“My feet get cold.”
“Only sociopaths sleep with socks on.”
“At least I’m upfront about it.”
We head back downstairs where Hadley takes a solid minute to decide she’s going to wait in the living room while I change rather than go down into the basement with me.
When I make it back upstairs, she has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, dunking fries into barbecue sauce.
“Barbecue sauce?” I ask, settling in beside her.
“First my socks now my condiments?”
“Ketchup or mustard. Those are the only two options for fries.”
“Mustard?” she sounds disgusted.
“Mustard’s delicious on fries.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
I hand her the remote and pull out the rest of the food, spreading it across the coffee table like a mini buffet. “Since your mom didn’t like to cook, did your dad cook? Is that who taught you?”
“Not really. We were more of a fend for yourself, eat when you’re hungry, type of family.”
“No family dinners?”
“Our kitchen table was dedicated office space.” She laughs. “I don’t think we actually used it for dining until Geoff brought home a serious girlfriend for Thanksgiving when I was like fourteen.” She grabs another fry. “Lanie, Geoff, and I ate together most nights when I was younger. We’d make grilled cheese or get a bowl of cereal and watch cooking shows of all things—not the competitions, but the ones where they show you how to cook. Lanie hates reality TV almost as much as Geoff. But Geoff went to college when I was nine, and Lanie left when I was eleven.” Her gaze trails down the listing of shows.
Sometimes I forget about the age gaps between her siblings because she’s so close with her sister. I often think of the noise and chaos of my own family and assume she can relate but I realize with startling clarity that she likely experienced large bouts of being an only child. I imagine Hadley eating a bowl of cereal alone in front of the TV, and something in my chest aches in protest.
“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”
Hadley shakes her head. “I did last year, and between two canceled flights and three delays, I think I was home for like sixteen hours.” She laughs. “What about you? Can you even go home for the holidays with football?”
I shake my head. “No. But Hudson’s dad hosts a big Thanksgiving. You’ll have to come.”
“He’s seen me in my underwear. No way.” She shakes her head in swift motions, cheeks reddening.
“He couldn’t see you, and even if he had, your bra would pass for a swimsuit.”
“I’ll probably stay here, and order takeout.”
I shake my head. “You’re not staying here alone on Thanksgiving.”
“We’ll see.” I can’t tell if her words are a challenge or a consideration. With Hadley, it can sometimes be tough to know. “Do you miss going home for Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I do.”
As we open our sandwiches, Hadley picks a movie and our conversation shifts into amicable silence.
She falls asleep halfway through the movie, tucked into my side. She does most nights when we try to watch something.
I flip off the TV, clean up our mess, and shut off a dozen lights throughout the downstairs before scooping Hadley up and carrying her to her room.
“You smell like showhouses,” she murmurs, clenching my tee.
I glance down at her curled lips. “Like showhouses?”