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JACK

W HAT ARE YOU doing for American Thanksgiving? I toss Andy’s stress ball in the air and catch it.

We’re hanging out in her room on a weekday afternoon after class. Right now, we’re doing homework, since Andy is pretty strict about work before play. But I’m hopeful that there will be some play later.

She finally looks up from her reading. Why do you call it ‘American Thanksgiving’? It’s just Thanksgiving.

Because Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, I reply.

She closes her book and joins me on the bed. Weird. Almost as weird as that football game you made me watch.

What was weird about that? A lot of my teammates are Canadian too, so we had a Grey Cup party on Sunday to celebrate the finale of the CFL season. Plus, my team, the Saskatchewan Roughriders, were in it.

Andy’s eyes widen. Jack, some of those fans were wearing watermelons on their heads! And it was so cold out there. They probably got brain freeze.

It’s a tradition. Shows our love for the green and white. I love sports traditions, like the Mus-Tangs chant that shakes the roof at every home game. Schmidty said that the crowd is even more insane during the playoffs, so I hope we make it there. We’re doing pretty well so far this season.

Andy’s phone buzzes and she looks at it. Ugh. It’s my mom. I better take it.

She answers the phone and begins a conversation that’s mostly listening. Andy has a strained relationship with her family, but she never wants to talk about it.

Mom, I’m sorry, but as I explained, some of the RAs have been asked to host a Thanksgiving dinner for the students who aren’t able to go home.

That answers my original question. Since we have a game on Friday night, most of the team is staying here for the holiday weekend. We’re hosting a team Thanksgiving dinner, and I wanted to invite Andy.

It’s okay, Mom. I won’t be lonely. I’m using the extra time to catch up on my coursework.

That’s a straight-up lie, since Andy is always on top of her studies. I suspect her mom knows that too. Should I be eavesdropping? We’re sitting two inches apart, so it’s hard not to. But I pick up my economics textbook and pretend to read.

Andy rubs her temple. Well…actually, I have a new boyfriend. My ears perk up. His name is Jack Sinclair. He’s a hockey player. From Canada. And he’s very nice.

I grin and do a little shimmy. Andy bops me on the thigh and signals me to shush.

Yes. He plays defence.

Another pause, then she says, Okay, I’ll send you one. Talk to you later.

She disconnects and lets out a long sigh.

You told your mom about me? Things are getting serious, I say gleefully.

Ugh. It was a defence mechanism. She wanted me to come back for part of the weekend, instead of being alone here. So, I sacrificed you on the altar of privacy.

I wish I could go home for a weekend. I miss my family like crazy. But I’ll get to see them at Christmas. I only wish that Andy could come home with me.

She scrolls through her phone. You’re the one who’s always taking photos of us. Do you have a nice one I could send my mom?

I pull out my phone and select some and forward them to her. Why are you sending a photo? Did you want to show her how handsome I am? I joke.

Andy makes a face. It’s my own fault. Once she was nagging me about dating, so I showed her a photo of an indie musician and claimed he was my boyfriend. I didn’t know she was going to show it to other people.

I laugh. Hey, if you did want to go home for Thanksgiving, I could drive you for the day. I’m not sure exactly where her parents live, but I know it’s somewhere in Minnesota.

Did you not hear me making excuses? Look, I love my parents. But going home for holidays is like the festival of microaggressions.

What happens? I ask.

Boom, Andy goes off. It’s a bunch of little things.

Like my Aunt Ellen. Every time I see her she mentions her son’s one Hmong friend.

I’m not sure if she thinks I’ll know him or she’s showing off that her kids aren’t racist. And my Uncle John tells me how lucky I am that my parents chose me.

He must think that adoptions are like shopping at Amazon or something.

But if I complain about things like that, my parents say I’m being overly sensitive.

I pull Andy into my lap and wrap my arms around her. The last time I saw her this upset was when one of her profs complimented her on how good her written English was. Like I haven’t lived in this country my whole life!

I hug her tightly, and we rock until she relaxes. There’s really nothing I can say in this moment that would ease her pain, so all I can offer is physical comfort.

I know people aren’t trying to be mean, but it hurts when they make me feel different. Her voice is muffled since her head is buried against my chest.

Some people want to be different. Like Dawn and all her hair colours, I point out.

I can feel Andy nodding. I don’t mind being singled out for things I’ve actually accomplished. Like if people pointed and said, ‘There goes the person who wrote that amazing article in the Messenger .’

That seems like a long shot to me, but I get what she means. I like it when other students congratulate me on a goal or good play. But I don’t like it when people fawn all over me just for being on the team. It feels fake.

Just then there’s a knock on her door. Andy sighs and gets off my lap to answer it. She only opens the door partway, so I can’t see who’s there.

Hey, Andy. I heard you have a list of tutors and stuff. I need some help with my stats course, a woman says. The voice is familiar, and not in a good way.

Oh, sure. I can send you the resource link. But if you’re having issues with a specific topic, it might be better to ask your course’s TAs. They’ll have suggestions too, Andy offers politely. She has so much patience with her residents.

I tried. My TA is kind of a jerk, the mystery woman replies.

Then it hits me—that’s Jenny. I react by sliding away from the doorway but accidentally knock my textbook to the floor. The noise causes Andy to turn and Jenny to peer inside.

Jenny stares at me, then at Andy, then back at me. Oh my god. Are you guys going out?

Uh, yes, Andy admits.

Even though Andy is the one answering her, Jenny’s gaze stays fixed on me. And you met because of me?

Technically, I guess. But that’s not why we started going out. Andy clears her throat. Is there anything else you need, Jenny?

Jenny looks like she has a million more questions but grudgingly leaves. Still, her presence leaves a lingering bad vibe.

She’s so irritating, I mutter.

Andy tilts her head and stares. Wow. It’s so out of character for you say something negative about someone. What’s going on?

I stand. I need to pace to burn off my annoyance. I don’t know. I’ve run into her a few times. And she acts like cheating on her boyfriend is no big deal. I wouldn’t have gone near her that first night if I knew.

I’m half-expecting a lecture, but instead Andy embraces me from behind. Jack, have I told you lately what a great guy you are?

I gently spin her around to face me. Don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I’ll take it.

She lays her head against my chest. There seem to be so many women hitting on you. Sometimes I get jealous. But I shouldn’t underestimate your moral compass.

I’m flattered to hear this, since my judgement is something I worry about. But decisions are easy when it comes to Andy. I want her treated right by everyone, including me.

Andy’s soft body against mine feels damn good. I think my moral compass is pointing north right now.

That’s the worst joke, she scoffs. But she reaches down to stroke my moral compass. Oh, yes.

I grab her by the shoulders and pin her against the door. I kiss her forcefully and tease apart her lips, feeling her hot breath and then the glide of her tongue against mine. So good . Andy snakes her arms around me and squeezes my ass.

I plant butterfly kisses along her jawline, then bite her earlobe. Andy sighs softly. I kiss her mouth again, this time nipping at her lower lip then slipping my tongue deep into her mouth.

Does this remind you of anything? I murmur.

Her eyes fly open. Um, the incredible sex we had here last weekend?

I like that answer, but it’s not the one I had in mind. Nope. The first time we kissed. In the storage closet at the arena. You were up against the wall just like this, and all I could smell was bleach. Except for the bleach, it’s a good memory now.

Ahh, yes. It’s coming back to me now. Andy’s expression turns mischievous. Except, didn’t you—? She takes one of my hands and places it on her breast.

I chuckle. Anything to help you remember.

I fondle her breasts with both hands, lifting and squeezing gently.

Then I reach down to lift her sweater and reveal Andy’s sheer pink bra.

I run my thumb over the fabric, watching as her nipple hardens in response.

My lips lower to kiss the hollow of her throat as my hand continues to tease her nipples through the bra. She lets out a loud breath.

I keep my voice low and matter-of-fact. Hmm, I seem to remember you stopping me about now. But this way is much better.

We’re rewriting history, now with more orgasms, she teases.

Speak for yourself. I jerked off that night and thought of you the whole time, I growl as I pull her sweater off completely. I run my tongue over the slopes of her plump breasts.

You’re such a romantic, Andy complains, but her body is glued to mine. Her arms cling to my neck, and one leg is hooked around my thigh.

I slip my fingers inside her bra and pinch the hard nub of her nipple. Andy gasps and grinds her hips into me.

Looks like someone’s already excited. Are your panties wet too? I whisper into her ear.

Why don’t you check? she challenges.

You don’t have ask me twice. I unzip her baggy jeans and they puddle around her ankles. Her panties are also pink and sheer. Is this new lingerie?

She nods shyly. I got it for you.