The food was delicious, as expected, and Marianne's corn bread was mouth-watering, John hadn't made empty promises. I was glad I had gotten to know Laura better. She was an ally here, the only other non-original family member at the party, even if she was marrying into it soon.

Although everyone was happy and enjoying themselves, I couldn't entirely shake my heavy heart. The Jays were a wonderful family, but they weren't my family. I had mentioned something about it to Laura earlier and she now made a special effort to incorporate me into the conversation. John and I were seated opposite Laura and Andrew, with Mr. and Mrs. Jay at the heads of the massive oak dining table. It was a beautiful piece. The wood was of great quality, the carvings along the edges and legs were imaginative and the finishing was professional. It had to have cost a small fortune.

"So, Grace, what's your family doing today? How come we are so lucky to have you for Thanksgiving?" asked Andrew. Laura shot him a glare and, I was fairly certain, kicked him under the table. "Ouch!" he hissed quietly. "Sorry, you don't have to answer."

"No, it's fine," I quickly said. I didn't want to seem rude or oversensitive. "Um, I think my dad and Grampa accepted a neighbor's invitation for dinner. She's a great cook and her family lives too far away to join her for Thanksgiving, so she likes to have people over. Neither my dad nor my Grampa are world-class chefs, so I know they're grateful to get a nice meal. Although it won't beat this," I said and sent a smile Marianne's way.

Marianne smiled back humbly. I was thankful no one asked about my mom and why I wasn't with her.

"You're majoring in psychology, aren't you?" asked Mr. Jay.

"Yes, sir."

"No 'sirs' at this table, please," he scolded in a good-natured way.

John placed his hand on the back of my chair. Even though I was sitting on the edge of the seat—it made me sit up straighter—my skin burned as if he were touching me. I didn't think I could have focused on the conversation if he had. Damn it. My infatuation was becoming a problem. A problem that was only getting worse with each hour I spent with John. Jessica's words floated into my head: 'Does he have a reason to be jealous?'

Maybe he does.

Thankfully, Mr. Jay swooped in and unknowingly saved me from the dizzying speed of my thought carousel. "So why psychology? Do you have any family background in psychology?"

I cleared my throat. "Not at all. I wanted to understand people better, but also myself, which is many people's motivation for studying psychology. And these people are disappointed when they find out that's not what happens. But I still enjoy it now that I know better."

"Grace wants to be a child psychologist," John offered and sent me a smile. My ears grew hot. It wasn't one of his prom king smiles. This one was more intimate. It wasn't for the audience. It was reserved for me. In my chest, my heart palpitated to the rhythm of his name playing over and over in my mind. John-John-John.

"That sounds challenging." Andrew sounded impressed.

"But rewarding," added Laura, and shot a sideways grin at her fiancé.

Marianne beamed at her daughter-in-law. "Oh, yes, Laura would know."

"As cliché as it sounds, I believe I can do a lot of good in that field, and I usually connect easily with kids." Mr. Jay nodded in approval which made me sit up straighter. I bet he could make or break his sons' good moods simply by virtue of granting or denying his approval.

What I didn't say was, after my parents had divorced, I should have had a therapist to talk to and was lucky enough to at least have had Grammy and Grampa, but no one needed all of my family issues sprawled out over Thanksgiving dinner. Truthfully, any question they could have asked me would have been a question about my family in some way. They had made me the person I was. With that in mind, I couldn't blame them for touching on a tender spot, because I seemed to be nothing but one big tender spot.

After the meal had finished and everyone had gotten up to lie down for a while, I entered the kitchen, carrying a dangerously imbalanced stack of plates and silverware. Focused on not breaking all the nice dishes, I only saw John and his mom when I had already barged in. They were hugging tightly, John's forehead resting on his mom's shoulder and her hand stroking his hair in a repeating motion. Once I noticed them, I silently stopped in my tracks, then turned around, trying not to make a sound. My face flushed for having interrupted such a private moment. When I looked over my shoulder to sneak one last glance, John half-smiled at me for a moment, then turned back to Marianne.

***

A creak and a thud forcefully ripped me from the friendly arms of sleep. I jolted awake, blinking away the sleep while shielding my eyes against the brightness flooding in through the window.

Where am I? My heart raced at a thousand beats per minute. A white couch. A covered porch. Right, the Jays'. Once I remembered and my eyes began to adjust, my breathing started to normalize. Only to pick back up again when my gaze fell onto John who was sitting on the swing seat opposite my couch. He was watching me, a smirk playing on his lips. I closed my eyes again for a second, running a hand through my hair and wincing at the resistance of some tangles that had appeared during my unplanned nap.

"Hey," I half-groaned, half-yawned. "What's up?"

"I didn't mean to wake you, sorry. I hadn't realized you'd fallen asleep out here."

After walking in on the familiar hug and seeing that Andrew, Laura, and Mr. Jay had headed upstairs, I had grabbed my book and started to read on the sofa in the winter garden—where I had evidently fallen asleep, my stomach so full I had felt like a tree log.

Now I leaned down over the edge of the white cushion to pick up An Abundance of Katherines, which had caused the thud earlier when I had knocked it to the floor. None of the edges or corners were damaged, whew. Carefully, I placed the book on the coffee table in front of me. Then I rolled back onto my tummy and rested my cheek against the makeshift bed.

"I'm sorry about intruding earlier." The sound came out muffled because half of my face was squished against the rough canvas.

"Don't be." John's smile turned sad just long enough for me to notice.

Propping myself up on my forearms, I kept my eyes trained on him. "Is... everything okay? I mean, are you? Okay?"

"It's nothing." The way he pressed his lips together while shrugging one shoulder was how I knew he wasn't okay and it was definitely something. This was how I tried not to cry in front of someone. After a brief moment, he opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then asked hoarsely: "This is entirely inappropriate, but—can I get a hug?"

"It's not at all inappropriate." It was a little inappropriate, but he needed me. And for once, he let me be there for him a little bit, so I wasn't going to let him down. "You can always get a hug."

Peeling myself off the couch, I quickly stood, as did he, and walked around the coffee table. Instinctively, I got on my tiptoes before I slipped my arms around his neck and rested my head against his chest. He reached around my back and pressed me up against his chest firmly while placing his cheek upon my head. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and let his spicy, earthy scent fog up my mind. The combination of his cologne and having gotten up too fast made my head spin, fast. My grip on him tightened to keep my balance.

What's going on? I'm worried about you. Let me help. Let me in. I didn't know if people could feel what you were trying to tell them through a hug if you focused on it hard enough, but just in case, I focused very hard. But I wouldn't push him, I couldn't. If he wanted to tell me, he would, eventually.

After what seemed every second too short, he pulled away, smoothed my hair where his cheek had been, and whispered: "Thank you."

Then, sinking back onto the swing seat, he patted the spot next to him and I sat, eliciting the same creak that had woken me up a few minutes ago. The sun was unseasonably strong through the windows, warming the back of my head. My pulse was still above normal thanks to John.

A lone bird chirped outside before a second one joined in the song. Grampa could have identified the type of bird. John and I were sitting on opposite sides of the seat now and I had pulled my knees up to my chest. He copied me and then our feet were touching. His well-worn gray-toed black tennis socks next to my tan sneaker socks with pink outlines of cat faces on them. He looked at my socks and his infamous smirk returned.

"Envy is not a good look on you," I said with a straight face, earning a chuckle from him.

***

For dinner, one piece of cornbread and some greens were all that was on my plate, just enough so I wouldn't wake up hungry during the night. While the Jays and Laura decided to watch some TV, I excused myself to drag myself into bed. The abundance of food and the socializing had drained my battery. It was probably good anyway to gain some distance from John after our moment earlier that afternoon, and they deserved some family time alone. As I was braiding my hair to get ready for bed, a small folded piece of paper on my bed caught my eye. I rapidly finished my braid and then unfolded the paper.

'I'm happy you're here. It means a lot.'

Oh. My God. John's handwriting usually ranged anywhere from passable to bad, but here, I could see the diligence in his neatly printed letters. Beside the words was a drawing of a cat face. It wasn't any cat, but recognizably the one on my socks. You're blowing this out of proportion, Grace. He enjoys spending time with a friend, that's all. But the note and his constant flirting and his gentle touches and the electricity between us and the fuzziness in my chest spoke a different language.

I folded and unfolded the note again. 'It means a lot.' My being here with his family for Thanksgiving or being here for him when he needs me?

The wind howled outside the window and I fidgeted with the tip of my braid. I had to write a note back. Should I let him know he meant a lot to me? Whoa, inappropriate. Or ask what it was that was bothering him? No, he'll tell me when he's ready. Should I apologize again for interrupting the moment with his mom, or thank him again for inviting me to Thanksgiving? No, originality is of the essence now.

Something funny like 'There's more where that one came from' or 'Being here—one of my many talents'? Yikes. After probably ten minutes and twenty-five foldings and unfoldings, I finally decided on the Pulitzer-Prize-worthy 'To me, too', adding a smiling kitty myself. Before I could change my mind, I snuck into his bedroom through the cracked door and placed the note on his pillow before slipping back into my own room and tossing and turning for a long time before finally falling into a sleep full of dreams of which I could only remember bits and pieces upon waking up.

Holy shit. I had it bad for him. So bad that I would need toface my feelings and seriously reconsider some things. But not tonight. Itwasn't like it would get worse until I got back to campus anyway.