
“Amen, sister.”
“What about you, Jake?” Claudia turned her attention rapidly to him. “How’s Thanksgiving at your house?”
I lowered my eyes, knowing the answer to that one. I’d dreaded his turn since we’d started sharing. It reminded me all too well of the best Thanksgiving I ever had.
“It’s always good. The immediate family—me, Mom, Dad, my little brother Lukas, and my dad’s mom. Some of my best memories are from Thanksgiving.”
I tensed at this confession, wondering if he meant what I thought he meant. Quickly, so no one would notice, I glanced up at him from under my lashes to see if he was looking at me. Instead, Jake was studying his plate, apparently intent on not making eye contact with anyone.
“Thanksgiving at my house is crazy,” Denver informed us loudly. “I mean, we got my whole family, which is me and my three brothers and my parents, plus we got cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, nieces, nephews. The house is packed with people and food. I swear to God, I need a vacation just to get over the holiday.”
“I bet you wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Claudia said.
He shrugged, a guy equivalent of agreement.
Lowe leaned forward, shoving his now-empty plate aside. “Where do you think you’ll be on Thanksgiving five years from now? Who do you think you’ll be?”
“You go first,” Beck grinned at him before taking a sip of beer.
“Okay.” Lowe relaxed against his chair, his arm casually draped around the back of mine. “I’m in a hotel room in London with some random hook-up while I get ready for a show at the O2 Arena with my band, The Stolen.”
The guys grinned. Matt relaxed back in his chair. “Well, I guess that’s my future plan.”
“Yeah, you’re our f**king roadie because you’ve been replaced by Dave Grohl,” Denver grunted.
Beck chuckled and threw a potato at Denver. “You’re a shit.”
“Where will you be, then, smart-ass?” Matt asked Denver.
“Getting sucked off by—ow!” He glared at Claudia as he rubbed his head where her hand had cracked across it. “What the f**k?”
She glowered back at him, unmoving. “It’s Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving doesn’t involve that kind of language, thank you very much. Apologize.”
“Jesus, okay, I’m sorry.” He winced, feeling his head for blood.
The rest of us all looked at one another, trying—and failing—to hold in the laughter. We collapsed into hysterics as Denver attempted to annihilate us with his eyes. Claudia sat prim and unmoving.
Beck grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her close so he could kiss her forehead affectionately. She relaxed and rolled her eyes, settling back into her seat.
“Where will you be?” Lowe asked me as soon as the laughter died down.
I felt my cheeks warm as they turned their focus on me. “Uh … either having Thanksgiving with my family or patrolling the streets of Chicago as a rookie with a really crap work schedule.”
He smiled at me. “And nothing else. No guy? Or girl?” he winked at me.
“You can squash that fantasy, Lowe. I’m not into girls.” I shoved him playfully and then stared at my plate, avoiding Jake’s gaze. “It would be nice to think there will be a guy. Who knows?”
Lowe snorted. “There will be a guy, Charley,” he said, sounding absolutely convinced on the matter.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you clairvoyant?”
“Nah. I’m just not blind. It’s a miracle you’re single at the moment.”
The compliment hit me in all my good-for-nothing places and I shook my head, trying to laugh it off with everyone else. It wasn’t easy when I could feel Jake’s eyes burning into me.
“Claud, where do you see yourself in five years?” Matt asked her. “With me, right?”
I laughed as Claudia rolled her eyes for the second time that night. “If I’m going to be with anyone in five years, it will be Will McPherson.”
“Who the hell is Will McPherson?” Beck grumbled.
I answered for her. “The hot TA Claud has been lusting after for two years and has been too chicken to approach.”
“Why would you be too chicken to approach?” Matt guffawed. “Have you seen you?”
“Are you trying to kill me with compliments, Matt?”
“Seduce, Claud, not kill.”
“I don’t think it’s working,” Beck said, smirking at him.
“Well,” Melissa spoke up, her tone overly cheery, “in five years’ time, I’m hopefully going to be working on my postgrad, and spending Thanksgiving on vacation with my whole family and Jake.”
My fingers clenched around my wine glass. When I dared to look over at her, she was giving me a firm but pointed look. I managed to keep my flinch inward and calmly took another drink of wine.
Nice Melissa was gone then. Determined-to-keep-her-boyfriend Melissa was in town.
“Jake?” she turned to him, “what about you?”
He didn’t look at her, just sat staring at the beer bottle in his hand as he picked at the label. “What about me?” he answered a little flatly.