After Mrs. Lewis says grace, we all not so gracefully dig into the food in front of us. Ace and the Lamar trio pack their plates, and Mr. Sterling—Brynn’s dad and America’s favorite grandpa—encourages them to eat downstairs in front of the Xbox, despite the objections of both mothers. Mrs. Rafter is on the other end of the table, chatting it up with an older Black woman I haven’t met yet.

“Did I sound convincing enough?” Vonnie whispers in my ear after the basement door shuts behind Jett. “Not having to fuss over them while I eat is a Thanksgiving miracle.”

“You honestly deserve an award, I thought you were pissed.”

“Misguided anger for the win.” She takes a bite of the sweet potatoes with the candied pecan crust and moans. “Oh yes, try those next. And also one of these.” She points to the nearly empty cocktail behind her plate. “I’m normally a vodka girl, but whatever Brynn put in this is a winner.”

“I will, but maybe you should slow down a little bit? You don’t usually drink this much.”

Obviously, I know Vonnie drinks. We’ve done it together multiple times. But I’ve never seen her come close to being drunk. Even at the games with unlimited free booze, kids running around, and the Mustangs making a fourth quarter comeback, she’s never had more than two drinks. Seeing her not only emotionally not herself, but under the influence on top of it, has me on edge AF. And call me selfish, but she’s the only person who knows about what’s going on with Glenn Chandler. Part of the reason she’s the one I confided in is because she never gets like this.

“I know I don’t.” She picks up her drink like she’s accepting the challenge I most definitely didn’t give. “But I’m also not usually alone on Thanksgiving and in the midst of marital ruin. Plus”—she points to TK and Poppy—“those two offered to host a sleepover tonight, so the boys will be with them while I crash in Brynn’s bed.”

“Ace is so excited, he has deemed this the ‘best Thanksgiving ever.’ And we love having the Lamar boys over.” Poppy has a bright smile on her face, but I can hear the worry in her voice. I’m not the only one who thinks this is way out of character for Vonnie.

Brynn clears her throat and waves her fork between Quinton and I. “So, I don’t mean to make a scene,” she says, no doubt about to cause a scene. “But does the hand-holding you two were doing as you walked down the stairs mean you’ve decided to admit you’re into each other? And by that, I mean do I get to gloat because I was right and totally called this relationship from the beginning?”