[FF] Thanksgiving dinner at Sophie’s (PART 1)

This happened on Thursday, when I was at my friend Sophie’s for Thanksgiving dinner. There’s some history between us — I’ve posted about it before, but the short version is that about four weeks back we exchanged glances at a Halloween party. I know, I know, that probably sounds inconsequential, and lame by gonewild standards. I keep telling myself the same thing: *It was just a look.* *It meant nothing. You’re probably overthinking it, Emi. Probably.*

But then a hopeful voice comes over me and provides a counterpoint: that it wasn’t *just* a glance, that for a brief moment, the universe stilled and everything faded until there was just us in that candlelit room. And then the memory comes to life again — the smell of homemade apple cider, her sapphire blue eyes meeting mine, the flavor of cinnamon and cloves on my lips as I wonder if hers taste the same, and a subtle feeling of connectedness, like we were exchanging secrets without words.

So yeah, that’s been my life for the better part of four weeks — basking and agonizing over a fleeting moment that shifted my world, and way too afraid to ask her about it. And here I was now, at her front door again, anxious about what she’d say when our eyes met again. So I stood there awkwardly, with a freshly baked pumpkin pie in my hands, and a thousand racing thoughts, and eventually rang the doorbell.

Her roommate Katie answered. “Emi, you’re early!”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s okay!” she said. “I think Sophie could use some help in the kitchen.”

I nodded and tried to smile, but the mention of Sophie tied my stomach in knots. Katie took the pie and brought it into the kitchen. I followed nervously and stopped at the doorway. Sophie was pouring the contents of a giant mason jar into six large shot glasses, making sure they were all even then garnishing them with a cinnamon stick.

“Let me take your jacket,” Katie said, prompting Sophie to turn and see me. Our eyes met for just a moment before we both demurred and turned away, me glancing at random pots and pans and her fiddling with the drinks she was preparing.

“They’re Apple pie bourbon shots,” Katie said, breaking the awkward silence. She picked one up and offered it to me. “Want one?”

“Sure,” I said, taking the shot glass. Then Katie walked back towards the living room leaving Sophie and I alone in the kitchen. She picked up a shot herself and slowly walked over until we were just a foot or two apart. She was so beautiful, and I found it hard not to stare. I became lost in her features, from the way her long side-swept bangs fell casually over one eye, to how her lips were so naturally pink, standing out against her lightly-freckled pale skin.

“What shall we toast to?” she asked, her eyes meeting mine. I think she was blushing, but it was warm in the kitchen, so I just chalked it up to the rigors of all-day cooking.

“I… um… I’m not sure,” I said, struggling to find words, any words, let alone think of something clever and appropriate to toast to.

“How about… to special moments?” she suggested.

I felt myself blush and tried to look away, but I was transfixed, her gaze enchanting me once again, overpowering every ingrained instinct to look away. Was she acknowledging *the* moment? Or was this just some generic toast? My brain was overloading itself with conjecture and I felt as if I was about to shut down from the mental strain, but I somehow managed a nod.

She relaxed and smiled as if my response had eased some worry. Then we tipped the shot glasses together, pulled the cinnamon sticks out and shot them back. I was never really into shots so I prepared for the worst, but it was really, really delicious. It tasted like concentrated autumn, with sweet spiced apple and ginger dancing on my tongue, followed by the warmth of smoky bourbon and cinnamon.

Sophie stuck the cinnamon stick between her lips and slowly pulled it out. “Whatcha think?”

“Strong, but really nice,” I said.

We stood there somewhat awkwardly, letting the silence linger, then Sophie turned to refill her shot glass. “I think I need another.”

I wasn’t a big drinker, and I knew I’d probably regret having a second shot so quickly, but I extended my glass for a refill, too. Sophie looked at me with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“You sure, Emi?’ she said, an almost imperceptible smile at the corner of her mouth.

We were staring at each other, again, and I completely lost track of what we were doing or what she had just said to me.

“Am I sure?” I repeated, trying to rewind my brain a few seconds so I could respond appropriately.

“Are you sure about… *this*,” she said, offering me the second apple pie bourbon shot.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, some hesitation in my voice. I couldn’t tell what we were talking about — was it the shot? Was it something else? About… *us*? My thoughts were a turbulent, chaotic mess, but one thing was clear — Sophie looked a little disappointed.

“I’m sure,” I repeated, more confidently this time. I reached for the shot glass. “I’m really, really, sure.”

She smiled. “Me too, Emi.”

Now, I’ve never been great at subtext. I struggle with sarcasm and innuendo, and prefer when people speak in literal terms. But I knew that those three words were just the tip of a contextual iceberg. Somehow, I just knew it meant more. Maybe it was in the way her eyes glimmered, or how the corners of her lips fought back a playful smile, but below the surface of those three words I could feel hope and excitement, and I knew she felt it too.

And that was just the start of our evening. There is more, but I feel like I still need to process everything that happened. It’s hard to explain… It was life changing, but not in a way that’s easy to describe. The evening was filled with nuance and discovery, and apple pie bourbon shots (which perhaps contributed to the discovery). I’ll do my best to capture the events in a way that do them justice. For now, thank you for coming along on this journey with me!

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/r4a73g/ff_thanksgiving_dinner_at_sophies_part_1