“Something wrong? Something wrong?” she bellowed. “Yes, there is something wrong, as a matter of fact. My English professor, Dr. Kapple, is a total fucking asshole, and I hate him!”
I managed to keep my balls by not making meowing sounds right at that moment. I knew this particular kitten had all her claws.
“What’d he do?” I asked. I rubbed my hand across my face to hide any signs of amusement.
“He assigned a paper due right after the Thanksgiving holiday,” she told me. “I’ll have to spend the entire weekend writing it!”
“Total dick,” I managed to say without laughing.
“He is!” she agreed. She tossed Colossus’ Rucksack on the kitchen table and started digging through it. I leaned forward from my position on the couch so I could see what she pulled out. I still didn’t trust that thing and had even had a couple of nightmares about it. I’d probably seen too many horror movies about serial killers who kept body parts in big trunks or bags or refrigerators and shit. Not that I thought Tria was capable of something like that, but the bag was big enough and full of enough shit that I was quite convinced anything could be in there.
“Well, at least you don’t have to go to campus for a few days,” I reminded her. Her shoulders slumped a little, and she pulled out a couple of books, a notepad, and some pens from the bag on the table. She turned around, and her expression had changed.
“I was all caught up,” Tria said with a big sigh. Her anger dissipated, and for a moment she just looked tired and sad. She dropped down on the couch and seemed to deflate. “I needed some time off. Midterms just about killed me, and I still don’t know what to even cook for dinner tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I don’t eat most of what’s on the typical Thanksgiving menu anyway. Last year I got takeout Chinese.”
“Seriously?” Tria asked with a raised eyebrow. “That is not a Thanksgiving dinner. I found some recipes; it’s just…not very cheap.”
“So we’ll make something else,” I suggested. “I’ll even help, if that doesn’t scare you too much.”
Tria snickered.
“It does, actually.”
“Well, you could still make something easy,” I said. “Sandwiches and chips are perfectly fine with me.”
“I can probably make apple pie at least.”
My mouth started to water at the thought of apple pie, which led me to think of another Thanksgiving dinner and how the menu pretty much fit in exactly with my level of culinary skills.
“You make apple pie,” I said, “and I’ll make all the rest.”
She eyed me for a minute.
“You’re serious?”
“Serious.” I leaned back against the couch and put my arms up over the top of the cushions. My arm wasn’t quite around her, but it was kind of close. “I’ll take care of dinner. You do dessert and get that paper done so you can relax the rest of the weekend.”
She still seemed pretty skeptical, which was probably warranted, but she agreed to the plan.
*****
The smell of apple pie permeated the whole apartment by midmorning. In the kitchen, the scent was even stronger, and trying to gather up all the stuff I had bought at the grocery for our special Thanksgiving dinner while being tempted by the pie was not easy.
I wanted to shove my whole face in it.
“Hey, Tria?” I called out.
“Can I come back in there yet?” she asked.
“No!” I replied. “No entrance until I’m ready! I was just wondering if you could get the blanket from the bed. We’re going to need it.”
“The blanket?” she repeated. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, the blanket!”
“Why?”