doesn’t have to be. We have perfectly good food.”
Rachel stared at the modest meal as if I’d placed a personal insult beside every plate.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“Fine. I’ll order Chinese.”
“That sounds like a solution.”
She started typing.
“But you’ll need to eat it at your house.”
Her hands froze.
“What?”
“I don’t want takeout containers all over my Thanksgiving table.”
Rachel looked at me like a stranger had replaced the woman she knew.
Maybe one had.
Or maybe that stranger had always existed beneath
