Liz had made tea, filled her thermos, and brought extra cups upstairs for her roommates. Theresa was awake and reading in her bed and Rose was watching the soundless television images of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade when Liz arrived and said, "Happy Thanksgiving, girls. Whatcha reading, Theresa?"

"Happy Thanksgiving," murmured Theresa as she looked at the cover of her book: "It’s ’How Should We Then Live? The Rise and Decline of Western Thought and Culture’ by Francis Schaeffer. My priest said, if I wanted heavy penance, he’d give me a book by a Protestant theologian on what’s wrong with the world."

"Oh boy," said Liz, as she handed cups of tea to Rose and Theresa. "The Rise and Decline of Western Thought and Culture—all that in, What, three-hundred pages? Must be heavy going."

"Two hundred and fifty-eight pages, many of them illustrations. Mmm, thanks for the tea. Yes, it’s pretty heavy stuff: ‘This book is a personal analysis of the key moments in history which have formed our present culture and the thinking of the men who brought those moments to pass. This study is made in the hope that light may be shed upon the major characteristics of our age and that solutions may be found to the myriad of problems which face us as we look toward the end of the twentieth century.’—Why are you laughing, Rose?"

"I just think it’s funny: you’re such a brain, so God sets you up with a brainy priest who gives you a brainy book. What’s his name?"

"Father Matthias, and he talks like a book. He’s an encyclopedia of ideas, very confident and very full of himself. Very northeastern intellectual elite. One of those people who think they know all about you the moment they’ve scratched the surface."

"Sounds like you don’t like him," said Rose.

"Oh, I like him, I guess. He’s very enthusiastic and cheerful, and if he stepped on my toes, he did so with good will and in good faith. He’s fun to talk to. But I just don’t trust him. He’s too, too…"

"Full of crap," suggested Liz.

"Too larger-than-life," said Theresa. "Too restless and headstrong. Like, What I want isn’t today, so I’ll storm the gates of tomorrow."

"Man on the floor!" came the male voice down the hall.

"That’s Hugh," said Liz. "Wonder what he wants."

"Lordy, Lordy, who knows?" drawled Theresa a la southern belle. "Ah haven’t the faintest." She looked at Rose.

"Me either," chirped Rose.

"All right you guys," said Liz. "Theresa, aren’t you going to throw on a robe?"

"Over a flannel nightgown?" said Theresa. "I’m hot enough as it is."

Hugh knocked on the door frame.

"Hugh," said Liz. "Happy Thanksgiving. You want the last of the tea?"

"Straight out of the thermos?" said Hugh. "I was hoping you might pour some in your slipper. On second thought, they’re pink, they’re furry…"

"I’ve had them since college," said Liz. "What brings you to our door."

"Do you have plans for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Yes, and so do you—Twinkie’s, remember? All Twinkie’s clients."

"Twinkie said nothing about that to me."

"Probably forgot."

"Maybe I shouldn’t go then."

"Oh, Hugh, good grief!" said Liz.

"Of course you’re invited," said Rose. "She just forgot."

"She might actually have had something besides you on her mind," said Theresa.

"Why… Thank you," said Hugh. "You’re right. She was running late to pick up her kids. Still, I’d better call, see if we should bring something, bottle of wine maybe." He turned to Liz. "So you and me are the bus drivers."

"Happy Thanksgiving," said Liz.

"Yeah, right."

"How about a card?" said Rose. "Not a bottle of wine, but a card for Twinkie we could all sign."

"Happy Thanksgiving from all of us," said Liz.

"Okay," said Hugh. "but I still haven’t given up on the half gallon of Gallo. You help me pick out the card, Liz? Free breakfast included."

"How about Rose?" said Liz. "It’s her idea. Or you could take Clytie, she thinks you’re the greatest thing that ever happened to her."

"Oh please, no," said Rose. "No arguments, please."

"It’s nice to know I’m so positively regarded by someone," said Hugh. "What a refreshing change. But I invited you, Liz. What brought me up here this morning was the thought that one thing I have to be thankful for today is your friendship."

"Wow!" said Theresa. "Thanks for making me realize that Schaeffer completely overlooks the Medici’s influence on the Renaissance in Fifteenth Century Italy."

Rose started laughing.

"Whoa," said Hugh, joining Rose. "What?"

"My American History prof called it the Golden Age Syndrome, the tendency to sentimentalize some past era, such as the American Revolution, at the expense of a cynically regarded present."

"So what’s the connection?" said Hugh.

"You and Liz. Vicious infighting, like the Medici family. And it’s wholly unnecessary. Liz just isn’t in the mood to go out. She’s in the mood for a cozy morning of tea and television, right, Liz?" Liz nodded. "I, on the other hand, unlike you and Liz, have no car. And I have been about to go stir crazy for the past two weeks. So if you’ll extend your breakfast invitation to me, thanks I’d love to go. Except I’d pay my own way…. You’re hesitating."

"I tend to think of you as my constant critic. I don’t know if I want to spend the morning having my nose rubbed in my personal failures."

"I can curb my honesty for the sake of your male ego."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Less Critical Bitch."

"Come on, guys," said Rose. "You’re both scared inside; we’re all that way, right?"

"Hugh," said Liz, "do you have any idea how much guts it takes for a woman to ask a man for a date? How about you just take a hike!"

"Date?" said Hugh. "Whoa. Okay, okay, let me readjust here… Theresa, I’m sorry for my churlish behavior. If I had a cap I’d doff it to the floor and get down on one knee. If you still want to get out and get some breakfast, I’m going down and warm up the car. How long shall I wait?"

"About twenty minutes," said Theresa.

…

"I liked the part about getting down on one knee," said Rose.

"Yeah, he’s a charming bastard," said Liz. "I liked the part about Theresa’s nipples standing at attention, myself."

"Oh, shit!" said Theresa.

"I told you to put on a robe," said Liz. "The odor of testosterone, does it every time. Isn’t your brain wired to the rest of your body?"

"It’s a chilly morning," said Theresa.

"It’s eighty degrees in here," said Liz. "And if you’re not turned on to the fact that you’re turned on, you can wind up saying, ‘Oh we’re really going to do this, aren’t we?’ about the time your panties hit the floor."

"I hope he doesn’t hear Date and think that means Getting Laid," said Theresa.

"No," said Liz. "Like Rose said, he’s scared too. And you’re both thin-skinned. You should make an interesting couple."

"And we expect a full report," said Rose.

…