Page 18 of The Girlfriend Goal

"I can't afford a plane ticket."

The words tasted bitter as I forced them out during my weekly video call home. My parents' faces pixelated on my laptop screen, their disappointment carefully masked behind understanding smiles.

"We can help," Mom started.

"No." I cut her off, gentler than intended. "You've done enough. I'll be fine here. Lots of international students stay for Thanksgiving. It's like a whole thing."

Dad frowned, the construction dust in his hair catching the light. He'd been pulling overtime again. "You shouldn't be alone on holidays."

"I won't be alone. Jared invited me to his family's place in Boston."

The lie came easier than expected. Jared had invited me, but I'd already decided against it. Plus, he'd somehow roped Matt into coming, and I didn't need a front-row seat to their weird mating dance.

"If you're sure." Mom didn't look convinced.

We talked for another twenty minutes, dancing around the truth we all knew—that their sacrifice to put me through school, even with my scholarship, left no room for extras like holiday flights. When we hung up, I stared at my reflection in the black screen and tried not to cry.

My apartment felt too quiet. I pulled up my accounting spreadsheet, the one I updated obsessively. Tuition was covered by scholarship. Books were manageable with the used bookstore. Food was with the dining hall meal plan. But flights home? That was pure luxury I couldn't justify.

My phone buzzed with Jared’s text: Sure you’re not coming to Boston? Mom wants to know about dietary restrictions.

Can't make it. Training stuff.

Three dots appeared immediately, but soon disappeared. Then my door burst open because apparently, Jared had been texting from right outside.

"Liar!" He pointed an accusing finger. "You're not staying for training. You're staying because you're too proud to admit you can't afford the plane home."

"How did you—"

"Because I know you, Rachel. And I know that face." He flopped dramatically on my bed. "The 'I'm pretending everything's fine while internally screaming' face."

"I don't have a face."

"You have multiple faces. This is face number three, right between 'I'm going to murder Lance' and 'I want to climb Lance like a tree.'"

"Jared!"

"What? It's true. But we're not talking about your sexual frustration right now. We're talking about Thanksgiving."

"I'm fine staying here."

"Absolutely not. You're coming to Boston. No arguments. Mom's already planning the menu. She does this thing with cranberry sauce that'll change your life." He sat up, suddenly serious. "Look, I know my family can be a lot. But they're good people, and they love you."

"It's not that."

"And yes, Matt's coming, but I promise to keep the sexual tension to manageable levels."

"But you said there's no sexual tension."

"Please. We could power the eastern seaboard with our sexual tension." He paused. "But again, not the point. The point is you're not spending Thanksgiving alone eating dining hall turkey that tastes like sadness."

I was formulating another excuse when my phone rang. Lance's name on the screen made my heart do a stupid skip.

"Don't answer that," Jared commanded.

I answered anyway. "What?"

"Hello to you too." His voice was warm, amused. "Quick question. What are your Thanksgiving plans? I have a proposition."

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait! Hear me out. I'm going home to California. Malibu specifically. And I need a buffer, between me and my father. And his new wife who's five years older than me."

"That's disturbing."

"That's Thanksgiving with the Fletchers.

" His voice lost some humor. "Look, I know it's weird to ask, but I genuinely need someone there who won't let me commit patricide.

In exchange, you get a free trip to California and all the beach time you want.

Before you say no, consider. It's seventy degrees in Malibu right now. "

I looked out my window at the grey November sleet. Damn him.

"Plus," he continued, "you'd be doing me a massive favor. My dad's less likely to be a complete ass with witnesses. Matt and Jared are coming too."

I blinked. "What?"

Jared looked just as surprised as me.

"Yeah, apparently Jared invited him to Boston, Matt counter-invited to California. Matt just agreed to Malibu, but Jared doesn’t know it yet. So now, they're both coming to Malibu with me." He paused. "It'll be like a dysfunctional family sitcom. You love those."

"I do not."

I could hear his grin. "Come on, Fox. When's the next time you'll get a free trip to California? Consider it research for your sports management career. Networking with my dad's Hollywood connections."

Jared was making frantic gestures, mouthing "say yes" while doing some kind of excited dance.

"I don't know."

"Did I mention the beach? And the seventy-degree weather? And that my dad's house has an infinity pool?"

"Material bribes don't work on me."

"What about the fact that I really do need you there?" His voice went quiet, vulnerable. "I haven't been home in years. Last time didn't go well. Having you there would make it bearable."

Damn him and his sincerity.

"This isn't a date thing," I said firmly. "And separate rooms."

"Obviously. My dad's house has like twelve bedrooms. We could each have our own wing."

"And no weird expectations—"

"Rachel." He cut me off gently. "I'm literally just asking you to help me survive Thanksgiving with my father. That's it. No ulterior motives. Scout's honor."

I looked at Jared, who was now literally on his knees making prayer hands. "Fine. But I'm only doing this because California sounds better than Boston."

"Hey!" Jared protested.

"I'll book your ticket," Lance said quickly. "Send me your info. Consider it payment for buffer services. I'll send you the details."

He hung up before I could argue. I stared at my phone, wondering what I'd just agreed to.

"This is perfect." Jared clapped his hands. "A beach Thanksgiving sounds so glamorous. Very—" He stopped. "Wait. You'll need clothes."

"I have clothes."

"You have athletic wear and one nice outfit from sophomore year." He was already standing, pulling me up. "We're going shopping."

"Jared, no."

"If we're doing Malibu Thanksgiving, we're doing it right." He paused at my door. "Also, you just agreed to spend a holiday with Lance's family. That's basically meeting the parents."

"It's not!"

"It's totally meeting the parents. Oh my god, we need to discuss strategy. What if his dad hates you? What if he loves you? What if there's a step-mom who tries to bond? We need contingency plans."

He was still rattling off disaster scenarios as he dragged me out of my apartment. But underneath the panic about meeting Lance's family, about spending four days in close proximity to him, about what this might mean, I was a tiny bit excited.

"Jared," I said as we headed to his car. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"The best worst decision of your life," he said cheerfully. "Now let's find you something that says 'I'm not trying to impress your father but I'm also not a disaster.'"