Page 46 of Every November

“Come to Thanksgiving at my house with me,” he repeats.

“Evan, I don’t think that’s⁠—”

“Why not? My family would love you.” His voice holds so much conviction, but they wouldn’t. There’s no way. My own family doesn’t even like me, why would his? “You don’t have to spend tomorrow with people you don’t enjoy being around. You could just… not. For one year.”

I’m quiet for a moment. As much as I want to skip Thanksgiving, some part of me still can’t let myself take the easy way out. Why is it so hard for me to believe I can have good things? Probably because no one has ever made me feel like it’s an option, so I don’t feel deserving of it. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he presses.

“Because it’s your family, Evan. Not mine. I can’t just show up and play house at somebody else’s Thanksgiving because mine’s a mess.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“I know you mean well.” My hand rubs against his back, so he knows I do appreciate him and the offer. “I do. But I’ve got my own thing to get through tomorrow.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods against my chest, and I’m grateful because I don’t have a good way to explain that I don’t think I could handle sitting at a table in a house full of people who love each other and welcome me with open arms. It’s one thing to know what I don’t have. It’s another thing to be part of it for hours while knowing I can never have that. I’d rather suffer through another Thanksgiving with my family because at least I know what to expect.

I don’t say any of that, though. I just kiss his temple and let him think it’s about my family instead of my fear.

“I’m not going to talk you into something you don’t want.” He shifts closer instead, tucking his face back against my chest. “But the offer’s not going away. Not this year. Not next year, either. My family would love to meet you whenever you’re ready.”

Something in my chest catches at the casual way he says next year, as if it’s inevitable and just a fact about our future, rather than a hope neither of us has said out loud yet.

“We’ll see,” I say, which is the closest I can get to agreeing without actually promising anything.

“That’s a very Marcus nonanswer.”

“It’s the best you’re getting tonight.”

He laughs, and I feel it more than hear it—his breath warm against my skin as his body shakes against mine. “Fine. I’ll take it.” He pauses. “For what it’s worth, I meant it, about wanting you there, this year and next.”

Could a version of us really exist like that? What would it even feel like to be surrounded by people who love one another unconditionally? The closest I’ve ever been to that was with Josh’s family, who were mostly just accepting because they had too much going on to worry about the opinions of others.

Within a few minutes, his breathing evens out against my chest, and I lie there watching him sleep. That’s when it hits me: tonight is the most alive I’ve felt in so long. Since last Thanksgiving, to be exact. Like I’ve been sleepwalking through every day in between, and he’s the only thing that ever wakes me up.

And that’s terrifying.

CHAPTER 16

Evan

Me:

Landed. I’ll call you when I get home.

All I’ve heard from Marcus since Thanksgiving Day was that he’d “made it through,” and despite my three attempts to call him, he hasn’t picked up or called me back. I want to be there for him, but I’m unsure how when I’m thousands of miles away, and he struggles to let me be there for him when I’m two feet away.

We had a great night together—our best yet, or so I’d thought—and now he’s back to how he was all last year. Well, worse, because at least last year he answered every time I texted.

I keep replaying our night together as I deplane, as I walk to my car, as I drive home trying to find a moment where things shifted, but there wasn’t one. None of it felt like he was building a wall, at least in the moment, and now I can’t help but question if it had anything to do with me inviting him to Thanksgiving.

Maybe that’s exactly what did it. The invitation was too much, too soon, and I pushed where I had no business pushing, even if he seemed completely fine the next morning. I woke up wrapped in his arms, we traded blowjobs in bed, then he dropped me off at my parents’ before heading to his own, as if nothing had shifted between us at all.

By the time I pull up to my apartment, I’ve cycled through every version of why he’s ignoring me to the point of being sick of my own thoughts. The Thanksgiving invite is all my mind keeps snagging on.