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I was touched but surprised when I heard this. The truth is that Tiffany and I have little in common (save the desk chair we sit in, and a love for fashion, of course), and her potty mouth can be a little alarming at times. And I have never, for instance, seen her outside of work… hardly surprising, since we work completely different shifts. But not exactly what I’d call a true bond.
On the other hand, we’re both regularly screamed at by Peter fucking Loughlin. And that’s something that scars someone for life and therefore cemented our friendship.
Still, when Tiffany asks the Thanksgiving question, I’m afraid. Afraid that she’s about to follow it with an invitation to join her and the “nasty-ass boyfriend” (so called by Daryl for no other reason—that I can ascertain, anyway—than that he is keeping Tiffany from being available for Daryl to date) for their holiday meal.
Which I’m sure would be fun and all of that, but not something I think Luke is quite ready for—to be subjected to my coworkers, I mean. So far, I’ve managed to keep him a safe distance from both Monsieur and Madame Henri, and the fine folks of Pendergast, Loughlin, and Fly
Although, considering that I still haven’t told my family he and I are living together, you might say I’m keeping him from my family, as well.
“Luke’s parents are coming to town,” I say truthfully.
“Rilly?” Tiffany looks up from the nail she’s filing. “They’re coming all the way from France?”
“Uh, no, Houston,” I say, after a slight pause during which I pick up, answer, and transfer a call for Jack Fly
“So they’re taking you out for Thanksgiving di
“Uh,” I say. “Not exactly. I mean, I’m cooking the di
Tiffany stares at me. “Have you ever cooked a turkey before?” she wants to know.
“No,” I say. “But I’m sure it won’t be hard. Luke’s a really good cook, and I printed out a bunch of recipes from the Food Network’s Web site.”
“Oh yeah,” Tiffany says, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “That’ll work out great, then.”
But I don’t let her negativity get me down. I’m convinced our Thanksgiving is going to work out great. Not only will Luke’s parents—whom we’ll be giving up our bed to, since it is, technically, his mom’s bed—have a great time, but so will Chaz and Shari. In fact, if everything goes as pla
I’m sure of it. More than sure. I’m positive.
“Your own family must miss you,” Tiffany says casually. “Are they mad you aren’t coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“No,” I say, glancing at the clock. Four more minutes before I can leave… and be rid of Tiffany for another day. Not that I mind her that much, she’s just… well, wearing. “I’m going home for Christmas.”
“Oh? Luke going with you?”
“No.” I’m having to hide my a
And yeah, I was disappointed about this. Not that he hadn’t asked me to come with him. He had. Although he’d preceded the invitation with the words, “I suspect you’ll want to spend the holidays with your own family, but… ”
Which he had actually suspected wrongly.
But not completely. I DID want to spend the holidays with my own family… and with Luke. I’d wanted him to come back to A
But when I’d asked him if he wanted to fly home with me, he’d winced and said, “Oh hey, I’d love to. But, you know, I already got my ticket to France. I got a really excellent deal on it. And it’s non-transferable and nonrefundable. I could check and see if they have any left for you, though, if you want to come with me… ”
But the truth is, I only get three days off work at Pendergast, Loughlin, and Fly
That’s right.After New Year’s. I get to ring in the New Year solo here in Manhattan while he’s off whooping it up in the South of France. Happy New Year to me!
Not that I shared any of this with Tiffany. It wasn’t any of her business. Besides, I knew what she’d say.Her boyfriend had come out to meet her parents in North Dakota the first year they’d started dating.
“Well.” Tiffany is heaving a sigh. “I guess Raoul and I will just hang out at home and have take-out or something. Since neither of us cooks.”
I am not going to ask Tiffany and her boyfriend to join us for our Thanksgiving meal. It’s just going to be me and Luke, his parents, and Chaz and Shari. A nice, civilized meal, like the ones we all used to have over the summer at Château Mirac.
One fifty-nine. I am so close to being out of here.
“The Chinese place near us does a kind of turkey dumpling on Thanksgiving,” Tiffany goes on. “It’s pretty good. Though of course I miss sweet potatoes. And pecan pie.”
“Well, there are lots of restaurants in my neighborhood that are serving three- and even four-course Thanksgiving meals that day,” I say cheerfully. “Maybe you guys could make a reservation at one of those.”
“It’s not the same as being in someone’s home,” Tiffany says. “Restaurants are so cold. For Thanksgiving, you want cozy. There’s nothing cozy about a restaurant.”
“Well,” I say. Two o’clock. I’m done. I’m out.
I stand up. “I’m sure you can find a restaurant that delivers Thanksgiving di
“Yeah,” Tiffany says with a sigh, getting up to take my chair. “But it’s not the same as home-cooked.”
“That’s true,” I say.Don’t do it, Lizzie, I’m telling myself.Do not fall for it. No pity invitations. “Well, I have to run—”
“Yeah,” Tiffany says, not looking at me. “Good luck with the wedding dresses thing.”
I am halfway out the door, my coat over my arm, when I feel myself pulled back, as if by some kind of tracking device.
“Tiffany,” I hear my mouth saying, even though my brain is shrieking Nooooo!
She glances up from the computer screen, which she’s using, I know, to check her horoscope. “Yeah?”
“Would you and Raoul like to come over for Thanksgiving di
Tiffany does a good job of dissembling indifference. She really would make a terrific actress.
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I’ll have to check with Raoul. But, like… maybe.”
“Well,” I say. “Just let me know. Bye.”
I curse myself in the elevator the whole ride down to the lobby. What is the matter with me? Why did I invite her? She can’t cook so it’s not like she’s going to bring anything.
And she certainly isn’t going to be able to add anything to the table conversation. All Tiffany Sawyer knows anything about is the latest pump from Prada and which Hollywood celebrity is sleeping with which Hollywood producer’s son…
And I’ve never even met this Raoul character, her married—married! — lover. Who knows what he’s like. From what Daryl says, nothing that great (though Daryl is admittedly biased).
Oh, why do I let my big mouth get me into these things?
I try to cheer myself up, however, with the thought that Raoul might balk at the idea of coming to Thanksgiving di