“Oh, my apologies! Have I not recovered from my heartbreak fast enough for you?”

“If you need closure with your ex, then go tell him about it.” Her mouth opens, but I raise my hand. “Listen, I’m sorry Seth is an asswipe who cheated. You didn’t deserve that. Honestly, you could do way better and he isn’t worth being this upset over. But nothing that happened to you is our fault.” She gives Nicholas a dirty look and opens her mouth, ready to shoot off, but I beat her to it. “There will be no more attacks on Nicholas, you got me? I don’t want to hear this shit ever again.”

As for Nicholas, I don’t think he’s ever been more stunned in his life. He’s giving me the same look I was giving him this morning. I’m being green-henley’d.

Melissa’s movements grow jerkier as she stuffs our purchases into a bag. “Can you double-wrap that?” Nicholas asks, and we both derive sadistic enjoyment from watching Melissa double-wrap the cookie jar.

“And then double-bag it?” he adds.

The savagery is so skillfully subtle, you could almost call it art.

She triple-bags it. “Is that good enough?”

He flashes a charming smile. “Perfect.”

Her glare cuts to me, and for once I don’t do the thing I always do when she and Nicholas are having a clash. I don’t chew my fingernails and apologize with my eyes. Instead, I give her airs like I am Extremely Important and have Places To Be. I invoke my inner Deborah Rose and scare myself to the core.

“Well, good luck with your life,” Melissa says nastily after we pay and get our bags.

I decide to be the bigger person. “You, too, Melissa. Good luck. I hope this job works out for you.”

Nicholas decides to not be the bigger person and takes a penny from the take-a-penny, leave-a-penny station as we walk away. I’m in awe of his cattiness.

“Enjoy your Thanksgiving!” he calls over his shoulder.

“You two are assholes!” she calls back. “You deserve each other.”

I send her a thumbs-up. “Thanks!”

We’re barely out the door when we can’t hold our laughter in anymore. We throw our stuff in the car and tumble inside, peeling out like we’re fugitives making a getaway. I give him a high-five. “You. Were. Awesome.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He grins. “You were, too.”

“I’m so glad I don’t have to hang out with her anymore.”

He glances sideways at me. “She is right about Seth, though. I’m really tired of defending him. I feel … I don’t know. I’ve never broken up with a friend before.”

I’m not exactly a fan of Seth. He’s nice half the time, but for the other half he builds himself up by tearing Nicholas down. “You’re allowed to defend yourself when people hurt your feelings. You deserve to be around people who are good to you.” Coming from me of all people, this statement is so outrageous I half-expect a lightning bolt to shoot down from the sky and strike me dead. I’m right, though: he deserves friends who actually act like friends. And so do I, for that matter. “You know that, right? Give yourself permission to put yourself first.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“I’ll help. And if Seth doesn’t clean up his act, I still have the number for those movers. I’ll set you up with them. We’ll put you in some ripped jeans and … ta-da! BFFs in no time.”

He smiles.

“Whatever you want to do about Seth is your choice,” I say, “but if you ever need backup, I’m your girl. Say the word and I’ll scare him so bad, he’ll never step out of line again.”

He picks up my hand. Kisses my knuckles. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

All good things must come to an end.

It’s the solemn decree ringing in my head as we sit down to Deborah and Harold’s table. A feast spans before us, which should encourage some measure of happiness, but it doesn’t because we’re all about to have our legs trapped under a wooden slab together for the duration of an extra-long meal, and that means extra-long conversation.

I know what the topic’s going to be. It’s Deborah’s favorite one. Nicholas and I have been doing a fine job of avoiding it when we’re alone, as evidenced by our chickening out in the wedding décor aisle.

“Have you sent out the invitations yet?” Deborah launches right in, piecing bits of dark turkey onto her husband’s plate. He’s not permitted to make his own plate because he’s “bad at portion control.” The diet she’s got him on now forbids stuffing, white meat, and potatoes, and he looks like he might cry. “It’s nearly December.” Her eyes flick to Nicholas, then me. There’s accusation in them, clear as day. She thinks it’s my fault the invitations haven’t gone out.

Nicholas does exactly what I would do. He pretends he doesn’t hear her. Then, when she repeats the question, he pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“Invitations?” Like it’s a foreign word he doesn’t understand.

I shovel gobs of mashed potatoes in my mouth. I’m a lady. I have manners. No one can expect me to talk with my mouth full.

Deborah appraises Nicholas over her wineglass, eyes shrewd. “Your wedding invitations, darling. We still haven’t gotten ours.”

“Do you need an official one?” he asks faintly. “You already know the date and venue.”

“I need three invitations: one for my memory book, one for your baby book, and one for the family records. Besides, everybody else needs theirs as well. All your aunts and uncles. Every day, it seems, I’m getting a call. Where’s my invitation? Am I not invited? The men at your father’s club, and all their wives, are in an uproar! They feel personally slighted. You can’t leave anyone out, Nicky. It’s rude.”

I don’t know any of those people she’s referring to. Nicholas doesn’t know most of them, and the ones he knows, he doesn’t like. I don’t think there’s actually an uproar; more like Deborah’s trying to gauge what’s going on here, so she’s making shit up.

“Frankly, you’re putting me in a bad position,” she goes on. “People know I’m orchestrating this whole operation, and when you neglect your duties it reflects poorly on me.” She touches her necklace. It’s a heart with four birthstones to represent everyone in her family. “So if you’re not going to behave responsibly for your sakes, do so for mine.”