like her mother. Dating and men were a nonissue. Mostly due to lack of opportunity, but still, it wasn’t as if she laid awake at night longing for that special someone, not even the UPS guy, as cute as he was. She’d always been a bookworm in high school and could count the dates she’d had on one hand. College hadn’t produced any significant long-term romantic interludes. She’d made a couple of good male friends, but that was it. No matter, primarily she was content with her life. Really. She had her work and her books…though sometimes she missed sex. Her recent two-year dry spell was starting to get to her.
Briefly she thought about Marnie’s email. Maybe next year she’d venture out. Consider taking a cruise or a guided tour of France and Italy. She had enough money saved. Sharing the family home with her mother had its financial advantage. Laura Carter did not do well living on her own, and after divorce number three, Emily had agreed to move back into the large brick colonial to help out with the mortgage and expenses.
Two years later, they still got along great, rarely stepping on each other’s toes. Mainly, she suspected, because she spent so much time in her office and her mother was out and about most days. Ironically, or maybe tragically was more apt, at fifty-four, her mom had a more active social life than Emily did.
“I haven’t got all night, you two.” It was Pam yelling from the den. “Can we get on with this?”
Emily sighed. “Don’t be shocked, but I actually agree with her. Let’s get this over with.”
“You have a point.” She glanced at the clock. “I may still make it to bridge at Sheila’s.”
“Don’t see why not,” Emily muttered. “This shouldn’t take long.” Her mood had suddenly plummeted and she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t give a tinker’s damn that everyone but her had someplace to go tonight. She truly didn’t. Her irritation had more to do with how she knew the so-called family discussion would inevitably play out.
Oblivious to Emily’s crankiness, her mother led the way into the den, heading straight for the wet bar. Pam and Denise were sitting on the leather sofa, sipping their cocktails. Emily claimed the matching recliner and watched her mother pour herself a glass of white wine.
“I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind,” Emily said, aware that everyone turned to stare at her. She rarely drank, generally on a holiday or a special occasion, but that was it.
Sliding her feet out from the pink house slippers, she drew her legs up and curled them under her bottom, feeling a tad better just because she’d surprised them. Silly, but there it was.
Pam eyed the slippers with disdain. “I guess we know what you’ll be asking Santa for this Christmas.”
“A new sister?” Emily said sweetly.
Denise burst out laughing.
“Be nice, girls.” Their mother shook her head with mock disapproval and passed Emily the glass of wine.
Pam snorted, finished her drink and checked the time. “I know this is tradition and all, but honestly, we should’ve just done this on the phone. I assume Thanksgiving dinner will be at four,” she said, glancing at everyone and then promptly continuing, apparently requiring no agreement. “This year I’ll be in charge of drinks for the adults and kids, and there’s a fabulous new bakery around the corner from my office that’s taking orders for dinner rolls and pies, so I’ll take care of that, as well.”
“Store-bought pies and rolls?” Denise gaped. “Seriously?”
“Look, most of the time everyone is too stuffed for dessert, and shouldn’t we give Emily a break? Unless you’re planning on making the turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and yam casserole?”
Denise flushed and slid Emily an apologetic look. “I figured I’d bring the salad, cranberry sauce and nuts as usual. We’ll be arriving home that morning after skiing in Vail so I won’t have time to actually cook.”
Pam raised her brows at their mother. “You’ll take care of the peas and pearl onions?”
“I’ll be gone overnight to Chicago myself. I promised Carla I’d go shopping with her before the Christmas rush. But I think I can handle the peas and onion dish. I know how much Mark looks forward to it.”
“How fun. Chicago will be perfect. I bet the city will have decorated for Christmas by then,” Pam said, and went on to describe the surprise she had for her husband.
With growing frustration, Emily listened to them discuss their respective plans for shopping and visiting friends and skiing. Firmly reminding herself that this was as much her fault as it was theirs didn’t seem to help. No one had bothered to ask her what she wanted to contribute or even if she felt like tackling the epic meal. They assumed she’d be in charge, just like they did every holiday. It was a task to which she herself had always acquiesced without complaint.
She quietly cleared her throat. “I won’t be here.”
Pam and Denise abruptly looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief.
Their mother, who was in the middle of relating an anecdote about her last Chicago shopping trip, stopped talking. Obviously she hadn’t heard Emily. Looking confused, her gaze skipped to each of her daughters. “What?”
“Repeat that,” Pam ordered.
“I won’t be here for Thanksgiving.” Just saying the words scared the living daylights out at her, but too bad. She’d had it.
“You’re kidding.” Denise frowned. “Where else would you be?”
Emily hesitated, her heart thudding. “New York.”
“Seriously,” Denise said in a suspicious voice. “New York. You never go anywhere, and you’re suddenly going someplace like New York?”
“I thought it would be fun to do my shopping there this year.” Emily gritted her teeth at the amused way Pam and her mother were staring at her. They thought she was bluffing. Oh, God, there’d be no backing out now.
“And when were you going to tell us you had other plans for Thanksgiving?” Pam asked with that hint of reproach her older sister had mastered over the years.
“As soon as you guys bothered to ask.”
Pam made a sound of exasperation. “But you always… This is because of the UPS guy, isn’t it? Really, Emily, you so need to get laid.”
“Come on, girls.” Their mother pinned them with a warning look she hadn’t used since they were in high school.
Emily huffed out a laugh. Not that she’d ever admit it in this lifetime, but her sister was right. Getting laid was exactly what Emily needed. And New York sounded like the perfect place to do it.
THE FLIGHT HAD BEEN BUMPY, the layover in Detroit endless and now dark threatening clouds hovered over LaGuardia airport as Emily stood at the curb waiting for a shuttle to take her to the overpriced Manhattan hotel that she had impulsively allowed Marnie to book. At least her bag had made it. Two other women standing at baggage claim next to her found out that their luggage had gone to Florida by mistake.
Although, even if she and her bag had parted ways, the loss would’ve been minimal. She’d purposely packed light. No baggy sweats,
