Page 9 of The Stuffing Situation
Then came Felix’s voice, calm and creepy in thatinfomercial-for-sentiencekind of way:
“Actually, the receiver’s left foot landed 2.3 inches outside the line. The call was accurate, albeit close.”
Maya froze mid-step, the Barbie shoe crunched beneath her heel.
Blair choked on her drink. “Did he just sayinches in a football game?”
“I gotta go,” Maya whispered.
“Tell your hot glitch I said hi.”
From the living room came another voice, her cousin Kyle’s, hyped and too loud:
“That’s it, Detroit versus everybody, baby!”
And Felix, smooth as an NPR segment:
“Actually, Detroit’s national fanbase has expanded 34% since Dan Campbell’s hiring, due to emotional relatability and offensive grit metrics.”
A beat.
Then Grandma, with that arid delivery she used when passing judgment on casseroles and presidents: “He’s smart.”
Maya stared at the door, half-expecting it to grow teeth and devour her on the spot.
Felix was somehow fitting in, too well. Next Thanksgiving, he might be wearing his own Aidan Hutchenson jersey. Wait, next Thanksgiving, what was she thinking?
It was as if he’d downloaded Midwestern hospitality and was now running a beta test on charm, sports statistics, andGrandma’s approval.
This wasn’t a glitch in the system; thiswasthe system.
She should be panicking again. Running and screaming into the digital void. But instead, she just stood there, listening to Felix charm the living room as though it were built for him.
And the scariest part? She wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop.
5
Cranberries, Confrontations, & Car Kisses
The cranberry sauce situation had escalated into what her mom had called a code-red emergency.
“One can?” her mother gasped, holding it aloft as if it were some cursed relic unearthed from a Cold War pantry. “What is this, rations?”
And just like that, Maya was dispatched on a “quick errand,” which, in Thanksgiving terms, meant a high-stakes, emotionally booby-trapped expedition with timed pressure and a very real chance of weeping in the dairy aisle.
She barely had time to zip her coat before Felix was at her side, sweater snug, enthusiasm unsettling.
It was her dad’s old charcoal pullover, one she’d panic-dressed him in before they left, trying to tether him to reality with something grounded. Something human.
It wasn’t working.
The sleeves were pushed to his forearms, the wool stretched slightly across his chest, and somehow he looked like the featured model in a catalog titledHoliday Boyfriend: Limited Edition Print.
They walked side by side through the muggy grocery store, past pie crust towers and kids shrieking with full banshee energy near the cookie aisle. The air reeked of cinnamon and struggling HVAC.
Maya’s pulse still hadn’t come down. She could feel her mom’s matchmaking smirk ghosting between her shoulder blades.
“We need whole berry and jellied?” Felix asked, holding up two cans like sacred artifacts recovered from a Midwestern temple.