“Really? It’s awesome.” I held the glass out still, because it was unlike him to refuse to try something.
Jude didn’t say anything, but Griffin’s wince made me realize the stupid mistake that I’d just made. Jude didn’t taste the award-winning cider because it was alcoholic. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“No big deal,” he said, and he meant it. His eyes were amused. “You and Griff can drink my share. I’m just gonna say hello to Zach for a minute, and find myself a soda.” He slipped away.
Griffin and Audrey explained what made the two ciders different, and I tried to listen. But I couldn’t stop tracking Jude as he moved around the room greeting people. He looked comfortable and happy. My heart splintered every time he smiled.
Jude found us seats side by side. Two full-sized dining tables had been lined up, end-to-end, and I counted sixteen people around the table. Yellow candlelight flickered on faces and brought out the sun-bleached highlights in Jude’s hair.
“Let’s say grace,” Mrs. Shipley said. “Dad? Will you do the honors?”
Everyone at the table began to clasp hands. I took the tiny hand of the toddler beside me with my left hand. And then Jude’s palm slid onto my right. I closed my eyes against the feel of it. His big hand was roughened from work, as it had always been. The familiarity is what really killed me. It was hard to be here with this oddly sanitized version of Jude. The wearer of flannel. Diet Coke in his glass. This was a Jude from an alternate universe. But I knew if I slid into his arms he’d feel so achingly familiar—broad and warm and strong and so very mine.
“Amen,” mumbled Grandpa Shipley.
Jude dropped my hand again.
Chapter Nine
Jude
Cravings Meter: 2
Thanksgiving at the Shipley’s was a lot like the other Thursday Dinners, only with fancier side dishes and more guests. And Grandpa Shipley wore a bow tie.
But it was special to me, because I’d never been to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner before. Not since grade school, anyway. When I was a kid, my dad and I got take-out and watched football on TV. He’d buy himself a bottle of whatever and end the night passed out in his chair. Happy holidays.
Sophie would have loved to invite me over, but her father gave her so much grief about me that I always begged off.
So this was nice. Though bringing Sophie with me was probably stupid. Getting her out of the downpour wasn’t wrong. She’d been wet and ornery looking, and now she looked happy and relaxed with the Shipley clan doing its thing, drawing her into their center.
But it was still a dick move, because I know I’d done it to show off. Look at me, I have friends who aren’t druggies. I’m such a winner. But of course it was a goddamned lie. Just because the people in this room hadn’t seen me at my worst didn’t mean that they were really mine.
Christ. I was such a user. Of drugs, and now of people, too.
On this grim thought, I did something weird and reflexive, something only an addict would do. I looked down into the glass I was holding, wondering how come I can’t feel a buzz yet?
Because it was a glass of soda. Right.
Sigh.
Dinner was delicious, as always. I helped wash dishes afterward.
“What can I do?” Sophie asked as I scraped odds and ends off a cutting board into the compost bin.
The kitchen was pretty crowded. “Have another cider. Or ask the twins if they need help setting up dessert? They’re probably making homemade whipped cream. And they’re usually looking for someone to take a turn with the whisk.”
Sophie gave me a curious smile. “Okay. I’m on it.”
I watched her walk away. She was wearing a pretty plum-colored top that was just a little bit see-through. But I didn’t need sheer fabric to picture the smoothness of her skin. I wore the memory of Sophie like an imprint on my soul.
May caught me looking. “It’s good that you and Sophie are patching things up,” she said quietly.
I turned to look her in the eye. Addicts get really fucking good at eye contact. It’s a great cover up. I’m staring you down, so I couldn’t possibly be lying right now. “Not really,” I said. “Tonight is just a fluke.”
She squeezed my wrist and plucked a dishtowel off its hook. “You never know. Maybe you two need each other.”
“Don’t say that,” I muttered. “Nobody needs this.” What Sophie needed was a train ticket to New York. I still hadn’t asked her yet why she wasn’t already there. I was afraid to hear the answer—that somehow I’d fucked that up for her, too.
May snapped the towel at my ass. “That’s my Eeyore. Always looking on the bright side.”
“It’s my specialty.”
“Wash faster,” she said. “They’re going to cut the pies soon.”
*