John pulled his silver BMW into the Jays' driveway in Westchester County late on Tuesday afternoon. We had gotten off school late this year, only two days before Thanksgiving, and had to be back on campus on Sunday, rendering the break shorter than usual, but it was what it was. I was secretly a little relieved in case I didn't feel comfortable at John's. As much as I was looking forward to meeting his family and getting to know him in a very personal setting, I would have still preferred to spend the holiday with Dad and Grampa had Dad not left me with little choice.

Liam hadn't taken the news well.

'Tell me I misheard that.'

'You didn't. John invited me to his place for Thanksgiving and I'm going.'

'Don't you want to see your mom and Elsie?'

'It's not up for discussion.'

'Why didn't you say anything? I would have invited you in a heartbeat.'

'I like the pace of our relationship. I don't want to rush things.'

'So you rush to say yes when a virtual stranger invites you to their home?'

'He's not a stranger, he's my friend.'

'You knew I'd be upset.'

'Yes.'

'And you still did it? Wow. Maybe it's really for the best that we spend a few days apart so we can think about how committed we are to this relationship.'

And by 'we', he meant me. I had had to promise him to stay in touch throughout the week—a reasonable condition. He was right: I had known this would cause him pain, and I had still done it. God, when did I become a person who walks around deliberately hurting people she cares about? A tight knot of thick, inky guilt sat in the pit of my stomach. Keeping him posted on the bourgeois adventures at the Jays' into whose neighborhood we were now turning was the least I could do.

The Jay home was located in a prototypical suburban dream with spacious houses painted in varying shades of white: eggshell white, snow white, icy white, ivory. I could picture a soccer mom and business dad at Lowe's or Bad, Bath & Beyond picking out their perfect shade of white from a pallet, convinced this was the eminent feature that would make their beautiful home stand out from the other, slightly less beautiful homes.

The front door was framed by two large pumpkins and cheerful leaf streamers in seasonal colors were slung around the canopy, as seen on every house on their street. Being from the countryside, I couldn't help but wonder if people felt trapped in this closely settled, cemented neighborhood. The pomp of the New York suburb made me shudder with its staged humbleness, its exaggerated welcomeness, its exclusivity. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but marvel at the movie-like atmosphere.

John pulled up in the driveway and parked in front of the garage. I bet their garage was full of stuff like John's childhood tricycle, balls and bats, and Christmas decorations in cardboard boxes labeled Ornaments etc.

"Are you ready to go in or do you want to stay here and stare for a while?" John's teasing snapped me out of my trance.

Only then did I realize I'd probably been sitting in his car for a good minute fascinated by the house. When I looked over, he was grinning at me. Blushing, I rolled my eyes and unfastened my seatbelt.

My fluster only made him laugh. "Come on," he said and leaned over me to open my door. Instinctively, I sucked in my stomach and held my breath, my heartbeat jumped into my throat. Only when he got out on his side did I take a deep breath. Get a grip, girl. I followed him to the trunk and was going to sling my big duffel bag over my arm when he took it from me and slid it over his own shoulder.

"No, John, I've got it," I pleaded, but my nerves made it come out like a whine. "I need something to hide behind."

He glanced at me for a second, then smiled and shook his head, heading toward the front door, carrying both my duffel bag and his. A frustrated sigh escaped me. I'm not kidding, I wanted to hiss, but refrained from it in case it could be heard inside. I was meeting his parents, after all. —Which shouldn't have mattered, I was meeting a friend's parents. But I suddenly realized he had told me almost nothing about them, and it hadn't crossed my mind to ask him on the drive. Damn it. I liked to be prepared, how could I have forgotten to ask about his parents?

John rapped on the white massive wooden door which opened. A short, brunette woman with a friendly, round face flung a warm "Welcome!" our way and pulled her son into a hug. Mrs. Jay had the same hazel eyes and golden brown hair as John—or rather vice versa. In contrast to her son's 6-ish feet, however, she was only about 5'6". Her build was lean, but not athletic.

His height, straight nose, and prominent chin John had gotten from his dad, I realized as Mr. Jay appeared behind his wife. His hair was short and dark with only a few gray ones in between. He had dark brown eyes, was about thirty or thirty-five years older, I estimated, but had aged well and was every bit as handsome as John in his own way.

"Grace, welcome!" called Mrs. Jay and shook my hand as John and his dad man-hugged with a strong pat on each other's back. "It's such a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you so much for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Jay. The pleasure's all mine," I said sweetly and only exaggerated a tad for the sake of a good first impression. After all, it was extraordinarily kind of them to let me crash their family holiday when they didn't even know me.

"I'm Marianne and this is my husband Robert."

"Welcome, Grace," Mr. Jay repeated, voice polite and handshake firm.

I recalled he was an attorney, so there was no doubt he needed this decisive handshake on a daily basis. Luckily, my family worked with their hands for a living and a firm handshake had been part of my upbringing. Even though he didn't say anything, Mr. Jay's eyebrows rose in approval for a fraction of a second.

"Well, come on in!"

I followed them across the doorstep and found myself in a short, narrow hallway from which stairs led to the second story. The floor was made of expensive-looking dark wood paneling and the wall was decorated with family photos in tasteful frames.

First, a young, beaming Mr. and Mrs. Jay looked dashing on their wedding day, then the two of them held a young boy with a full head of dark hair who, even as an infant, closely resembled his father, and then finally the entire family smiled for the camera. I stood in awe in front of a picture of the four by the seaside. John was maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, his brother must have been twenty-two, twenty-three. The two were wearing bright swimming trunks and had their arms slung around each other's shoulders. Despite the age difference, they were almost the same height, though his brother was more muscular. With all of them side by side, it was striking how much the brothers looked alike, even as John's brother was the spitting image of their father and John had inherited some features from both his parents.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" asked John as he reentered the hallway in search of me. Mr. and Mrs. Jay had passed through and were talking in what appeared to be the family room.

I pointed at the picture.

"Ah, our family vacation after Andrew's college graduation. We spent two weeks at a beach house in the Hamptons. But if you wanted to see me shirtless, all you had to do was ask. My abs are more toned now than they were back then."

I feigned indignation and slapped his arm. He had lowered his voice for the last two sentences, but I would have been mortified if his parents had heard. His Cheshire cat smile heated my cheeks. Seeing John half naked was exactly what I didn't need. Just because nothing was going to happen between us didn't mean I was over my crush.

Tired of always being the abashed one, I opted for an offensive strategy. "Sorry to hurt your ego, but I was ogling your brother."

Now it was my turn to grin at him, yet not for long.

"You'll be devastated to hear, then, that he's bringing his fiancée, Laura, to Thanksgiving dinner."

My hand flew to my chest, clamping it.

"Agh, did you hear that crack? I think my heart broke. Thanks a lot."

He laughed and ruffled my hair, ignoring my attempts to swat his hand away.

***

Nerves nibbed away at me at dinner that night. It wasn't because of anything they did. On the contrary, they were as welcoming as could be. John's mom had made a scrumptious eggplant parmesan upon hearing I was a vegetarian. It was his dad I was nervous about: I couldn't gauge his character. Attorneys always intimidated me with their aura of seriousness and professionalism.

Not wanting to shy away, though, I decided to strike up a conversation with him that I hoped couldn't go wrong.

"Mr. Jay, John tells me you were a Panther, too."

"That's right," he replied curtly and elegantly took a sip of water from his glass.

"What was your favorite place on campus when you were a student?"

He hesitated for a second and I was afraid I had asked the wrong thing.

"That's a great question." His eyes focused on the dark outside the dining room window, his face brightening at the memories flashing before his inner eye. His wife smiled at him expectantly, and the astute Mr. Jay drew his piercing eyes back to mine.

"I loved the campus, even if I used to get a little claustrophobic in the vastness of the countryside toward the end of the school year. I have some great memories of the dark, contorted corridors and almost-secret rooms at McCullough." In the direction of his wife, he added: "That's the student center. You wouldn't believe the mischief we were up to in that building."

I hadn't noticed his faint New York accent until he said 'cah-riddars'. John, now that I thought about it, showed the same feature in his speech. Like when he said 'Flah-rida' rather than 'Floor-ida'.

"Oh, try me, Robert," replied Mrs. Jay in the good-humored way I had already noticed as her signature. "I've known you for a couple of years now and I don't think you could shock me anymore."

Mr. Jay let out a deep laugh and tenderly covered his wife's hand with his.

"Well, it's mostly the pranks we planned there that I remember. We once dressed up one of the art statues on the lawn, that dog with the frisbee in its mouth, in a pink tulle tutu."

"Wow, dad, you were sooo cool." Irony dripped from John's voice as he rolled his eyes.

"You're right about that," Mr. Jay said, ignoring the stab and still smiling. "What is your favorite place on campus, Grace?"

I didn't have to think twice before answering: "The lawn near Bi-Hall, from where you can see the Green Mountains on the one and the Adirondacks on the other side. New England through and through."

Mr. Jay smiled. "That building didn't exist back when I was a student there, so if anything, we still had a better view of the Adirondacks. But I know what you mean, that spot is beautiful."

"Oh, of course! It was only built relatively recently."

John chimed in: "I can't imagine what it looked like before it was there. That whole corner of campus being empty, you know?"

His dad nodded. "Now can you imagine my bewilderment when we dropped you off your freshman year and I saw the new buildings with my own eyes for the first time? Also the new library, the arts center, the athletic center in its current form, and so on."

I was fascinated by the change only one generation had brought to the campus.

"So, do you generally look back at your time there fondly, Mr. Jay?"

"Robert, please. Yes, very fondly. I would have never pressured him, but it makes me happy that John chose the same school."

I smiled and tried to catch John's eye, but he was focused on cutting the small piece of eggplant parmesan left on his plate.

***

Dinner was over when Mr. Jay rose, and I didn't need to be asked to help carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen to hand them to Mrs. Jay who was loading the dishwasher.

"Thank you, dear," she said warmly.

"It's no trouble."

John had followed his dad to the study where Mr. Jay wanted to talk to him about some financial business involving John's grandmother, so it was only Mrs. Jay and me. I hadn't even known her for a day and I already liked her a lot. It bode well for the five days ahead.

"I was thinking, Grace, since you're a vegetarian and can't have turkey, will you have enough to eat for the holiday dinner? I'm making..."—she counted the items on her fingers—"mashed sweet potatoes, French potato gratin after a recipe from Laura's mom, green beans, roasted carrots, squash, and cornbread. Tell me what else you'd like and we'll get it for you."

"Mrs. Jay, that's plenty. And John declared your cornbread to be heavenly, so I will definitely not starve on your watch."

"Did he, now? It'd be nice to have him tell me that for a change," she retorted with a lopsided grin that reminded me of her son.

"So what are your plans for tomorrow, Mrs. Jay?"

"Grocery shopping and a ton of prepping for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. Making cornbread batter, stuffing and pre-baking the turkey, chopping the veggies. And of course cleaning the house. So nothing interesting."

"Would you mind if I lent you a hand?" I asked while running warm water in the kitchen sink.

"Would I mind? Of course I wouldn't mind, but I bet you and John have other plans, don't you?"

"I have no clue. It's not like he lets me in on his plans."

Mrs. Jay's smile mirrored my own and told me this sounded exactly like her younger son. I slid the wooden chopping board and two sharp knives into the sink, then squeezed a little bit of soap onto the sponge and washed those remaining dishes.

"But I'd like to help out where I can. It's the least I can do in return for your gracious invitation."

"You don't have to do that," Mrs. Jay said, pointing at the sink. I dismissed it with a friendly wave of my hand. "And you don't owe us, I don't want you to feel obliged."

"I want to. Perhaps I could help make a pumpkin pie if you'd like. I can get my Grampa to send me my late grandmother's recipe." Grammy's recipes were serious game changers, but I didn't say that so as not to seem too pushy.

"You know what? Sure, that'd be nice. My pumpkin pies never do turn out quite right, anyway. Thank you." I was sure her pies turned out perfectly, as did everything else in her household, but I appreciated her kindness.

After a moment, she continued: "Your dad is lucky to have you, I bet you also help out a lot at home."

So John had spoken to her about my family situation which had to mean they were close. Or maybe she had grilled him about the girl he had invited for Thanksgiving without even asking her first—unlike myself who had walked into this week blindly. I wondered how much she knew about me, about John's and my friendship. Deciding it wouldn't do me any good to keep myself guessing, I tried to push the thought aside.

"I like to think that I do and that he is. But with my dad working, it's always been obvious everyone has to pitch in."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "I hear you. I wish my sons had learned that lesson, too. Maybe their grandparents pampered them too much when they were little. But I don't want to slander them, they're good boys, and they've been helping out more as they've gotten older."

My smile never seemed to disappear when talking to Marianne. It was obvious her family meant a lot to her, and any criticism of her sons or husband, however legitimate, was irrelevant for the amount of love she had for them.

Without too much seriousness in my voice, I confirmed: "I can only vouch for one of them, of course, but I do think he could have turned out much worse."

At that moment, a door opened upstairs and the men's voices became louder. I looked toward the stairs, then back at Mrs. Jay. He would probably come downstairs in a minute, that way I wouldn't be rude and abruptly end the conversation. She smiled at me kindly, though.

"Speak of the devil, huh? Go on and head upstairs, hon, I'm pretty much finished down here. I believe John promised you a movie from his DVD shelf?" I nodded gratefully. "Well, I hope you enjoy your stay with us. We're happy to have you. Robert, too, even if he doesn't show it well—the boys definitely take after him in that domain." Then she winked. "Good night, Grace, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Mrs. Jay."

"Marianne."

My smile grew even wider if that was possible. "Goodnight, Marianne."