In the car, Parker asked, “How was working Thanksgiving?”
“Slow,” Erin said. She knew by now Parker didn’t want more information than that.
She couldn’t have told Parker more even if she had pressed. Normally Erin spent down time during slow shifts working on the free clinic she was campaigning the hospital to open next fall, but on Thanksgiving the shift had been slow enough Erin spent most of it zoning out while she was supposed to be charting, staring into space and feeling guilty about being rude to Cassie. Cassie didn’t deserve her derision.
It had been vindicating, actually, to hear Cassie was anxious about visiting. Erin had worried that this … thing was one-sided. That would’ve been worse: to have an unrequited crush on a college student. Though Erin wasn’t sure it counted as a crush, exactly. “Crush” felt like too innocent a word. Her thoughts were anything but.
She wasn’t allowed to think about this anyway, especially not right now, on the way to dinner with Parker. She wasn’t allowed to think about it at all over Thanksgiving weekend, which had certain family traditions, even if they weren’t all a family anymore. Saturday night meant games at the Turners’。 Erin had known Melissa and Jimmy since they were high school sweethearts, long before they had kids: Caleb and Noah, carbon copies of Jimmy with their tight coils of dark hair, and Mae, whose auburn waves favored her mother. Erin, Melissa, and Rachel had been friends for almost half their lives now. The first two took Lamaze class together when they were pregnant with Parker and Caleb, their kids destined to be best friends long before they were born.
Along the way, Adam and Jimmy had also become best friends. Adam was already at the Turners’ when Parker and Erin arrived. Rachel was, too, though, which meant Erin was handed a drink before she had to do anything more than wave at Adam.
“Aunt Rachel’s on top of it tonight,” Parker teased.
“I know,” Rachel said, wrapping her arms around Parker before she’d even taken her jacket off. “What would your mother do without me?”
“Be more sober, probably,” Erin said, but she reveled in the bite of the whiskey. Rachel had always had a heavy pour.
“Be less fun, exactly,” Rachel said. She hugged Erin next, while Parker flitted off to Caleb’s side.
Any time Rachel razzed her for being a stick-in-the-mud, Erin considered telling her about Cassie. Not tonight, though. She didn’t want to know what Rachel would think of how Erin had shut things down. She definitely didn’t want to know how Rachel would’ve suggested dealing with Cassie being under Erin’s roof for two weeks.
The alcohol helped take her mind off that. It helped her get prepared for the games, too, which everyone here took way too seriously. Taboo wasn’t so bad—Erin had minored in English; she knew plenty of synonyms. By the time they got to charades, though, she was glad she had a second drink.
Kids versus Grown-ups. With Parker and the three Turner kids, the adults had an extra player, but Parker started the trash talk early, saying the grown-ups would need the help. Adam’s first turn demonstrated she was absolutely correct, but it didn’t mean she had to say it.
Noah’s turn was next. The youngest Turner was a born performer. After demonstrating the answer was six words of song lyrics, he leapt into motion, galloping around the room like he was at a rodeo, one hand holding an imaginary saddle between his legs, the other twirling an imaginary lasso.
“‘Mustang Sally’！” Mae called out.
Parker snorted. “Yeah, ’cause we’re all nine hundred years old.”
“I’m on your team,” Mae said.
Caleb ignored his younger sister. “Also that’s the title and not the lyric.”
“Ride, Sally, ride!” Mae shouted instead.
Rachel joined in on the heckling. “It’s six words. Do you not understand the rules of the game?”
But Noah had stopped galloping and pointed to Mae before holding up his first finger.
“First word?”
He nodded and pointed again.
“My first word or your first word?”
He nodded faster.
“Ride!”
As the other team kept shouting to figure out the rest of the words, Erin felt guilty. Well, dumb and guilty. The “Mustang Sally” lyrics made her think of Sally Ride, then of astronauts, then of Cassie. Like her brain was looking for any excuse.
On Wednesday, for their entire conversation, Cassie had said things that vindicated Erin—she was thinking of her, too, this whole time. Erin said things designed to hurt Cassie. That it was the right decision, that she’d had no choice, didn’t make it any easier.