Mouse’s greeting was much different when I got home that day. He hollered from the kitchen when I opened the door, “Hey, baby, come in here!”

I dropped my gym bag under the coat rack in the hallway and headed into the kitchen. A huge bouquet of sunflowers and mums adorned the countertop, and Mouse stood near the stove with two glasses of red wine in his hands.

“You ready for a long weekend?” He held one glass out to me.

“Thanks.” I smiled and settled into the crook of his arm as we sipped the wine.

“We’ve got about an hour before we have to leave for the airport to go to your mom’s, so I thought we’d have some sushi and wine, then catch the train. Sound good?” He leaned forward to kiss me. I could never refuse his soft lips and solid arms as they enveloped me.

Thanksgiving weekend at my mom’s house in Florida was a swirl of activity. We cooked a turkey by burying it in a fire pit my mom had concocted in the back yard, and Mouse served up candied yams like I’d never seen. Friday, Mouse and I played baseball at the neighborhood park, and he was constantly chattering about the Yankees. I think Mouse reveled in the fact that I was in his sight the entire weekend. Despite Mouse’s attention and current tenderness, Tyler remained a constant presence in the back of my mind. I wondered what he was doing for Thanksgiving. Was he with his parents or friends? I wondered if maybe he had a girlfriend he was spending the holiday with. Did he think of me, or was I simply an Internet interest that let him procrastinate at work?