Not Home for the Holidays: The Journey

Thanksgiving, Post Millennium My parents bailed on me for Thanksgiving. Let me rephrase. They scheduled a Southern getaway and though I was invited to join, I didn't want to attend. I just wasn't in the mood to travel. So I'm in New York for Thanksgiving alone-- sorta. There are enough West Coasters who never fly home for a 4 day escape so if I really wanted something to do (or eat), I had offers and options.

I take the unlikeliest offer of them all. Devin, a guy I've known forever, but who's only recently expressed an interest in dating me, invites me to Newark to hang out with his people. Holiday dinner with the fam? Big deal. I dig dude and it's good to know the feeling is mutual.

Still, I'm not sure I really want to go. People love me or hate me depending on whether they "get" me. My hair is a wild, curly 'fro. As a matter of personal preference, I rarely match my clothes. And no matter how hard I try to "fit", I usually come off left of center, ie the odd one out unless I'm sitting in a room with a bunch of artists. Some people find it precious, others obnoxious. I don't know enough about Dev's people to gauge how I'll go over with them. 

The Wednesday before the big dinner, I call Dev specifically to ask what I can bring to the house. I'm thinking maybe a bottle of champagne? Clicquot?

"You don't have to bring anything," Dev insists. "Just yourself."

"Uh, no," I counter. I will bring something or I will not go. I will not show up at his mother's home empty-handed. I tell Dev as much. "So champagne?"

"Fine. But no champagne."

"Everybody likes champagne... Hold up, do your folks not drink?" God forbid I show up with Spirits to a tea-toteling house.

"Oh, yeah. They drink." Pause. "You want to bring Hennessey?"

 

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