"What do you want for Christmas?" Ada asks.

"Christmas? Tomorrow is Thanksgiving!" I exclaim, mashing the potatoes Moira just boiled.

"I know, but I want to get you something special."

"Don't get me anything."

"What? I have to."

"No, you don't."

Ada rolls her brown eyes and examines the raw turkey in front of us. "I identity one-hundred percent as a carnivore, but seeing this dead, naked bird makes me want to give up meat forever."

"You won't be saying that once it's cooked." Damian enters the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. "My mom makes a mean turkey."

"She does," I concur. "I've come here every Thanksgiving since I was six. I never leave disappointed."

"You should come tomorrow," Damian says to Ada.

She looks surprised. "Really? Me?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, why not? There'll be plenty of food."

"I'll ask my mom," she replies with a grin. "We always go to my Aunt Helen's house, but we're usually home by four."

"Come over after. We don't eat until five or six, anyway."

"Okay, cool. Thanks for the invite."

I smile to myself. It's nice to see my two best friends finally getting along.

Moira emerges from the basement, a giant baking sheet in her arms. "Finally found it!" she announces.

Damian takes it from her and places it on the kitchen counter. Together, they remove the turkey from it's wrapper and drop the dead bird on the tray. Ada looks like she's about to vomit.

"This part is gross," I murmur.

"It's official. I am now a vegetarian," she declares.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you guys!" Moira shouts, ignoring our commentary.

"What?" I inquire.

"I invited Keaton to dinner tomorrow," Moira informs us.

"Who's Keaton?" Ada asks, to which I don't have an answer. They've never mentioned Keaton before.

"He lives in the apartment complex down the road. He's a couple years older than you guys. He's emancipated, so he's all by himself. I just figured he'd appreciate a hot meal," Moira explains.

Ada raises her eyebrows. "Emancipated? What's that?"

"It's when someone under eighteen is no longer under the care of their parents," I begin. "Basically, you file a petition to the court explaining why you're self-sufficient, and if they accept it, you get to function as an adult before legally being an adult."

"I want to do that," Ada announces. "That sounds fun."

"It's a lot of work," Moira says. "Keaton had to drop out of school and get his GED so he could work full-time and support himself. He's barely making ends meet."

"That's why Mom brings him food every Friday," Damian says. "She's afraid he'll starve."

"I am! He's a nice boy who's been dealt a crappy hand." Moira puts on a pair of latex gloves and stares at the turkey. "Alright, who wants to help me stuff this bird?"

<><><><><><>

I take off my coat and walk int the Forbes' kitchen. The air smells like butter and cinnamon, and I can already feel my mouth watering.

"Layla! Welcome!" Moira throws her arms around me like she hasn't seen me in ages. "So glad you're here!" She holds up a plastic cup of fruit punch. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure. Thanks, Moira." I accept the fruity beverage and make my way to the living room, where Damian is sitting with a lanky blonde boy.

"Hey, Layla." He looks happy—too happy—to see me. "Sit. Please."

"Okay." I claim the spot next to him. "What's up?"

"Not much. This"—he points to the blonde boy—"is Keaton."

"Hi, Keaton."

"Hey," he replies.

It doesn't take me long to learn that Keaton isn't much of a talker, which, for me, is a nonissue. I don't mind the quiet. Damian, however, seems uncomfortable.

"I'm going to see if your mom needs help in the kitchen," I say. "Damian, come with me?"

"Yes." He jumps up so fast he gives me whiplash. "Let's go."

Leaving Keaton behind, we enter the kitchen in time to hear a knock at the front door.

"That must be Ada!" I exclaim.

"Come in!" Moira shouts as she opens the oven and takes out a tray of crescent rolls.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Ada, looking most unlike herself in a light pink velvet dress and a pair of white ballet flats, greets us. "I brought sparkling cider. I wanted to bring real wine, but my mom wouldn't let me."

"Sparkling cider is fine." Moira grabs the bottle and offers Ada a half-smile. "You guys, where's Keaton?"

Damian glances behind his shoulder. "In the living room."

"You left him alone?" Moira shakes her head in disappointment. "Not nice, Damian."

"I'll go find him," Ada offers.

I expect her to return with Keaton, but she doesn't. Instead, I overhear them talking and laughing by themselves.

This goes on for an hour.

"They seem to be hitting it off," Damian whispers as we set the table.

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"She's only fourteen. The age of consent in Michigan is sixteen."

"They're just talking."

"And how long will he be satisfied with that?"

Damian chuckles. "I've always been satisfied just talking to you."

"Yes, but... you and I are different," I insist.

"I doubt they'll keep in touch after today," he says before turning to Moira. "Mom, table's set."

"Oh, good!" she squeals. "Keaton! Ada! Dinner!"

The five of us gather around the table. Moira always makes too much food, but this year, she made enough to feed the Royal Bahamas Defense Force. I see mashed potatoes, butternut squash, green beans, buttered rolls, cranberry relish, salad, and, of course, the turkey. Everything looks remarkable.

For a moment, I allow myself to think about Hank. He's probably passed out on the sofa with the football game playing in the background. To him, Thanksgiving is an excuse to binge drink himself to sleep. I don't think he even knows how to roast a turkey.

"You okay?" Damian murmurs.

"I'm fine." Then with more certainty, "I'm fine."

Moira stands up and raises her glass of sparkling cider. "Alright, so we have a tradition around here where we each go around and say something we're thankful for."

I smile to myself. Moira makes it seem like no other American family has this practice. I'd be willing to bet that this is a common occurrence on Thanksgiving.

Then again, I haven't spent the holiday with my father in eight years. What do I know?

"I'll go first," Damian volunteers. "I'm really thankful for the food in front of us, and for my mom who prepared it."

Moira's cheeks darken. "Well, I'm thankful that I get to spend the day with my family." Her sapphire eyes meet mine. "One thing I've learned over the years is that family isn't always blood. I don't think we meet people on accident. I think the people in our lives are there for a reason."

Ada's face lights up. "I like that. I'm sure as hell thankful for the non-family members who choose to stick around. Someone once told me 'friends are the family you pick.' I think that's important."

I notice the way Keaton's eyes are glued to her, the way he hangs off of every word she says. Up close, he's quite handsome. He has strong cheekbones, immaculately straight teeth, and irises that are the same shade of blue as Moira's.

"Keaton, what are you thankful for?" Ada asks him.

"Well, I'm grateful for my good job, my sweet apartment, and"—he pauses, brushing his hand over hers—"having had the opportunity to meet you."

Damian and I exchange a look. He didn't believe they'd keep in touch after tonight. I'd be astounded if they didn't.

Moira clears her throat. "Um, your turn, Layla."

I bite my bottom lip, struggling to think of something that won't sound cliché. I have so much to be grateful for. I have an abundance of good in my life.

But there's also a lot of bad. Contrary to what Damian thinks, I'm not in denial. I know how dangerous Hank is. I heard Inessa's warning: I want you to get out of that house while you still have a chance. I have every intention of heeding it.

Just not now. Not yet.

Feeling everyone's eyes on me, I stretch my lips into a fraudulent grin and say, "I'm just thankful to be alive."

<><><><><><>

"I really like him," Ada gushes as we sit on the Forbes' living room floor after dinner. "Like, more than I've ever liked anyone."

"He seems okay," I reply.

"You don't know him like I do."

"How well can you possibly know him? You met him three hours ago!" If I have to listen to Ada tell me how much she adores Keaton one more time, I'm going to lose it.

"He's really funny," she goes on. "Plus, his mom sounds just like mine."

"Is she a controlling psychopath, too?"

"She seems it."

I chuckle. "You two truly are a match made in heaven."

"You know, I've never had a boyfriend before," she confesses.

My eyes widen. "Really? The day we met, you made it seem like you've gone out with a dozen guys."

"I know, but I haven't. I've never even kissed a guy," she says. "Keaton is older. He's dated girls. He admitted to not being a virgin. Do you think he'll expect me to have sex with him?"

"Probably, but that doesn't mean you have to."

"Doesn't it, though?"

I shake my head. "Ada, you can say no, even if you like him."

She looks puzzled. "Hmm, I guess you're right."

"Are you going to tell him about your gift?" I inquire.

"You mean about the ghosts?" She smiles without showing her teeth. "I kind of already did...."

"Ada! What if he tells people?" All my life, I've kept Damian's secret. He never wanted anyone to know. Ada, it seems, advertises her ability on a roadside billboard. "You've known him for—"

"One day. I get it." She rolls her eyes and leans against the sofa, hugging a pillow to her chest. "I don't know, Layla. With him, everything's simple. Everything's easy."

"I don't know what that's like," I admit.

"Really? You've never felt that way with anyone?" she asks. "What about Damian?"

"I love Damian, but sometimes I feel like I have to protect him," I say. "Sure, he has this amazing power that makes him virtually unstoppable, but he has a fragile heart."

"And that's why you never told him about your dad," Ada mutters, putting together the puzzle pieces.

I nod my head. "Exactly."

"Well, someday, Layla, you're going to meet someone, and they're going to make your whole world stop turning, but in a good way."

"I understand that's a metaphor, but it doesn't make sense."

"Just shut up and let me be in love," Ada rebuts, hugging the pillow tighter.

I don't understand love, but maybe that's because I was never shown love. Ever since I was a kid, I had to fend for myself, which meant scavenging for food amidst the wasteland that was our house, carrying my clothes to the laundromat and using couch cushion quarters to pay for a washer, and being overall self-sufficient before I understood what the word meant. I had help along the way—Damian and his family, teachers at school—but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the familial love my peers took for granted. Since I can't even comprehend love from a parent, romantic love is foreign to me.

In other words, when I begin to date, I'm royally screwed.