Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
THANKSGIVING DAY
The plane ride to Knoxville was uneventful. My rental car is teeny tiny, but it will get me to Gatlinburg, where my Super Squad, badass bitch Jinny lives. She is getting her master’s degree at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville and while she’s not staying at her parent’s house, she’s here a lot. I make it to her house a little early and fuck, I should have waited in the car. Mr. Spruce is an obnoxious, narcissistic, asshole. I always thought Jinny was exaggerating, but if anything, she undersold the man. I’ve never felt so wholly uncomfortable in someone’s house before. I am standing at the kitchen counter, next to Jinny’s mom, stirring the gravy. I’m not much of a cook, but it’s the least I can do since she is literally doing everything else.
“Wife, when is this going to be ready? I want to watch the football game,” Mr. Spruce says, coming into the kitchen. Jinny went down to the basement for a bottle of wine, so it’s just me and her mom right now.
“Ten minutes, Jim,” she says, walking over the refrigerator. “Have a beer while you wait. Would you like some appetizers?”
“No, the beer is fine,” he says taking the one she offered him. No thank you, nothing. Ugh.
“You’re not mine. Who are you again?” he asks, pointing his beer bottle at me.
“I’m Hope Malone. I went to college with Jinny.”
“Right. I remember you from that godawful graduation when in snowed, in May.”
“Yes. I was there,” I say smiling. It barely snowed. I think it was something like .3 inches of snow, nothing to write home about.
“What do you do?” he asks. I don’t think he’s being polite since he sneered when he said it.
“I work for the United Nations. I’m a French interpreter.”
“You make good money doing that?”
“I do okay,” I say, totally uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“What do your parents think about this?” he asks while I wonder where the hell Jinny is? Is this what she deals with all the time?
“They are proud of me. I’m the first person on either side of my family to graduate from college.” Both of my parents went a couple of years but got married and jobs before they could finish. They talk about going back but haven’t done it. They are in their early forties; they could go back. They are still young.
“I bet they are.”
“You know, Jinny is going to be a great teacher.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Jinny’s mom declares, circumventing what was sure to be a terrible remark about Jinny.
“Finally. Let’s get this show on the road,” he says. Her mom nods and ushers him to the dining room table. It seriously looks like a spread a food magazine.
“Gorgeous table, Mrs. Spruce,” I say more than a little shocked that Mr. Spruce is holding her chair out for her. He might be an asshole, but I guess a southern gentleman never goes out of style.
“Thank you, dear. Do sit down,” she says gesturing to the seat on her left. When Jinny comes in she slides into the chair closet to her dad. Do they have assigned seats? He’s at the head of the table. His wife is to his left and Jinny to his right. She guzzles from her glass of wine after pouring it almost to the brim. Weird. I guess every family is different though. I’d be at home right now, but my parents got a great deal on a cruise through Norway, and I couldn’t let them pass it up. Once Jinny heard that she invited me here. I didn’t even think about or tell anyone. I got a ticket and here I am.
But our house is very different. My mom and dad both cook. My dad usually does the turkey while mom takes care of all the fixings. Once I was old enough, I think ten or so, I started the deserts. Even though it’s just the three of us, it’s loud and happy. Nothing like this stilted shit show. We end the night decorating our fake Douglas Fir, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to Christmas music. I doubt any of that is happening here.
We are back in Jinny’s apartment by eight. In her two-bedroom space, she has four Christmas trees ready to go up. I help her with the biggest one, her real one. I know this girl lives for Christmas. She was obsessed with when we were in college. She’s the girl that celebrated it starting November 1st. It no less adorable now then it was then.
“I’m sorry about that, I feel like I should have properly warned you about them,” she says as we wrap the tree in tinsel.
“Don’t apologize to me for them, Jinny. It wasn’t that bad,” I lie.
“Liar,” she says laughing. “So, tell me what’s been going on with you?”