P.S. I Like You (21 page)

He looked at the closed door over my shoulder and then said, “Your brother invited me.”

“I know. Did he warn you about how crazy our house is?”

“No.”

“Well, here is your warning. You can leave now before anyone even knows you’re here if you want to.” I wanted to add that I wasn’t sure our house was exactly a better alternative to his. But that would mean giving away that I knew he was my pen pal.

“I told your brother I’d come,” Cade said.

“Fine. But I want to have a nice day so let’s call a truce, okay? Let’s not fight today … because it’s Thanksgiving.”

“Because it’s Thanksgiving?” he asked, one eyebrow going up.

I hadn’t meant to quote one of his letters again. It just came out. But he wouldn’t possibly guess that I was quoting him. I was the last person he would think was exchanging letters with him.

“Unless that much self-control is too hard for you,” I added, trying to cover.

“You’ve already broken the truce with that comment,” Cade pointed out with a half-smile.

“The truce doesn’t start until you enter the house.”

“And it ends the second I leave?”

“Yes.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand like we should shake on it.

I almost walked away from his outstretched hand but figured I should get a head start on playing nice.

I shook. “Good.”

When I tried to pull my hand back, he held on. “You look nice.”

“What?” I spit out. “No need to overdo it. I said no fighting. I didn’t say we had to think of compliments.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “This is going to be fun. And I sense it might be harder for you than it will be for me.”

“Because you’re used to being fake?” I bit my tongue before I said more.

“No, because you seem incapable of being nice.” He dropped my hand and opened the door, leaving me on the porch staring after him.

So had we called a truce or not? Sealing a truce with insults didn’t seem like a very promising start.

He was right, I wasn’t sure I could do this.

“Cade’s here, everyone!” I called, walking in behind him.

“Coach!” Wyatt came running down the hall. It looked like he was tempted to hug Cade, but then he held up his hand for a fist bump instead. Cade complied. Jonah appeared as well, and wanted his own fist bump.

“I’m Jonah. I’m seven and you’ll be my coach in two years,” he told Cade.

“Hopefully,” Cade said. “I might be away at college by then.”

“You can come back to coach me,” Jonah assured him.

“I hope I can. Wyatt, direct me to your mom. I have a gift for her.”

“Why did you bring her a gift?”

“Because it’s polite to bring people gifts when they have you over.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Wyatt said thoughtfully. “Except for birthday parties, but this isn’t a birthday party.”

Cade draped his arm over Wyatt’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

They left and I took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d just imagine Cade as the guy I’d been exchanging letters with, the
one my brother looked up to, not as the one who mocked me in the halls and warned guys away from me.

Just as I was about to see if my mom needed help in the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. I turned around and answered it. A guy holding a bottle of sparkling cider stood on the porch. His dark hair was a mess, but his clothes were wrinkle-free and dressy so I assumed the hair thing was purposeful. Considering my own hair on most days, I really should’ve been more forgiving of unruly hair.

“Hi,” I said.

“I’m Mark.”

Ashley’s friend … boyfriend? “Oh, right, food teeth guy.”

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Come in. I’m Lily.”

“Ah,” he said as if he now understood some mystery. What had my sister told him about me and how could I already have proven whatever that was in two sentences?

“Ash!” I yelled, stepping inside. “Your … boy is here!”

Ashley came sweeping into the room in a cloud of perfume and hairspray. I wasn’t even sure what about her hairstyle required hairspray, but she’d used a lot of it. “Mark! Hi! Oh is that for us?” She gestured toward the bottle he held. “Thank you.” She threaded her fingers between his and led him away.

When had our house become the destination for Thanksgiving visitors? The type that brought gifts? This was going to be the strangest Thanksgiving ever.

J
ust because our visitors had some form of etiquette training didn’t change my family’s manners. The second my father uttered the word
amen
, my brothers and little cousins dive-bombed the counter where all the food was laid out. They were digging through turkey pieces before anyone had a chance to move.

The kitchen became a flurry of activity—my mom taking lids and foil off of everything, my dad calling out for the dark meat, my sister pouring drinks, my grandparents directing from their places at the table, my aunt wrestling her daughter into a high chair while the baby screamed bloody murder and her other two kids ran circles around the counter, my uncle barking orders at
his
kids. Cade stood as if frozen to the tile, unsure of what to do. Visits to my house needed to come with a training manual.

I looked at the clock on the stove. It was 2:05 in the afternoon. One hour—that’s how long Cade would last before he made an excuse to leave. I’d bet my broken guitar on it.

I gave him a smirk. “I warned you. And if you want any food, you’ll have to take the plunge.”

He did just that. In two steps he had a plate and was filling it expertly. He wound in and out of bodies until he arrived at the end of the counter, where Ashley held up a drink for him. I was the only one frozen to the tile now. The empty roll basket mocked my amateur move of waiting too long. Wyatt’s plate had three rolls precariously stacked and I snagged one as I walked by.

“Hey!”

I patted his head and took a bite, then grabbed a plate. The table was already full as were the bar stools at the counter. So after I filled my plate, I went outside to the picnic table where it was possible to eat comfortably in November, because it was Arizona—the state that tried to kill its inhabitants every summer but made them forget about its attempt by being exceptionally kind every winter.

I dropped a green bean into the rabbit cage as I walked by. Then I sat down. Soon I was joined by Ashley (and her boy). And then Cade came out. My stomach dropped. He was Wyatt’s guest. Shouldn’t he have stayed inside with him?

Mark looked a little deflated, his wild hair flatter than it had been upon arrival. “It’s much quieter out here,” he noted, looking around in relief.

“Not for long,” I said.

“Well, I can’t stay too long, anyway,” he said.

Wow, ten minutes and Mark was already laying down the exit strategy.

“You can’t?” Ashley asked.

“I told you, right? My grandparents are expecting me soon.”

I waited for Cade to say something similar, jump on the easy excuse, but he was too busy eating.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Ashley said to Cade. “You’re Wyatt’s coach, right?”

Cade looked up, and swallowed. “And Lily’s friend,” he said, winking at me.

“You two are friends?” Ashley asked, the surprise in her voice a little insulting.

“More like acquaintances,” I said coolly.
Who hate each other
, I almost added but stopped myself in time. “We hang out in completely different groups.”

The back door flew open and Jonah and two of my cousins came running out. The two little ones went straight for the grass but Jonah went to the rabbit cage.

“Hey, Coach!” Jonah called. “Do you want to see Bugs Rabbit?”

“You mean Bugs Bunny?” Cade said.

“No, it’s a rabbit.”

Cade looked at me and I smiled. “It’s a rabbit,” I echoed.

“Of course it is.” Cade nodded to Jonah. “Yes, I see him. Very cool.”

Jonah opened the cage and both Ashley and I said, “Leave him inside.”

“I’m just holding him.” Jonah brought the rabbit out and over to show Mark and Cade.

“Have you ever eaten rabbit?” Mark asked. “It’s actually pretty good.”

Jonah’s mouth fell open and Ashley shoved Mark’s shoulder with a laugh. “He’s just kidding, Jonah,” she said.

A second too late, Mark nodded his head. “Yes. Just a joke. We won’t eat Bugs Bunny.”

“Bugs Rabbit,” Cade said before Jonah could. Cade scratched the rabbit behind the ears and Jonah must’ve taken that to mean he wanted to hold him because he dropped the rabbit in Cade’s lap. Cade let out a grunt, obviously surprised, and couldn’t wrap his arms around the rabbit in time. It hopped up onto the table and somehow managed to step in every plate in under five seconds, each one of us reaching for but missing it.

Finally, I stood and picked it up. This was my first time picking up the evil pet, though, and apparently I didn’t know how because its back legs became like mini saw blades, its nails chewing into my arms. I let out a shriek and dropped the rabbit and it took off across the yard.

I studied my arms. Most of the cuts were surface scratches, but one longer one beaded with a few drops of blood. When I looked up, Cade was chasing Bugs with Jonah on his heels.

“Seriously, rabbit is tasty,” Mark said then chuckled at his own joke. “Just sayin’.”

Cade dove, arms outstretched, and managed to land perfectly, capturing the little pest. Jonah cheered and my two cousins who had joined in the chase jumped up and down,
clapping. Cade, on the ground, rolled onto his back, bringing the rabbit onto his chest. The rabbit now looked like a docile kitten as Cade stroked its fur.

“He’s going to pee on you,” I called.

Cade laughed as if this was a joke, now with all three of the kids sitting in the grass at his sides and petting the rabbit. No, it wasn’t the cutest thing ever. I refused to admit that.

Cade picked a few strands of grass and was trying to feed them to the rabbit.

“He doesn’t like grass. He eats carrots and lettuce and pellets,” Jonah informed him.

“What are pellets?” Cade asked.

“I don’t know but they smell gross.”

Cade laughed again, a deep genuine laugh, and all the kids joined in. I was glad he was enjoying himself. The letter about his normal family Thanksgivings was not a happy one. I guess I could be glad for him today. Tomorrow, all bets were off.

Jonah relieved Cade of the bunny and tucked it away in his cage. Ashley and Mark took the contaminated plates inside. My little cousins went back to picking weeds that looked like flowers. Cade stayed on his back on the grass, hands clasped behind his head, ankles crossed. My feet had a mind of their own because they walked to stand next to him.

He squinted up at me. “Your brother’s cute.”

“He knows it, too. Kind of like someone else I know,” I muttered, before I could stop myself.

Cade laughed. “You’re not talking about me, right? Because we have a truce.”

It had been a joke … sort of … but he was right, we had a truce. “You have grass stains on the knees of your pants now.”

He lifted one leg and looked, then put it down and patted the grass next to him. “Sit down.”

I didn’t take kindly to commands but, again, my brain didn’t seem to be in control of my body. I sat. Cade rolled onto his side to face me, propping himself up with one elbow. Then he just stared at me. For so long that I began to squirm under the scrutiny.

I didn’t want to be the first person to say something but I couldn’t help it. “You should look into catching rabbits for a living. You’re not half bad at it.”

He smiled. “That would be almost as manly as becoming a cowboy.”

I laughed. “What are your career plans, anyway?” I asked, realizing we hadn’t ever talked about that in our letters before.

Cade sighed. “You sound like my dad.”

I noticed that he didn’t say stepdad, even though I assumed that’s who he was referring to. “Was that supposed to be an answer?”

“Baseball. Those are my plans for now. Let me know if you hear of any rabbit catcher openings though.”

I knew a non-answer when I heard one. But I was used to Cade sharing with me (in his letters, at least). And, even
though it made no sense, it hurt a little that he wasn’t willing to do that now, in person.

But of course he wouldn’t open up to me, Lily. I wasn’t someone he liked. I wasn’t whoever he thought the letter writer was.

“Are you still hungry?” I asked, changing the subject. “There’s probably more food inside.”

“No, I’m good. I actually ate at my house before coming here.”

“Then why did you come?” I asked.

“Because your brother invited me. He’s a good kid.”

I ran a flat hand over the top of the grass, letting the blades tickle my palm. “Is that the only reason?” I wanted him to talk about home. Vent, like he had in the letters. If he’d had a bad morning, I wanted him to talk about it. Maybe I wanted to prove to him that he could talk to me.

“Did you want there to be another reason?” He tilted his head and lifted one side of his mouth into a half-smile. I realized what I’d just implied without the context of the letters.

“No! Of-of course not,” I stammered, willing my face not to turn red. “I just wondered why your parents didn’t make you stay home. My parents don’t let me leave on Thanksgiving.”