Page 38 of True Blue

Nana will be at Thanksgiving too.

Everything will be fine.

“Come on, we have to get up,” I say, turning in his arms. My smile widens when I see the pouting look on his face.

Not much has changed in his appearance over the last year, except that his hair is a little longer. Still the most handsome person I’ve ever seen in my life.

“But I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Teddy murmurs, sticking out his lip even more.

“Oh, well,” I say, bemused. I glance over to my kitchen, “I don’t think I have much, but I have—oh!”

Teddy crawls down between my legs, hooks my legs over his shoulders, and licks me gently.

“Oh,” I gasp, threading my hands into his hair and hearing Teddy’s rumbling moan.

My brows raise as I look around the formal dining room in the Williams house. Dawn has really outdone herself..

The long dining table has extensions added to accommodate the whole family coming tonight. Pumpkins and Pilgrim decorations galore. The picture on the wall of the Pilgrims sitting peacefully with Native Americans and sharing a meal makes me grimace.

That’s not exactly how it happened.

I’ve never celebrated Thanksgiving before. Usually, I jumped at the chance to work on holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's. That made me very popular among my coworkers, who would buy me coffee or little gifts to thank me for taking the shifts so they could spend time with their families.

Dawn arranged little handwritten place cards with everyone’s names in a looping gold script. The leaf pattern matches the napkins, gold holders, and the placemats under the fine china.

Teddy’s pulled into the living room with his father and uncles to watch the game, and I look for my place card on the table.

Teddy’s mother has warmed up to me, but that’s not really saying much. She’s not openly hostile. She’s not outwardly mean. She’s not cruel.

Anything I could ever tell Teddy about her behavior toward me could be explained away.

She’s protective.

She’s particular.

She’s set in her ways.

It seems every time I think maybe I’m making progress and chipping away at the ice, something happens. Dawn jumps at the chance to remind me of my place around her.

Last Christmas, she gave me slippers in front of everyone—really pretty, soft cream slippers. For a moment, I was hopeful. Then I saw they were size seven. I haven’t worn size seven since childhood.

My cheeks burned as Dawn gasped, controlling her tone so it sounded like genuine contrition.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just forgot how big you are! I assume everyone has my foot size of seven. I’ll exchange these for size—what was your size, dear? Twelve? Thirteen? I might have to grab a men’s size…”

Eleven. I wear a size eleven, which is difficult, but not impossible to find in women’s sizes.

Then there were the Indie/Bindi/Cindy incidents.

Teddy’s corrected her every single time, and she swears she understands.

Until the next time.

“Cindy, could you pass the potatoes?”

“It’s Indie, Mom.”

“Bindi, how is work?”