Say When - Micalea Smeltzer Page 0,51

at the nape of his neck from a shower. “Not all of us can be overachievers.”

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Thank you. I’m well aware of what day it is.”

“And I’m not letting you celebrate it alone, especially on a holiday dedicated to being with people you care about.”

I lean tiredly against the open door. “And you’re saying you care about me?”

“You know I do, Emilia. I told my mom I’m bringing a friend. Get ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“I’m not crashing your Thanksgiving.”

“It’s not crashing if you’re invited. Don’t make me supervise you.”

I narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He cracks a smile, squeezing past me into the apartment. I stare slack jawed as he plops onto the couch, kicks his legs up on the coffee table, and turns the T.V. on.

“Just make yourself at home.” Sarcasm drips from my words.

“I did, thanks. Now get ready.”

In record time I shower, do my hair and makeup, and manage to get dressed. Hayden looked nice, but not too dressy, so I opt for my nicest pair of jeans, a long sleeve white tee, and a camel-colored cardigan. Giving myself just a few seconds to assess my appearance in the mirror, I spritz some perfume on my body and turn off the light.

“I’m ready,” I call out.

I grab a bottle, filling it up with water. Hayden turns the T.V. off and stands, pulling his keys from his pockets.

“You look nice.”

“You do too,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I was still half-asleep before and didn’t say it.”

“Mind if I grab a water?” He points toward the fridge.

“Go for it.”

He opens it, immediately bursting into laughter. “You weren’t kidding about the Chinese takeout.”

“I was prepared. I certainly didn’t expect this.” I wiggle a finger between the two of us. “What exactly is your mom going to think when I turn up as your friend?”

“Whatever she wants.” He shrugs, bumping the fridge door closed with his hip. “Let’s go.”

Hayden drives an all-black Chevrolet Tahoe. Even the tire rims are black. The inside is sleek black and chrome, the new smell still clinging to the leather.

We don’t say much on the thirty-minute drive from Tysons to Alexandria. We pull up outside a white siding house with black shutters and a red front door. The vehicle’s engine has barely cut off when the front door opens and a tiny woman, probably barely five-foot, bustles out the door booking it for us.

“My boy!” His mother cries, holding out her arms as Hayden slips from the car.

I get out too, my shoes crunching on the gravel driveway. I suddenly feel very empty-handed. I wished he could’ve warned me so I could at least have brought a dessert or something. I feel rude showing up with nothing.

I can’t stand beside his car all day, so I force myself to walk around and meet his mom.

Hayden let’s go of the tiny woman and she smiles at me with kind eyes the same color as her son’s and brown hair streaked with silver. Her eyes are lined, her mouth too, and I know immediately this woman has done a lot of smiling and laughing in her lifetime.

“This is my friend Emilia. Her family couldn’t have the traditional dinner this year since her grandpa was ill and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

The short woman smiles at me, patting Hayden’s chest. “That’s my boy, always thinking of others.”

“Emilia,” he waves me forward, “this is my mother Joan.” He finishes the introduction.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” I hold out my hand, but she ignores it, instead grabbing me into a hug. Despite the fact that she’s shorter than me she somehow makes me feel draped in love. It’s a special person who can meet you and immediately make you feel loved and welcomed.

“All right come in, come in and get out of the chill.”

It’s not even that cold, but we follow her into the two-story cottage style home.

The inside of the house is the perfect reflection of the woman who lives there. The walls are a warm beige color with family photos, rugs scattered over the original hardwood floors, and those big couches that aren’t the nicest to look at but are so comfy you could get an entire night’s sleep on them without waking up once.

The traditional smell of Thanksgiving dinner cooking fills the air and my stomach rumbles. From the little smirk Hayden tosses my way I know he doesn’t miss the sound.

“Are you all hungry? Do you want