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I turn the food processor off and display my festive skirt, which hosts an array of autumn colors and the cutest round turkey patch in the world. I know, because I made him from scratch after searching long and hard for one half as endearing. “This is hardly a costume. I’m in the holiday spirit. It is my Thanksgiving outfit, and it is tradition.”
Dad lifts his mitt and uses it like a puppet. “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”
I heave a dramatic sigh. “I am going to die of shame and lose my student.” Grabbing a towel off the oven handle, I march my tofu turkey slop into the dining room where my stuffing is already prepped on the table.
Mom follows me in and hands me a different towel before stealing the one I just got. “Use the dish towel around food. It’s fresher than the hand towel.”
“Thanks.” I wonder if I need to mention ahead of time that Pollux and Andromeda don’t like to say or hear thank you. It would be a real shame if one of them stole my parents’ souls, after all.
Because, ha ha ha, that can totally happen.
Ugh.
Probably best not to open the cult can of worms right now. Pollux can do that one himself if he so desires.
I’ve finished wrapping up my tofurkey roll, getting it in the oven, and setting the dining room table for five before a knock sounds at the front door.
Mom gasps, and she sparkles as mischief pours out of her pores. Checking her hair, her clothes, and the kitchen—which is somehow spotless on the one holiday where it is meant to be a wreck—she giggles then glides to the foyer.
Every cell in my body wants to be a rugrat and place a single dirty cup by the sink, but I refrain. Supplying my mother with a heart attack on Thanksgiving is not kind. And dontcha know? According to monster-Pollux, a la last week, I’m a good girl.
Somebody shoot me.
“Good evening,” Pollux’s gruff voice sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “I am called Pollux Strakh.”
“Oh. My.” Mom’s surprised tone twists a knot in my stomach. She’s just discovered how pretty he is. This does not bode well for me.
Ever so inconspicuously, I peek down the short hall and find Pollux filling out the front door frame.
He is holding a bouquet of flowers so vibrant I swear there’s a filter on them.
Mom’s tittering laugh makes me wince as she reaches for the bouquet. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”
Pollux tenses while I rack my brain for a reason he’d be coming here, to my parents’ house, with a bouquet of flowers for me. We aren’t in a relationship. Unlike monster-Pollux seems to think, we are not married. Please tell me he didn’t take this invitation the wrong way? How can I even begin to explain this mess?
I’ve just about reverted my emotions concerning him back to stab, stab, and die when he—very quietly—says, “I apologize. A friend told me it was appropriate to bring the matriarch of the house flowers, as gratitude, for hosting Meda and me. If I shouldn’t have, I do sincerely apologize.”
Mom stills. “They…they are for me?”
“They were meant to be, yes.”
Andromeda squeezes past Pollux’s leg with a bouquet of her own, finds me snooping, and gasps. “Mrs. Role!” She bolts before Pollux can catch hold of her. Grinning, she holds up the brilliant arrangement of sunflowers and bright orange lilies and peachy roses. “These are for you. Pila helped me arrange them.”
My heart is thundering, but I manage to say, “They’re beautiful.”
Mom walks by holding her waterfall of pinks and reds. “Mine’s bigger,” she says.
“Mom,” I snap.
She sticks her tongue out at me, leans closer, and whispers, “Also, he’s gorgeous. Marry him.” Humming as though she is not a gremlin, she trots into the kitchen to put her flowers in some water.
I brace myself for whatever might come next as I lift my attention toward Pollux.
His dark gaze trails over me, over my chubby embroidered turkey, over the bouquet I’m clasping to my chest, and he smiles. “Kassandra.”
“Hi.” I blink, forget everything that is supposed to come next, and babble, “These…lovely. Tha— Mm. Nope. Sorry.”
My father swoops in to either rescue me or put the last nail in my coffin as he exits the living room and offers his hand to Pollux. “Mr. Strakh, I hear. I’m Kassandra’s father, Aaron.”
