“Oh, poor thing,” I say. I try to make my voice sound sympathetic despite the familiar rage rising in my chest. I don’t buy it. I assume Bo just wants to avoid me and my lame life. Besides, I’m pretty sure Jax’s parents live in the Valley. If he’s actually in the hospital, then why can’t they take care of him? But I vow to be nice about it, because I haven’t been drinking and therefore have control, and I don’t want to alienate Bo more than I already have. “Is he okay?”

“I think he’ll be fine,” Bo says. “I just want to be there for him because he’s always been there for me.”

“That’s good,” I say, forcing a sweetness into my voice that I don’t feel. Jax has always been there for him? What about his single mother who raised him? What about me? How dare he leave me alone like this on Thanksgiving, one of the few times a year I get to see him. Jax gets to see Bo all the time, and I can’t even remember the last time I was alone with him.

I take a deep breath and look at a palm tree swinging in the breeze, try to channel its serene energy.

“Well, send Jax my love,” I say. “And tell him Dawn has a bottle of Cook’s on ice waiting for him when he feels better.”

“I will,” Bo says. “Love you, Mom.”

I say, “Love you too,” but he’s already hung up.

EMILY.

My parents are already seated at the table when Thomas and I arrive at the Palm on Thanksgiving Day. The room is dim, and I am wearing the purple velvet Betsey Johnson dress I stole from Thomas’s closet and a black Isabel Marant cardigan I also stole from Thomas’s closet. Thomas looks decent in a blue button-down shirt and black slacks. He embarrasses me, but I think my parents will be proud of me for having a tall boyfriend. They won’t like that he doesn’t have a normal job, but they will like that he is overeager and polite and absolutely nothing like me.

Also, I instructed Thomas to lie about where he works.

“Hi!” I say when we reach the table, then give each of my parents a small and understated hug. I practiced my greeting over and over. Not overeager, because my parents are forever skeptical of my antics, but I want to show them I am a different person. A happy person. A confident person. A person who has her shit together. Not a person who will storm out of a room without warning.

“Mom, Dad,” I say, “this is my boyfriend, Thomas.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Thomas says. They exchange handshakes and then we sit down.