I could see that I was starting to act like an asshole. I was glad I realized it without having somebody have to shout it to me. I firmly resolved that I would cherish all the friendships that I cultivated, including the ones that preceded my finding those “lucky tickets.”
The most difficult friendship would probably be Doreen. I still knew that I did not do right by her cousin, and I would have to get past that guilt before I could see Doreen as anything other than a reminder of how much a jackass I could be.
My friendship with Sherry was another relationship that would never be easy. She was still infatuated with me. Despite this, she patched up what could have been a catastrophic rift between Kristen and me. Despite her feelings toward Kristen and me, she truly acted as a friend. She would be a good example of how a friend should act.
At dinnertime, Kristen drove Sherry and me back to our houses. I managed to give Sherry a quick kiss good-bye before she left Kristen’s car to go into her house.
“She’s starting to come out of her shell,” Kristen said when we were alone. “She seems afraid to be with you when I’m around.”
“I think she’s doesn’t want to be seen as trying to steal me.”
Kristen nodded.
We drove in silence, and Kristen said, “Have you packed yet for Thanksgiving?”
“We’ve got four weeks to pack!” I said.
“Well, only pack one suitcase. I’ll have some of your clothes from my place dry cleaned and pressed.”
Kristen and I were going to be flying into Boston to celebrate Thanksgiving with Kristen’s brother, Will. Kristen already received permission from my mother, to my extreme surprise. Up until this year, Thanksgiving was always a family holiday, even during those difficult times when she was married to my real father.
“I’ve never been to Boston before,” I said, thinking of Paul Revere, the Boston Massacre, and other important events in American history that happened there.
“You’ll love it,” Kristen assured me. “I bought Will an apartment in Cambridge. We’ll go to Fanueil Hall, MIT, Harvard, and all the other sights you’ll want to see.”
“Will we have time alone?” I asked.
“Of course, darling,” Kristen answered. “Will knows all about us, and he already likes you. He’s already made reservations at some nice places for when we’ll be there.”
“Your brother sounds like a pretty neat guy,” I said, still feeling a bit of jealousy over Kristen’s relationship with her brother.
Kristen didn’t answer me.
I still hadn’t made up my mind about Will. Kristen assured me that Will was a close friend and confidante to her, and I still felt a bit jealous over his sexual relationship with his sister.
Despite Kristen’s assurances that I was her one and only love, I still wondered if that would change when she met with her brother again. After all, they had a longer history together; Kristen knew Will since she was born. Will was also Kristen’s first and only sexual partner until I came into her life.
Then I thought about today. I saw how Kristen invited Sherry into her apartment. She knew very well that Sherry was still in love with me. Despite that, Kristen invited Sherry over and even suggested that the three of us go skinny-dipping. I knew that Kristen also had a jealous streak. If Kristen could be as graceful as that with Sherry, then I might as well try to give Will at least the benefit of the doubt.
Kristen arrived at my house, and we kissed for a minute or so in the moonlight.
“I love you, Kris,” I said.
“I’ll always love you, Jim,” Kristen answered.
I sighed. Was I the luckiest person in the world, or what?
Chapter 7—Thanksgiving in Boston
It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I was in the Swift’s family Mercedes with Harry driving Kristen and me to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.
We gave our bags to the skycap, and I handed him a twenty-dollar bill that Kristen gave to me earlier when we were in the car. He looked at our tickets and saw that we were flying first class. He stapled our claim checks to our ticket folder, and Kristen and I entered the bustling airport.
I never flew before in my life. Of course, I visited this airport a few times; the last time was when we picked up Patty after she came back from New Jersey. Even so, I never saw it so busy.
Kristen noticed me gawking at the crowds and giggled. “It’s the day before Thanksgiving, silly. Of course, it’s going to be crowded.”
My darling Kristen was aware that this was my first flight, and was determined to make it memorable for me.
We showed up at the departure gate about twenty minutes before the scheduled departure time. The status board showed that our flight would be late in departing.
Kristen smiled at the flight attendant as we checked in at the gate, and after we got our boarding passes she took me by the hand to a cocktail lounge near the gate. She slapped a bill on the bar and asked the bartender for two glasses of Chianti.
The bartender looked at the two of us, probably noticing that I was most likely under the minimum drinking age of eighteen. He saw Kristen’s stare, and he lowered his eyes and found that she placed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. He took the bill and poured us our drinks.
This wasn’t the first time that I saw Kristen order something alcoholic, but it was the first time that I saw her sort of insist on it. Once we obtained our drinks, Kristen led me to a table in a dark corner.
“You look so nervous that you might just shake your clothes off,” Kristen noted.
I looked at the wine dubiously. Despite the fact that I was underage, I did not share most of my fellow teenagers’ desires for a taste of the forbidden drink. My real father was a drinker, and I always associated his drinking with the behavior that caused him to leave my mother and me. The only alcoholic beverages that I drank were occasional tastes of Champagne that I shared with Kristen, usually for celebratory purposes.
I didn’t know if Kristen’s suggestion of a glass of “liquid courage” would help. She urged me to drink it, however. After I saw Kristen take a couple of sips, I did the same. The wine tasted very tart and didn’t seem to do anything to my stomach, which admittedly was indeed turning cartwheels.
I left most of my wine behind when the loudspeaker announced our flight. Kristen and I returned to the gate where they were pre-boarding first class passengers, and the person at the doorway was a bit surprised to see that Kristen and I were traveling first class.
We walked from the runway up the stairs into the jet, and found that our seats were the second row—very close to the entrance of the plane. Kristen had a purse and a small carry-on bag, and she placed her purse in a pocket in front of our seat and her bag in the overhead bin. The flight attendant offered us some pillows and blankets, and Kristen accepted some for both of us.
The seats were roomy and the arm between them lifted to make a nice and comfortable chair just a bit smaller than a love seat for the two of us.
The flight attendant returned and asked us if we wanted anything, suggesting some Champagne. Kristen looked at me and then nodded at the woman, who left to retrieve a small bottle for the two of us.