It’s not that I had forgotten what happened the year before, but I was willing to look past it. Having Sam meant I didn’t feel the same kind of pressure to please Delilah, didn’t take her quite so seriously, although I was determined never to be such a baby. Besides, being friends with Delilah meant no more lunches alone, no more feeling like a complete loser. And while I wouldn’t ever describe her as nice, Delilah was funny and smart.
She chose crushes for both of us, saying that high school boys were much cuter, but we needed practice before we got there. Mine was Kyle Houston, who had both the coloring and personality of mashed potatoes. （For his part, Kyle didn’t seem too interested, either. That is, until he copped a feel at the dance.）
* * *
SAM AND I had a never-ending email chain, but it wasn’t until Thanksgiving that I saw him in the flesh again. Sue had invited us to join them for turkey dinner, and my parents had happily accepted. They may not have been sure about Sue when they first met her, but I could tell they’d warmed up to her. They had her over for coffee a couple of times the previous summer, and I heard Mom telling Dad about how impressed she was that Sue was raising “those two nice boys” on her own and how she “must have a keen business sense” to have made the Tavern such a big success.
Sam warned me that his mom tended to overdo it for holidays ever since his dad passed away. She wouldn’t hear of my parents bringing any food, either. So we showed up carrying wine and brandy and a bouquet of flowers Mom and I had picked out at the grocery store. The sun was low in the sky and the Floreks’ house looked like it was glowing from within. The smell of turkey wafted out to us as we stepped onto the porch, and the door swung open before we even knocked.
Sam stood in the doorway, his thick shag of hair combed into submission and parted to one side.
“I could hear your footsteps on the gravel,” he said, seeing the surprised expressions on our faces. Then he added an uncharacteristically chirpy, “Happy Thanksgiving!” and held the door open with one arm, stepping to the side to let us in.
“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser?” he asked. He wore a white button-down shirt tucked into khaki pants, which made him look like a busboy at my parents’ favorite French restaurant.
“Certainly. Thank you, Sam,” Dad said. “But Diane and Arthur will do just fine.”
“Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving!” Sue greeted my parents, her arms held wide, while I put the gifts I was holding on the floor and took off my coat.
“May I take that, Persephone?” Sam asked with exaggerated graciousness, extending his arm for my coat.
“Why are you talking like that?” I whispered.
“Mom gave us a big speech about being on our best behavior. She even played the ‘make your dad proud’ card. He was big on manners,” he said quietly. “You look lovely, this evening, by the way,” he added in an overly enthusiastic tone. I ignored his comment, though I had made extra effort, brushing my hair out so it shone and wearing my crushed-velvet burgundy dress with the puffed sleeves.
“Well, cut it out,” I said. “That voice you’re using is giving me the creeps.”
“Got it. No weird voice.” He smirked, then crouched to pick up the bottles and flowers from the floor. When he stood, he leaned closer and said, “I mean it, though. You do look nice.”
His breath on my cheek made me blush, but before I could respond, Sue had me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Percy. You look beautiful.” I thanked her, still reeling from Sam’s comment, and waved at Charlie, who stood behind her.
“Red’s your color, Pers,” he said. He had on a pair of black dress pants and a shirt that matched the pale green of his eyes.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to fully dress yourself,” I replied.
Charlie winked, and then Sue ushered us into the living room, where a fire crackled in the stone hearth. While Sue finished in the kitchen, Sam passed trays of cheese and bowls of nuts, and Charlie took drink orders, offering Mom a gin and tonic and asking Dad if he wanted red （“it’s a pinot noir”） or white wine （“sauvignon blanc”）。 My parents looked both impressed and amused. “Restaurant kid” was all Charlie said by way of explanation.
Sue joined us when everything was just about ready and had a drink with my parents. She was more made up than usual, in a fitted black turtleneck and capri pants. She had her blond hair down around her shoulders and wore a rose-colored lipstick. It had the effect of making her look both older and more beautiful. My own mom wasn’t unattractive—she kept her dark straight hair in a neat bob and had strange rust-colored eyes—and she was fashionable. But Sue was pretty pretty.