Good For You
Chapter 41
REID
It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m sitting in the formal dining room with my parents and our catered meal, counting the minutes until Dad and I can pretend fixation on a footbal game that neither of us cares about. China, crystal, white linens, and we’re barely speaking. Mom is drinking wine, abstaining from the hard stuff at the table, but the hand attached to the stem of her wineglass is trembling faintly. I suppress the urge to mix her something stronger, and myself, too.
There was a time when Mom cooked. Not every meal, but whenever the staff had a day off. Before my grandmother died, the two of them would get up before dawn on Thanksgiving Day to start everything. By the time I’d wake up, the whole house was suffused with the aroma of roasted turkey and a conglomeration of spices from the stuffing and pies—rosemary, thyme, nutmeg, cinnamon.
Mom would wrap me in an apron that fel past my knees and I’d mash the boiled cranberries and sugar through a mesh strainer until only the pulp remained, and later I would tel Dad I’d made the cranberry sauce by myself.
Dad’s foot is tapping; he’s already anticipating the horror of an entire day with no escape to work, wondering how long he has to perform this farce of family togetherness. There couldn’t be a more uncomfortable silence over a holiday meal.
Dori and her parents are dishing out donated portions of turkey and dressing to LA’s homeless population now, but she’s coming over later tonight. She’l be tired after being on her feet al day, but I don’t want to let her go early. A pang of guilt hits me with that thought, and I think about what might make her want to stay longer.
When she arrives, she confesses that she had very little to eat today. I offer to reheat some of our leftovers and she nods grateful y, which tel s me she must be ravenous. “Be right back. Make yourself at home.” I press her down to sit on the end of my bed. From the half-lidded look on her face, I wouldn’t be surprised to come back and find her curled up asleep in the center of it.
Instead, she’s nestled into the pil ows at the head of the bed, reading. I wonder which book of mine she found interesting and then I get closer. Oh, hel . She smiles up at me, bookmarking her spot with a finger and turning the cover towards me. Her smile is more of a smirk. “I didn’t realize you were a fan,” she says, reveling in her discovery.
Nearly every girl in our age group owns this recently popular novel while younger girls snatch up dol s and graphic novel adaptations with stylized manga artwork. What the book doesn’t have are many male fans.
I shrug, setting the plate on my desk and turning towards the bed. “My agent sent me the screenplay, and I thought I the bed. “My agent sent me the screenplay, and I thought I should check out the novel before I decide if I want to represent it.”
Her smirk disappears. “They’re making this into a movie? And you’re being considered for—”
I nod, climbing onto the bed. “What do you think? Am I a viable contender for the role? Could I bring him to life on the big screen?”
“Um,” she says, her wide eyes on mine.
I shake my head slowly and chuckle. “I knew it. You were one of those brainy girls who only got in trouble when caught after bedtime with a flashlight and a book under the covers.” I push her hair behind her ear on one side and can’t help the widening of my evil grin; as usual, her ears cannot be trusted to keep her secrets. “I’m right, aren’t I?” She pins her lips together and doesn’t answer. She has no idea what she does to me. I’m used to calculating girls—
aware of their sexual power and not afraid to use it. I’d swear on the hood of a new Porsche that Dori is aware of every other power she possesses, but when it comes to this sway over me, she’s oblivious.
“Do you remember a few nights ago, when I offered you a proposition?”
Her lips fal open and she blinks. “You said something about objectives. And recklessness. But you didn’t propose anything… specific.” She swal ows, staring down at the book in her hands.
“Hmm. Then I’l clarify.” I take the book, turn it face down on my bedside table. When I turn back, she’s wary. I remain on the edge of the bed, facing her. “If you want to experiment… use me, rather than some stranger at a bar who could chop you into manageable portions and bury you in a shal ow grave.”
Her eyebrows elevate. Final y she says, “Manageable portions?”
Our laughter mixes together, dying away when I take her hand. “Okay, though?”
She nods, her eyes sliding away. “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s get you fed while I kil demons.” I slide off of the bed, handing her the book and picking up the plate on the way to the media room.
I’m going to kiss her before she leaves tonight, that’s a goddamned certainty. Enough of this playing around crap.
I’l send her home with visions of me as a widely lusted-after literary character, but instead of remaining safely ensconced in the pages of a book, I’l be solid and real and right here.
*** *** ***
Dori
The plate Reid hands me is loaded with odd gourmet versions of typical Thanksgiving fare, but it smel s good and I’m starving. Tel ing myself this is no time to be finicky, I sample a bite of something that looks vaguely potato-y.
“Mmmm.”
I realize I’ve said this out loud when Reid grins and says,
“I’m glad someone can enjoy that meal.” I finish that bite and decide to try the green beans and—
whatever that is—on top of them. “You didn’t enjoy it?” I ask, fol owed by another Mmmm.