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“You chop your tree down?” Audrey says.

“We do. Then drink hot chocolate or hot apple cider in the little tree farm cafe after,” I say.

“Oh my God it sounds like a Hallmark movie,” Willa says. “Audrey and I have always thought about doing that but never have. We have a fake tree.”

“OK, that’s just blasphemy,” I say.

“Who wants to fight that traffic to the mountains?” Audrey says.

“Don’t tell me you buy a pine-scented candle to make up for it,” I say.

“Yes, I do. And I buy enough pine-scented candles to last the year because I love the scent,” Audrey says.

“But not enough to go hiking and smell it naturally,” I tease.

“Why would I when I can get it at home while drinking a glass of wine?”

“She makes an excellent point,” Willa says.

“What about food? You probably make something super Texan like chicken enchiladas,” I say. “Speaking of, I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” Greta says.

“Turkey and dressing and all the fixings,” Willa says.

“But that’s Thanksgiving dinner,” I say.

“We never really had Thanksgiving dinner so the first time we had it we decided we would have it for every holiday,” Audrey says.

“Even fourth of July?” Greta asks.

“Actually, yes,” Willa says.

“Seriously?” Greta and I say together. We look at each other in astonishment.

“Yep.”

“Hang on, you never had Thanksgiving dinner growing up?” I ask.

“Our mother is a terrible cook,” Willa says.

“So she found seven recipes that she could cook and we liked and that’s what she made. Every day for eighteen years,” Audrey says. “Thursday was tuna casserole so by God that’s what we were having on Thanksgiving.”

Greta and I look at the sisters in horror. “Tuna casserole?” I say. “I’ve never known anyone who’s eaten tuna casserole.”

“I’ll never eat it again, that’s for sure,” Willa says, downing her bourbon. She holds out the mug. “Hit me with another shot of whiskey. Audrey, you’re driving home.”

“I figured,” Audrey says.

“Technically it’s bourbon,” Greta says.

Willa rolls her eyes.

I hold out my mug to Greta. “You can drive me home, too.”

“I figured,” Greta says.

“I need to say something,” Willa says, slurring only slightly.