“He likes doing things like that, doesn’t he?” Eric asks.
I can’t quite interpret the emotion intended behind the question. So, I decide to just answer it.
“When he thinks they need to be done, yes,” I say. “He likes taking care of me.”
“How do you feel about that?” he asks.
I stop and make a face even though he can’t see it. “Did you seriously just ask me how I feel about something? You know of all the questions in the world, that is my least favorite.”
“I thought your least favorite was when the girl behind the counter asks if you want nonfat milk in your coffee,” he says.
“That’s just bad manners. But rudeness and judgy attitudes aside, as I said, he wants to take care of me. I had to take care of myself from the time I was eighteen. It’s nice having him want to do things for me. He wants me to be safe and have everything work properly for me. He knows I can do it myself, but he likes to show me how much he loves me by doing it,” I say.
“Wow. I didn’t think I would ever hear you say something like that. Emma Griffin, willing to let someone do something for her without complaining about it. And it only took you… what… two and a half whole decades to get engaged.”
“Well, we couldn’t exactly get engaged right when we met. I did want some time to really learn about myself and my coloring skills. Get a few years of middle school under my belt without being tied down,” I say.
Eric laughs, but I let out another aggravated sound. “Still can’t find your keys?”
“No. I can’t figure out where he would have put them. He’s the one who suggested I put the hooks next to the door in the first place.”
“Where are you going?” he asks. “Are you in a hurry?”
“No. I’m just going to the grocery store to do Thanksgiving shopping,” I sigh.
“Already? It’s not until next week,” Eric says.
“I know, but I’m trying to avoid the crowds. I don’t want to come to blows over the last can of cranberry sauce,” I say.
“Again,” he says.
“I don’t want to talk about it. If I get it done now, I’m not going to have to worry about the turkey taking too long to thaw out and I can do some of the cooking ahead of time. There are going to be more of us this year, so I want to make sure it’s really special. Especially for Xavier. This is the first time he’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving in almost a decade. At least, the first time he’ll be celebrating it without dinner involving armed guards,” I say.
“At least he could think of it as a historic recreation of the last moments of the turkey’s life,” Eric says.
I sigh as I make my way to the kitchen. “Gross, Eric. And please don’t say anything like that next week.”
“Oh, Bellamy would get over a joke,” he says.
I hear the beep of my phone telling me another call is coming in, but I ignore it. If it’s Sam and it’s something important, he’ll call me back instantly.
“I’m not talking about Bellamy. I’m talking about Xavier. I don’t want him trying to find a historically accurate gun to show you an actual recreation,” I tell him. “Oh, thank goodness. Found my damn keys.”
“Where were they?” he asks.
“At the very back of the kitchen counter,” I say.
“Maybe he was trying to be courteous putting them there because he thought you’d probably make a list first,” he says.
“Actually, he doesn’t know I’m going. First time I’ve been to the grocery store in over a month. When I was going back and forth to Harlan so much, I didn’t have time to go to the store. Then Sam was stocking the kitchen for me. Then there was that unfortunate stay in the hospital, followed by Creagan immediately piling cases on me as if investigating The Order was me slacking off. I’ve been ordering food and sending Sam back and forth. I thought it would be a nice surprise for him to come home and find everything I’ll need for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s nice,” he says. “Just don’t go after little old women who get in front of you at the sweet potato display.”
“I make no promises. I’m going to go. But I’ll see you next week? You’re coming in on Tuesday, right?”
“Absolutely. Bellamy and I took half days on Monday so we can get packed and ready to go, then we’re hopping in the car first thing in the morning. We should be there before noon, depending on the traffic.”
“Perfect. Dean and Xavier are coming in right around then, too. Probably a little later than you, though. But that’ll give us time to get everybody all settled in. And then we can get on with the holiday festivities,” I say.
“Are we still planning to go to the Christmas tree farm?” he asks.
“Of course. I found one that is actually open for the week of Thanksgiving. That way we can go and get the tree and give it a chance to settle in as well before we decorate it.”
“Are you going to decorate me after I settle in?” he asks.
“No, I’ll leave that to Bellamy.”
“I have no idea what that is supposed to mean,” he says.
“Neither do I,” I say, locking my front door behind me and heading to my car. “But tell her I said hi and I’m really looking forward to seeing both of you.”
“Us, too. Bye,” he says.
“Bye,” I say.
I end the call and press the missed-call icon to check who beeped in. The caller didn’t ring back, so I’d figured it wasn’t important. I’m still expecting to see it was Sam calling me, but it’s not his number. There’s no name attached, and I don’t recognize the number, but the area code is familiar. He or she didn’t leave a voicemail, so I figure it’s just a misdial and toss my
