“Fabian.”
I glanced at my sister, who stood on the edge of the kitchen, looking at me as I stirred the cranberries, as instructed by my mother.
“What?”
Denise looked a little strange. She was pursing her lips, too.
“There’s somebody here to see you.”
“To see me? Huh? It’s Thanksgiving.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I know what day it is. He’s waiting outside.”
“Who?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Just go see. I’ll stir the cranberries.”
She pushed me away from the pot on the stove and toward the exit of the kitchen.
I had zero clue who would have come to see me at my parents’ house. This was a new house to them, so it wouldn’t be any friends I’d known from growing up. Or I didn’t think so, anyway.
My father, who had been noisily watching the games on TV, seemed to have turned them all off, bec
