The Beginning of After

the car door. “Not funny!” he whined.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked.
    He scratched his neck for a moment, looking confused.
    “What time is it? When I saw nobody was home, I decided to crash for a bit,” he said slowly. I stayed quiet, hoping he’d find his way to an answer. But he just added, “I was driving all night.”
    “Driving all night, from where?”
    “Somewhere outside Washington, DC.” He scrambled out of the car. I stepped back to give him room. Maybe now that he was standing up, he’d be able to make more sense.
    “I was going to have dinner with the band at a Cracker Barrel,” said David. “But I woke up in the middle of the night and started thinking about . . . things . . . my parents . . .” He choked on the word and took a deep breath, then looked at me. Then put his hand on my shoulder and breathed out. “I didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with a bunch of guys I barely know, eating something barely edible, at a place that stays open just for all the losers who have nowhere else to go.”
    He took his hand off my shoulder, but I could still feel the weight of it.
    “I remembered that I did have somewhere to go,” he said, then glanced at the house. It was a hungry look.
    I didn’t know what to say, but fortunately David started talking again, faster than I’d ever heard him.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t call . . . I just hopped in my car and drove and it was the middle of the night and I didn’t want to call and wake anyone. And then before I knew it, I was here. The car was gone and there was no answer at the door. I still have a key, but that felt creepy to walk in so I figured I’d just wait. . . .” His voice trailed off.
    And then he gave me the same look he’d given the house. It was pure want. He must have sensed how desperate he seemed, because he added a sheepish grin and a head tilt, like he couldn’t dare offer a hand again.
    It felt safest to stay with the facts.
    “You came to spend Thanksgiving with us?” I asked carefully, with no emotion.
    “Yeah,” said David, almost surprised. “I guess I did.”
    I just pointed down the hill for a moment, then said, “We’re going to the Dills’ house, but I can call Mrs. Dill. . . . I’m sure you’d be welcome there.”
    In an instant, David’s eyes narrowed into disappointment.
    “The Dills’?” he said with distaste.
    “Yeah, it’ll be fun. There’s going to be a whole bunch of people there.”
    Now he gave a bitter laugh.
    “Laurel, I didn’t come all this way to have dinner with people I don’t know.”
    “You’ll know us, and the Dills. . . .”
    David shook his head. “Forget it,” he said, then moved back toward the car.
    “So you’re leaving?” I asked, trying to be calm, but it came out high and squeaky.
    “If I go now, I can still make it to the Cracker Barrel.”
    David opened the driver’s-side door and slid into the seat. Away from me.
    Wait! A minute ago you were touching my shoulder!
    I thought quickly of calling Mrs. Dill, explaining why we needed to cancel. Nana would go along with it. We could buy one of those depressed last-minute turkeys at the store and cook it in time for dinner . . .
    No. We had an obligation. Meg would never forgive me. And then I looked at his face, indignant and insulted, and suddenly just felt angry.
    “David—”
    “I said, forget it!”
    Now I was angrier. Actually, furious. “Let me finish!” I barked at him. He jumped a bit and looked up at me, genuinely surprised. “How can you show up here and expect us to have a table set for you, with a complete Thanksgiving dinner? Without calling, or emailing . . . You just can’t do that.”
    David stared at me, his surprise turning to simple sadness, his mouth twitching.
    Then he just said, “This was a mistake.”
    With that, he slammed the door and started the car. I only had time to step back before he sped backward out of our driveway, leaving a dirty cloud of dust behind him.
    “I put rum in these Diet Cokes,” whispered Meg, her breath spicy with onion dip.
    We were seated next to each other at one of three large tables Mrs. Dill had set up in their dining room and foyer. Meg was psyched because it was the first time they didn’t have a kids’ table in the kitchen; she was with the grown-ups now. Nana was across from us, next to an elderly uncle, and I wondered for a second if it wasn’t a setup.
    Some part of my body was still shaking from that