Thanksgiving arrived like a test we hadn't studied for.
Adrian's mother was coming. My mother was coming. Ms. Vane had been invited—reluctantly, after much negotiation—and had actually said yes. Even Isabel had sent a note, though she wouldn't be there in person.
"The table seats twelve," Adrian said, staring at the dining room like it was a battlefield.
"We have twelve people."
"Barely."
"Adrian."
He turned to look at me. "My mother hasn't spoken to me on a holiday in fifteen years."
"Then it's time."
"Your mother threatened to haunt me."
"She threatened to haunt you if you broke my heart. You haven't. You're safe."
He ran a hand through his hair. "What if this goes wrong?"
"Then we have wine. Lots of wine."
"Alcohol isn't a solution."
"It's a coping mechanism. Different thin
