“Still your fault, though.” He snickers. “Don’t make me do it. If I have to go to this thing, then so do you.”

“Yeah, okay,” I grumble. It’s not my sister’s fault that our family has become just like a daytime TV show. If she’s crazy enough to get engaged, I’ll make sure there’s someone at her party who isn’t going to make a scene.

Even if it hurts me. And I expect it to hurt plenty.

“Who’s this date with, anyway?” my brother asks.

“Hmm?”

“Your date. On Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, uh, a new girl.” I haven’t chosen one yet, of course.

“They’re all new girls with you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He snorts. “Yeah. But we’re not all hockey stars. The talent pool works harder for you than it does for us mere mortals, bro.”

“It’s good work if you can get it.” Just because I’m never marrying a woman doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy them.

“Later, Weston.”

“Later, punk.”

I slip into the back of the lecture hall and nab an empty seat. I’m just settling in to the lecture when my phone buzzes with a text. I don’t look right away, because I assume it’s Stevie busting on me again. He probably thinks he can guilt me into coming home for Thanksgiving.

But as the professor drones on about monetary policy, I decide to check. I don’t want to be a dick, but it’s a big lecture hall and I’ve perfected the art of texting while pretending to pay attention.

The number is unfamiliar. It must be another inquiry for Thanksgiving. I’ve gotten three already this morning.

Hi there, the new one begins. My name is Abbi. I saw your sign at the Biscuit, and I wonder if I could take you up on your Boyfriend Rental offer. I’m a junior here at Moo U, and my family’s place is just fifteen miles away in Shelburne.

Hmm. Two of the other inquiries are from girls who live further afield. So I already like Abbi. I’m just about to respond when an additional message appears.

She adds: You should also know that my step-stepmother is the sort of cook who goes to a lot of trouble. There will be a dozen homemade dishes on the table. Like butternut squash soup with shredded bacon and croutons on top. Roasted turkey, of course. But also steamed Chinese dumplings filled with turkey and scallions. Plus an army of side dishes, and three kinds of pie. She’s a superstar cook.

Well, damn. My mouth is watering already. And before I think better of it, I ask a follow-up question. Is there a dipping sauce with the dumplings? Wait, was that a rude opener? Let me try again. Hi Abbi! I’m Weston. I really like Thanksgiving, and your dumplings intrigue me.

Abbi: Your curiosity is justified. You can’t go home with just anyone for Thanksgiving, right? What if the mashed potatoes were out of a box?

Weston: Bite your tongue! Only a monster would make boxed mashed on Thanksgiving.