thank you, part 1

November 2087. Blossom McCarthy is 28, George is 33, Abe is 9 months. Vicky Garth is 23. Amy Jones is 21, Blair is 20. Nobuo Akiyama is 55, Mayumi is 53, Vale is 27. 

previously: the dirty French song // what would you do with it if it happened?

Thanksgiving for the McCarthy and Akiyama families was a cheerful time. This was Blossom’s first year hosting the holiday as a mother—baby Abe’s first Thanksgiving. They couldn’t be more thankful. Both sides of the family were expected in full attendance. The feast would be delicious. Blossom’s mother was the star chef today, although Vicky and Amy helped, too. Blossom wasn’t much of a cook, so she put herself in charge of refilling drinks and lifting spirits. 

This blend of blood-family and friend-family had grown together so beautifully. Blossom's parents loved George and his siblings. The McCarthy clan all adored Blossom's parents and even her unruly little brother, Vale. In-laws became friends. Friends became family.  

And there were three vegetarians in one family, so it was decidedly a convincing tofu roast on their menu. The meat-eaters didn't dare complain. 

The day couldn’t have been more perfect. 

That is, until Vale showed up with a girlfriend.

Vale never brought girls “home” and yet, to have thoughtlessly brought such a casual girl to a family holiday for the very first time was both very unlike him, yet also unsurprising. Vale would do just such a thing without a second thought.   

His mother engulfed him with a hug. "My big star, I feel like we hardly see you anymore."

Then his sister, Blossom. "So who's your girlfriend?" 

“Whoa, girlfriend is a strong word!” he said. “Nayali just moved to the city, I couldn’t let her spend Thanksgiving alone.”

Vicky stole a peek sideways to see if the girl agreed to that assessment. She seemed neutral. Whoever she was, she was clearly his type. Dressed in black and leather and ennui, they belonged together so hard. They both had the flushed look of having been together hard. Watch them fall in love, Vicky imagined, and get married and have a bunch of black-clad edgy babies. 

“Vomit,” Vicky whispered under her breath. 

She backed slowly out of the foyer and checked out of this overwhelming Vale-adoration-fest!

Because she just felt very prickly about it. All his phone calls, when he said he was bored and still pumped from a show, when he asked, “you awake?” when she shouldn’t have been awake but part of her always waited just a bit longer to see if he’d call, he never mentioned a girlfriend. She felt silly now for assuming he didn’t have one. Obviously he had girlfriends. He was cute and cool and getting more and more famous by the minute—he probably had lots of girlfriends. Maybe he called Vicky after they fucked? Maybe the girls slept beside him as he talked to her?

Vicky needed to breathe.

 

But Vale came to the living room to find her before she had much of a chance.

“There you are,” he said. “Almost didn’t see you, I thought your sweater was a throw blanket.” 

Vicky sneered at him, sneered at the foyer where Nayali was still chatting with his mother. “So when did that start?”

“Oh, Nayali?” He gave Vicky a look, amused that she cared, which also made Vicky feel prickly. “I met her last week.” 

Good, Vicky thought. Maybe no edgy babies just yet. Although she acknowledged harboring a certain festering disapproval—shouldn’t he be allowed to have edgy babies with that girl if he wanted to? 

No, it seemed, however that made sense. That was not okay with Vicky at all. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You hate her already? You haven't even officially met.” 

“Oh, I’ve hated people way faster than that.”

“I bet you have,” he said. “The sweater is cute, by the way. In a little old blue-haired lady kind of way. But if you’re wearing granny sweaters now, then I wonder what you’ll wear when you’re old?” 

“Fishnets and leather.”

A laugh burst out of him. “That’s wild, I have to see that.” 

It pleased Vicky to make him laugh, so she decided to be about ten percent less mad at him.

The three of them were put at the little kids' table. Although Blair had a place at the dining room table next to Amy, he joined them in the living room, too. 

But you wouldn’t guess there were four people in this room. Vicky and Vale dominated the conversation with their funny stories to tell and lighthearted debates to settle. You would assume they hadn’t spoken to each other in months. But no, it had only been a few hours since Vicky last texted him, “Blossom wants to know if your punk ass is coming to Thanksgiving. Also, you’re in charge of soda.”

Which he forgot to bring, thus encouraging everyone to drink more booze than they might have otherwise. Maybe that’s why, tonight, every joke felt funnier. Or was it because she could see the laughter in his eyes, not just hear it. Every debate felt deeper—because, he said, “It’s hilarious how you manage to contort such a pretty face into a scowl.”

“I’m not scowling,” Vicky said. “That’s just how I look.”

“Hmmm,” Vale said, studying her. “No, I don’t think so. Not all the time.”

Then, from her silent watch, Nayali said, “I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“Figure out what?”

Nayali pointed at Vicky. “Whether she’s your ex.”

They both laughed awkwardly. “No,” they said. 

“But you slept together?”

Blossom just happened to enter the room as Nayali asked that. She was scandalized. “Wait! What? Did you guys sleep together?” 

Nobody else in the room seemed surprised at the question, and in fact, Blair looked up from his plate to listen for the answer. 

“No,” Vale and Vicky said together again.

Nayali excused herself to the restroom. 

“Shit, you guys,” Vale said. “She’s mad.” 

“No, probably not,” Vicky said. “Probably just snuck off to do a line of coke.” 

Vale flashed her his signature, What the hell? look.  

“Vicky, be nice,” George said. 

“But I guess it wouldn’t be super gross if you did,” Blossom said. “What would that make our kids, though?”

Vale looked like he might implode. “Jesus! Now we're having kids?” 

“Blossom, George isn’t my brother by birth.” 

“Oh, right,” Blossom shrugged. “I guess.” 

Amy finished her meal and came into the living room then. “What’s up, you guys? What are we talking about?”

“Kids,” Vicky said.

“Coke,” Vale said.

 

Amy grinned. “Is there any Coke? I’d kill for a Diet Coke, but I’m trying to cut down on caffeine. You know, I’m kind of off the pill and just seeing what happens.” 

Then, thankfully, the subject was changed for good. Amy's babies! Everyone was eager to know when Amy and Blair might have a little one. They were still very young, of course, so no rush. Amy wouldn’t graduate until May, and they were still living in a tiny apartment. But plenty of firstborns had been born in tiny apartments before. Wouldn’t it be sweet to have another little cousin in the family for Abe to play with?

Thank you, Amy, for being so adorable and oblivious and fertile. 

Around eight o’clock, baby Abe reached his bedtime, so Blossom took him upstairs, warning, “Quiet voices, everyone!”

Nayali might have been doing several lines in the bathroom, or perhaps the vegetarian roast hadn’t set right with her. If she was around, they didn’t notice her. They went to the kitchen for refills, but they never quite made it back to the living room. They talked in whispers, standing just a bit closer. To be respectful, of course, since there was a baby sleeping upstairs. And Vale needed to ask Vicky, very seriously, “Who put that giant tree up your butt, and do you need assistance in removing it?”

“Why?” Vicky said. “Are you offering to help? Are you a butt tree removal specialist? Because I only want the best poking around my nether parts.”

Vale cracked up too loudly. 

“Shhh, baby’s sleeping,” Vicky said. 

“Wait, I have to show you something.” 

He pulled out his phone. He tried to explain to her over the phone about how his number got leaked to the public, and now he got strange texts and voicemails from completely random people at all hours of the night and day. 

“You didn’t believe me. Look at all these. Sometimes they're mean, but this one thinks I’m hot.” 

“I bet you love that. That’s why you’re not changing your number. You just want women to tell you how hot you are all day long.” 

“It doesn’t hurt to hear,” he said.  

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You must have heard it enough by now.” 

“Huh, why would that be? Do you agree that I'm hot?"

"Stop it," she said.  

“I need a refill," he said. "You want something?” 

“Yeah, totally.”

Drink number four, maybe. It might have been five. Nobody was counting anymore.

“So you made the gyozas?” Vale said. “They were good.” 

“Well, it was your mom who taught me. Did you never learn how?” 

“Nah, I don’t cook,” he said. “I know all the best food trucks in the city. Who wants to cook?”

“You should take better care of yourself. You need vegetables and sleep.” 

“Vodka, pizza rolls, and coffee.” He shrugged. “And well, the gyozas have vegetables in them. But I came across this curry place back home. Really good food. They have a vegetarian curry. It made me think of you.” 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” she said. “Vegetables make you think of me?” 

“You should come out to California sometime.” 

“Me? What would I do there?” 

“You know, whatever you want.” With me, he didn’t say. “There’s karaoke, art galleries, a candle shop you’d like, herbal shops you'd love, nightclubs you’d hate, parks, garden centers, bowling.” 

The idea of him in bowling shoes amused her. “You don’t strike me as the type who bowls. Isn’t that too unstylish, too uncool?”  

“You think I’m stylish and cool?” 

Vicky rolled her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“It would please you too much,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it.” 

“Well, I can’t beat all the style in this sweater, I’ll give you that.” He reached to her arm and pulled on one of the bows. “Are these drawn on, or what?” 

“It’s cozy, I hate being cold.” 

“California is warm.” 

“Well, maybe I’ll come out sometime. But you promised me garden centers and vegetarian curry.” 

“You have my word.” 

It might have been the only and best promise anyone ever made her. It made her want to believe him.

“Guess what,” he said. “I know you’ve had at least three vodkas tonight. How about that dirty French song?” 

“Oh my God, how do you even remember that? Wasn’t that like last winter?” 

“You did promise.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call that a promise.” Vicky giggled, feeling light, feeling generous. “But, okay. Maybe just this once.”  

Vicky remembered the lyrics in French, somehow, even though she’d forgotten the exact translation. She remembered it was dirty, though. Or else someone had once told her it was. So she sang it low and sultry. When she looked up, his eyes were closed, blissful. 

“Wow,” he said.  

“Happy? Was it amazing? Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” 

She expected him to scoff or poke fun, but he just stared at her, looking pleased, a bit solemn, and overwhelmingly genuine. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Vicky was awestruck for a moment. With Vale, she sometimes felt what she could only describe as sparkling. She’d felt it before, she’d felt it often. She always thought of it like sparklers on a summer night. Aren’t they just dazzling? But if you’re not careful, they’ll burn off your hand. Vicky had been burned too many times before. 

Quick, crack a joke, she told herself, because things were getting too serious, too real. Is that why she liked to make him laugh so much? Vicky would escape gladly into that happy reprieve where things were playful and fun and nobody could get hurt. 

The drinks were strong, and the room was warm, and Blossom and George went to bed because the baby would be up at seven in the morning, and their parents were settling down to sleep in the guest room, and only Amy and Blair were around somewhere. And Vale’s girlfriend. Who? They’d forgotten about her. But here she was.

“You know you’re my ride, right?” 

Nayali entered the room so quietly, neither of them could have said how long she'd been standing there. 

“Yeah, oh,” Vale said, remembering the girl’s existence. “Yeah, I guess everyone went to bed?” 

“A while ago,” Nayali said. 

“Has it been that long?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Oops,” he said. “Sorry.” 

“We got that room, the place with the hot tub?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Vale looked frozen for a second, then then he turned to Vicky and handed her his half-finished drink. “I have to say goodnight to my mom.” He darted up the stairs.

Vicky chuckled at the idea—he thought he was such hot stuff, but he was the kind of guy who couldn't leave before kissing his mother goodnight. It was sweet. And, in a way, maybe that made it hot. Vicky thought about that for a moment. Then she finished her drink. She finished his, too, and took the glasses to the kitchen. When she returned to the foyer, Nayali was still standing there, staring at her.

“So what do you do, exactly?” Nayali asked.

“Um, I don’t know,” Vicky said. “I tried a few things. Failed at a few things. Now, I’m studying to be a pharmacy tech. And you?” 

“I'm a model.” 

“Oh, uh, good for you?” 

Nayali shook her head. “I don’t get it.” 

“What don’t you get?” 

Nayali looked Vicky up and down—the mousy hair, the frumpy grandma sweater. She had a look of complete bafflement on her face. She knew she was taking Vale home tonight, that she would get him in that hot tub, and if she wasn’t too pissed at him, she might even fuck him senseless. But somehow she was still clearly out of her league with this frumpy nerd. 

“He’s an actual rock star. And you’re... you.” 

Make no mistake, Vicky was offended. But she also felt too light and happy to get mad. It must have been a miracle—Vale, the expert butt tree removal specialist, had succeeded in the task after all? 

However, even if not mad, she did feel mischievous, and even triumphant—though she couldn't say what exactly she achieved. 

Vicky shrugged. “To be honest, I’m pretty hard core. You know Summer Phoenix?” 

“The actress? Like you do?” 

“Heh, I do actually. We went to high school together, back home in Lakeside Heights. I kicked her ass in the courtyard at graduation.”  

Vicky balled up her fists at Nayali and pretended to lunge. “Come at me, bitch.” 

Nayali jumped back, stunned, wobbling on her high-heeled boots. 

Vicky laughed. 

Vale came downstairs. “Ready?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Nayali said.  

“See 'ya, Vicky. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Vicky laughed and laughed and laughed. Kicking Summer’s ass at graduation might have been the highlight of her short life so far. But the look on Nayali’s face just now was a delightfully close second. 

— 

outtakes/extras: Vicky’s apartment  

notes: Vicky said she’d never sing that song for him in “a million trillion years.” It’s been about eleven months. ;)