Page 73 of Kitten

“I didn’t think you were the type to celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Why, because it is an American propaganda holiday?” He snorted. “I have to make something for my work potluck next week.”

“And you signed up for turkey?”

“Is it hard?”

“I swear your oven doesn’t work.”

“It’s our oven now, no?”

“Our oven,” I said, feeling shy. Even if he was only correcting me, Nicolo’s comment felt like a blessing, pardoningmy long intrusion into his and Lou’s life. “It doesn’t work half the time. And it’s probably not even big enough. You’re going to have to cook it in parts.”

“You know how to make turkey?”

My mother and I made turkey every year. After Thanksgiving Day, we’d buy one for cheap, chop it to bits, put it all in the freezer, then roast a little each day onward. This usually lasted us a week, though the last time it was two. I recounted all this to Nicolo.

“Why after Thanksgiving?”

“It’s cheaper that way. We always did Thanksgiving the day after. We’d make up for not celebrating on the day itself by having loads of turkey for a whole week.”

Nicolo cocked his head. “That is a very sweet tradition.”

“No propaganda involved.”

“Fine,” he said. “I accept your help.”

“Oh, I don’t remember offering.”

“It’s a payment to me for helping to fix your life,” he said.

Most likely he said this to me as a joke, but in his accent the statement sounded sincere. His words hung in the air, echoing with false gallantry. It was true, he’d helped me. I was fixing my life. I walked over and hugged him.

“Wow,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“But I’m grateful,” I said.

“So make me the turkey.”

A pleasant feeling unwrapped in the back of my brain, recognition of something invisible and important unfolding. A near-stranger learning what I used to do with my mother. Being asked to do something for someone, thencommitting to doing it. I thought of Bruno sniffing Silver’s butt and Silver licking his ear. I didn’t want to be afraid. I wanted to lick somebody’s ear.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll make you the turkey.”

—

When Lou returned that night,she was tipsy and in a great mood. For the past few weeks, her co-worker had been talking about hosting her twenty-fifth birthday in Sicily in June. Lou didn’t think she would be invited, but she was. “Sicily in June,” said Nicolo. “Have fun with all the tourists.”

Ignoring him, Lou turned to me. “I see you’ve made yourself cozy.”

“Yes,” said Nicolo. “She is part of the family now.”

“You and me are not family.”

“You offend me.”

“Katie is my friend, not yours.”

“I think you will find,” Nicolo said, “that she is also mine.”