Finally, my brain managed to rein the rest of me in. “No. It’s not a done deal. I don’t want this. I don’t want to spend the entire holiday pretending.” As I said the words, my chest constricted, and my heart started to pound. Maybe my brain didn’t want to pretend. But my heart totally did.

“Lane, think about your abuela. Think about how disappointed you’ll be if you have to disappoint her.”

Abuela. Her last trip. Her failing health. Her anticipation and hope for my happiness.

I looked up at Simon. He looked . . . miserable. Like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I can’t ask that of Simon, Jamie. To give up his entire Thanksgiving weekend to play charades. It’s not fair.”

“But it’s more than that. He gets to spend the weekend with you, and, I mean, I know I’m biased, but you’re pretty amazing. What do you say?” he said, turning to his brother. “Will you do it?”

Simon took a breath and gave his head a slight shake like he was forcing off his misery. “If Lane is comfortable with it, I guess I’m willing.”

Talk about emotional whiplash. I knew taking Simon home for Thanksgiving was a bad idea. So why was I happy he’d agreed to do it? Never had I felt such discordance between my head and my heart.

“Will, um . . .” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “Will Melia care?”

Simon huffed out a laugh. “Ha. No. We aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“What happened?” Jamie asked.

“You know how she’d never talk about grad school?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “We had a game going to see if we could get her to mention it.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Simon said. “It drove me crazy. Not your trying, just the fact that she’d never say anything.”

“What was up with that?” Jamie asked.

“I called a guy. An old classmate. He works in the admissions office at Duke.” Simon shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “She’s not enrolled.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide. “She made it all up?”

“All of it. She works in a nail salon in Carrboro.”

“I knew it!” I said. “I knew she couldn’t have perfect nails like that unless it was her job.”

“I don’t have anything against people who work in nail salons,” Simon said. “But I don’t like being lied to.”

“Poor Melia,” I said. “I hope she’s okay.”

“It all comes down to you, Lane,” Jamie said. “Melia isn’t a problem, and Simon’s willing. What do you say? Want to save Thanksgiving for your abuela?”

I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

* * *