The Jamesons arrive at three with desserts in hand. Joshua's dad is an amazing baker, and his Thanksgiving pies are straight up swoon-worthy. My favorite is cherry, but I'm struggling not to blush when he hands it to me at the front door. Fantasy Joshua and I were wearing a pie very similar to this one not twelve hours ago. I'll still have a piece for dessert. Probably two.

Joshua clearly researched 'what to wear to Thanksgiving dinner to make the girl you've known your entire life want to suck on your neck forever' on the internet. He's wearing a gray cardigan sweater with a navy blue, V-neck t-shirt underneath. It's exposing a part of his body I don't see very often. That little soft spot at the bottom of his throat, where his collar bones fit together. I want to run my fingers over it for the next three hours while he sings to me. Joshua has a beautiful singing voice. And it comes from that perfect spot on his neck, I just know it.

"Josh, you remember my intensely beautiful girlfriend, Maren." Brent gestures at her like she's on a rotating display. She swats his hands away, but she's clearly enjoying his humor.

"Actually, no," Joshua says sheepishly. "I haven't been here for the holidays in a few years. It's nice to meet you." He shakes her hand and then gives me an apologetic look. Another reminder of how absent he's been from my life.

I really like Maren. She's gorgeous, but in a way that isn't intimidating. She's slender, but not skinny and has long, brown hair that she usually wears up, in messy buns or knots that make her look like a farmer, but in a fashionable way. Today it's a smidge more tidy than usual. She looks at home, and warm, and next to my brother she looks happy.

Brent is ass backwards in love with her. She brings out all the good things in him. It's pretty cool to witness.

"Hey, can I talk to you kids in private?" Brent asks. Joshua glances behind us, playfully, then points to himself as if to say 'who, us?' "Sorry, I mean young adults." Brent rolls his eyes, grabs our elbows, and starts leading us toward his bedroom. Thankfully, he took down the boob ceiling when he started dating Maren. I don't need that kind of stimulus this early in the evening.

"Wait." I lean toward the stovetop as we're being dragged through the kitchen. "I need to watch my cranberry sauce."

"I can watch it for you," Maren offers.

"Thanks," I say. "Just stir it to make sure it doesn't burn, and maybe take it off the heat in a few minutes."

"Got it," she says, picking up a wooden spoon and dipping it into the pan.

Brent's pulling gets pushier as we get closer to his room. He shoves us into semi darkness, snaps the light on, and closes the door behind him. "Sorry about that," he says. "I need your advice before I talk to Dad."

"Advice about what?" Joshua asks.

Brent digs into his pocket and pulls out a black, velvet box. He hands it to Joshua and nods for him to open it. "Do you guys think I'm crazy?"

Joshua opens the box, revealing a stunning engagement ring. 

My body does all the obnoxious stuff girl bodies do when they see a ring like this. I cover my mouth, so I don't squeal. "Oh my God, Brent!" I give him the biggest 'aww' eyes I can muster. 

He's relieved and terrified by my response.

"So, I'm not crazy?" he asks, nervously. I think he wants us to tell him he's crazy. To take the pressure of proposing off for the evening. But he's not crazy. We're not going to lie to him.

"No, man," Joshua says, staring at the ring in his hand. "Go for it. Don't hold back." His voice softens at the last words. I try to read his face, but he won't take his eyes off the ring.

Brent takes a deep breath and laughs a little on the exhale. "Okay, I'm going to talk to Dad. And then ... holy shit!" He squeezes my forearm and when I look at his face my heart seizes up. He's overflowing with happiness. "Can you guys watch that for me for a few minutes? So, I don't accidentally swallow it?"

"Yeah," Joshua says. He clears his throat. "I've got it."

Brent pulls us both into a hug and then leaves us alone. The door is open a crack so we can hear the voices of my mom and Maren in the kitchen. And Brent as he asks my dad to join him for a beer in his office.

I watch the soft spot on Joshua's throat as he swallows. He smiles and then looks away from the ring for the first time since he opened the box.

"Big life stuff happening tonight," he says. "It's pretty awesome."

"Yeah, I'm happy for them. They're good together."

"She seems great," he says. "I feel bad I wasn't here to witness the whole courtship, but if she's still hanging out with Brent after three years, there must be something good going on."

I laugh. "I know, right?"

"Do you think it's more important for two people to be really good friends when they get married, or for them to have, like, a shit ton of passion for each other?"

My skin rushes warm and my fingers twitch. "I think the best thing would be ... both."

He smiles. "Friends ... with passion, then."

"Yeah," I say. "Friends with passion."

He looks back at the ring and laughs. "I've never held an engagement ring before. It's weird. It makes me feel like I should practice."

"Practice what?" I ask, willing his eyes to find mine again.

He lowers himself down on one knee and my breath catches in my throat.

"Dot," he says. He tilts the box toward me, and his eyes follow. "Will you marry me?"

I freeze solid. He's kidding, obviously. Practicing. A dry run for whoever he decides to propose to someday. Someone who will also be named Dot.

He smiles widely and giggles. "Um ... this is the part where you say, 'yes' or 'no'."

My mind flips to Tom and everything he said to me in the art room. I don't like what Joshua is doing. I don't want this to be a joke. It's not funny. Maybe Joshua really doesn't know what he means to me or how much I love him. If he did, he wouldn't be fake proposing to me in my own house on Thanksgiving. I need to say something.

He needs to know.

"Joshua," I say, my voice barely making it over my lips.

The mischief in his eyes turns to guilt. "Hey, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He closes the ring box and stands up. "I was just ... I didn't mean to...."

A high-pitched shrieking sound pierces the air and I cover my ears. The smoke alarm.

Fuck! My cranberry sauce.

I run toward the kitchen as my dad carries the smoking saucepan out the front door. Maren is coughing, waving her hands in front of her face while Brent looks on, crushed beyond repair. His big moment, upstaged by my meager meal contribution.

The smoke makes my eyes water, but they were brimming with tears already. At least no one can tell the difference. I grab my coat and follow the smell of burnt cranberries out to the front lawn.

My dad passes me on his way back inside. He pats me on the shoulder. "Don't fret, Dot. We'll survive dinner without cranberry sauce."

I stare down at the pan, melting through the crusted over snow. The contents dark, burgundy red, like Bud's shirt. I hope he doesn't sit with us at lunch on Monday. I don't want to have to tell him I failed at his recipe. He had too much faith in me not to screw it up.

"Hey." Joshua's voice clips the back of my neck. I straighten up and wipe my eyes hastily. The Velcro on my jacket sleeve scratches the delicate skin under my eye and I wince. "I'm going to run home to my house," he says. "My parents think we might have a can of cranberry sauce in the pantry."

I press my lips together to stop words from coming out of my mouth. Because the moment for the ones that were waiting has passed.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asks. There's hope in his voice and it makes me want to scream at him.

I take a deep breath. "No," I say. And I'm kicking myself. Because I know if I went to Joshua's house with him, where we'd be alone--together--I would find the courage to say what I need to say. To tell him how I feel. To kiss him even. And maybe something would finally start happening between us.

But I'm too scared of the unknown. Where the best stuff hangs out. The stuff that's worth being scared for.

"Here," he says, pressing the velvet box into my hand. "Brent asked me to hang onto it until after dinner. But I'm worried I'm going to mess things up."

I laugh ironically. I think I already messed things up enough.

I put the box in my jacket pocket, and I don't recoil when Joshua takes my hand and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. His lips are warm against my cold skin, and he lingers there long enough to make my insides ache with regret. "I'm sorry, Dot," he says. "I know you're disappointed in me. And you should be."

I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

"I'll be back," he says.

He leaves me in the snow, waiting for my pan of failed cranberry sauce to harden into festive cement. I put my hand in my pocket and run the tips of my fingers over the box. I close my eyes and picture him kneeling in front of me, offering its contents to me again.

"Yes," I say silently. "A thousand times, yes."

* * * * *