Everything

VIII

When William Bradford and the Plymouth Pilgrims disembarked the Mayflower in 1620, I am sure the general feeling amongst those one hundred and thirty people was that of relief, happiness and joy. Indeed, once the harsh winter had passed and they were able to reap the benefits of their harvest, Thanksgiving was probably a time of gratitude and positivity as they enjoyed the cornucopia of food at their disposal.

The Haywood house, however, on the morning of Thanksgiving seemed to be the exact opposite with a spirit of discontent, despondence and all round displeasure deeply driven into every room.

And why, may you ask?

Well, the long and short of it was that Spencer and I had not uttered a single word to one another in just over a week, since the disastrous events at the Annual Attorney's Ball.

Safe to say, I was still mightily pissed off and his despairing expression 24/7 just made me more determined to sucker punch him in the throat. Hard.

I had tried - really, I had - to get over the anger I felt whenever I thought about some of the things he said to me that night. How he had tried to control me, how he'd almost made a fool out of not only himself, but me by association. But whatever I tried simply wasn't doing any good and I still had the incorrigible urge to scream every time he stepped foot into a room where I was present.

Mr and Mrs Boone were gracious enough to give me a ride home that evening, although Mrs. Boone's constant chatter and enquiry about the handsome young catch she had seen me with earlier that night didn't really help with the whole calming down mission. However, when I returned to the apartment, Spencer's pillow, covers and book had been moved from his bed and if the soft snores from the guest room were anything to go by, he had placed himself into forced exile.

I didn't mind though. His presence was irritable at best and the more time we spent away from each other, the better.

Spencer, for some reason or another, had still decided to continue with our 'adult Thanksgiving' plans to invite Licia, my brother and his siblings around. Spencer was British anyway and didn't celebrate Thanksgiving until he got here and was forced to, so why we were continuing with the time-honoured tradition in the midst of a massive argument was beyond me. I hadn't batted an eyelid, though, like the sweet cherub I was making myself to be. I resolved to make the only thing I could create without burning the kitchen down - brownies. All of this was whilst Spencer ran festive errands, or more likely found his way between the legs of multiple floozies, around town.

After my brownies were safely tucked away in Tupperware on the top shelf of the fridge, I had made myself scarce. Working late into the night, curling up in bed with a new Stephen King novel... anything to avoid any awkward encounters with Spencer. So far it was working, but with the dreaded day upon us, it was impossible not to spend time around the man.

For today, I had opted for short, white and tight. It was a mantra that Licia had given me years ago and it seemed to be working thus far. The dress was bandage style, boosting my cleavage and hugging me in all the right places. For once I had been able to do my makeup to a decent standard, my hair was big and wavy, I had dark eyeshadow and a nude lip. It was made for a dinner party, and actually gave me some level of sophistication.

My game plan was to act cordial, as if nothing had ever happened between Spencer and I, particularly because his brother and sister were going to be here shortly and I didn't want to make a scene. Of course, I had told Licia about everything that had happened, bar the kiss and any kind of relationship Spencer and I had that went beyond friendship. She immediately took my side, coming to my rescue to give me support and guidance. Despite this, she did empathise with Spencer, telling me to forgive him and make up.