“You have family shit tonight?” Paul nods at Preston, who stiffens at the question. I didn’t think about his dad wanting to see him or demanding to see him for the holiday. “No.” The word is full of malice but Paul ignores it. “You should come out with us then. We’ll probably end up hitting a diner or ordering pizza.” When Preston opens his mouth to talk shit about pizza, Paul holds up his hands. “I know, I know. Pizza is the worst, but most pizza places can make salads so you can eat your sad Thanksgiving Day salad while the rest of us are fat and happy with bread and melted cheese.”
