gets him into just as much trouble as it makes people laugh.
I watch him carry on a conversation with my father’s two girls, and it’s clear they all have a special bond, a bond I hope to one day share with them as well. They know who Monica and I are and seem to be excited to get to know us. The one thing my father did right was telling them about Monica and I when they were younger.
An hour later, the tables are set, and all the food has been laid out, including the four large turkeys, which are a perfect golden brown.
“I can’t believe you girls did all of this,” Desmond says as his eyes scan the table.
We’re the last two still standing as everyone takes their seats, and I have to laugh. “You should have never doubted me.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans down to kiss me. “I never did, babe. Why do you think I was always so hard on you in class? I could tell you were a natural.”
“Aww.” My insides dance a little in my chest. “And now here we are.”
He smiles and then turns to our guests with a clap of his hands. “All right, everyone.” He waits for the group to quiet down and focus their attention on him. “Before we dig in, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming to our first annual Friendsgiving.” There’s a round of loud applause before he continues again. “Today would not have been possible without Monica and Maggie. I think we should all give them some love for all the hard work they put into our meal today.”
Desmond looks down at me and winks while everyone expresses their thanks. My face feels hot from all this attention—over cooking, of all things. But Desmond isn’t done. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he looks directly at me, making me feel like whatever he’s about to say next has something to do with me.
“As you know, Edible Desire is an accredited cooking school. We train amateurs, pros, and everything in between. And when you put in the hours and pass my final cooking exam, you receive a certificate.”
I shuffle in my stance and tilt my head at Desmond. What in the world is he bringing this up for? The thought of him humiliating me in front of our friends and family doesn’t seem like something he would do, but now I’m starting to wonder.
“Usually I hand out those certificates in class, but I thought I’d make an exception today.” He grins and leans over me to pull a manila envelope off the counter. I hadn’t even seen it sitting there. He slides out a familiar piece of white paper. A silver seal is on the top, and my name is written clearly on the line.
I gasp while my heart takes off, beating a million times a minute. “You didn’t.”
He chuckles along with most of the people in the room. By now, everyone knows our story and about that awful day when Desmond refused to hand over a certificate that I felt was so meaningless at the time even though I was stuck on the principal of it all. I’d wanted to prove a point more than I’d wanted to actually earn what I was so desperate to receive. But I get it now.
My throat tightens as tears threaten to spill.
“Maggie Stevens,” Desmond says with a grin. “Will you accept this cooking certificate?”
I laugh. “Yes,”
The room bursts into celebration as I take the certificate from Desmond and hug him tightly, not even caring who’s watching us as tears slide down my face and his lips find my cheek.
“It’s about damn time,” I say into his ear.
“I agree,” he says back. “But now you know you earned it.”
We exchange a smile before retreating to our seats and calling an official start to our feast.
It’s probably the longest dinner of my life, but I haven’t stopped laughing the entire night. My dad tells stories about Desmond and Zach as teens, Desmond retells the story about the lobster I didn’t want to kill, and I recount the story of me tripping at the end of the runway in New York. The fact that I can laugh at all the things that once embarrassed me to the core, makes me happier than I’ve ever felt. The night is entirely perfect.
“There’s only one thing missing,” I tell Monica once we’re finished eating. I don’t need to elaborate for