Jess sat in her apartment, wrestling with herself over when she should go over to Kendall's. Be early? Late? Fashionably late? Exactly on time?
She decided on exactly on time—punctual, professional. The conversation that night in the New York office over pizza repeated in her head: Kendall didn't want it to be "fucking weird" between them.
Too late. Far too late for that.
Jess at least wanted to bring something so that she didn't arrive empty handed; traditional Thanksgiving desserts were unsurprisingly hard to come by in Shanghai, so Jess settled on Angel's Wings pastries—flaky and sugary. She'd been living on them regularly.
The chefs were putting the finishing touches on the feast and the hors d'oeuvres were set out on the coffee table. He instructed candles to be lit and soft music to be played over the stereo sound system; he was unable to ascertain whether he was overdoing it or not. The conversation that night in the New York office over pizza repeated in his head: He didn't want it to be "fucking weird" between them, but he couldn't tell when it wasn't fucking weird to begin with.
The doorbell rang. He sprinted to the door and then took a moment to compose himself before opening it.
"Hey," he heard himself say.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Jess presented the dessert before him.
"Thank you," Kendall stepped aside and allowed her to enter.
The penthouse, revealed to Jess at the end of a snaking hallway, was effortlessly chic—curated, of course, by a team of designers. A minimalist take on high-end penthouses. A lot of ecru. And slate.
The view of the city was impressive, Jess noted. She commented on it, and Kendall shrugged as he handed off the dessert to a waiting attendant. He turned back to her, as she observed the view and surveyed her: a cream, low v-neck sweater and dark denim jeans that clung to her body in a way that made him jealous. Simple black ballet flats.
"You want a drink?" he asked.
"Sure."
"Perrier-Jouet?"
"…Champagne…?"
"For you—not for me," Kendall admitted almost sheepishly, "I could get you something else—"
"No, that's fine," Jess smiled as she watched Kendall retrieve a seemingly waiting flute of champagne from the bar cart. He poured a glass of sparkling water for himself. "I see that the servers and chef came on time-?"
"Yes—thank you for setting that up," he commented, gesturing to her to take a seat on the couch before them.
Well, of course. Jess thought. She always set everything up for him.
She sipped her champagne and felt awkward. Kendall cleared his throat and took a gulp of the mineral water. They sat for a moment, both wondering where to take the conversation. Jess was about to take comfort in the peripheral presence of the waitstaff, just in the kitchen, quietly bustling to put the finishing touches on the meal, but as she looked for them, they filed out the door. Done for the night.
They were alone.
As Kendall had instructed, the food had been laid out on the vast kitchen island. Jess took a gulp of champagne.
"You hungry?" He asked her in a quiet voice.
She nodded with a quick assertion, but without responding.
The opulence of the feast was a stark reminder to Jess that, despite their intimacy, she and Kendall were operating on different planes of reality. This meal was not folksy. It was not traditional—her traditional, at least. Definitely no potluck vibes. They sat down at the large table perpendicular to each other and began to eat in silence. The number of meals that they had shared was somewhere in the hundreds. But this one was entirely silent, with each of them wondering what the other was thinking. Equally nervous. Equally unsure. Equally in the dark.
Yet there they sat, shoveling food into their mouths, not looking at each other. Where was the ease of the desert? The effortlessness? All but gone.
When Jess could eat no more, she pushed the leftover food around on her plate. Kendall watched her for a moment. A scary thought passed into his mind. And then another. If anyone else had been having the same thoughts, they would classify them as lovely, welcome, enticing, even. But to Kendall, they were frightening.
He blinked once. She'd called his name.
"Do you want to go out on the balcony?" She asked, seemingly for the second time.
"Of—of course."
Jess grabbed her drink as a safety blanket and followed Kendall outside. The evening was cool, and brisk breezes blew across the city. The moon was high in the sky, indicating to Jess that it was already late in the evening. The night had been so awkward—but where had the time gone?
She gulped some more champagne. Jess felt Kendall inch closer to her. And then again. And again—until his elbow grazed hers.
She glanced down furtively and up again, locking eyes with him.
"Thank you—for coming, I mean," he uttered softly, meeting her gaze.
"Of course—Thanksgiving is—"
"No," a sheepish, tired smile passed over his lips, "no—to China."
He paused, still locked in her gaze, elbow grazed.
Jess blinked once, and then nodded quickly, dutifully. "Of course."
Another pause. Much longer this time. Kendall struggled for words.
He gripped the railing, held his breath, and shook his head as he formulated coherent thoughts.
"Listen," he finally burst forth, "I honestly—I can't—"
He stuttered, and stumbled, running in circles next to her. Jess watched him flounder, but she laid her hand on the curve of his jaw, her thumb ultimately resting against his stubbled cheek.
Her touch sucked the air and sense of out him, and Kendall dove into her lips hungrily. And for a split second, his doubt had gotten the best of him; he had never been sure of her feelings, only his own. Could she just be the complying powerless employee? He pulled back an inch—just to check for some indicator of certainty, yet again.
Meanwhile Jess slid one hand around Kendall's back, pressing her fingertips into him, urging them closer together so that their bodies were aligned. With the other hand, she deftly laid the champagne flute on a nearby end table. She locked eyes with him again, nodded without a sound, and pushed her lips into his. The kiss itself lasted only seconds before Kendall heard Rava's voice in his head; he figured he was truly and finally losing it.
Except it wasn't in his head. It was in the penthouse.
"Hey? Ken…?" She called as the kids burst in, flooding the living room with noise and luggage.
Jess reeled back from Kendall like an opposing magnet, stumbling into the end table. The champagne flute crashed to the ground.
"Oh—God—" Kendall reacted to Jess, but then reused them for his estranged wife, "Oh—God—Rava…you're…"
"Here? Yeah," she finished smoothly as she stepped out onto the balcony, "we thought we'd surprise you—and—oh, it looks like we did."
Rava pursed her lips as she watched Jess straighten herself and emerge from the shadow she'd retreated into.
"Hey—Jess," she uttered in a low voice.
"Hi."
"I—did give a heads up to Kerry that I was thinking of bringing the kids as a surprise—" Rava glanced back and forth between the two, reading their faces adeptly, "I would've contacted you, Jess, but I…didn't know you were… in China."
Kendall jumped in, "ah, yes," he clapped his hands together while he thought of something to say, "Jess joined us here just a few weeks ago."
"Two months ago," Jess corrected in a soft voice.
"Two months ago—right." Kendall blinked a few times.
A beat.
"Daddy!" Sophie rushed at him, throwing her arms around his waist.
Kendall gave her a quick hug and ushered her back inside to where Iverson was kneeling by the coffee table, setting up his Lego. Rava and Jess observed Kendall and the kids for a moment—in a heavy silence.
"Well, I—I should get going—" Jess swallowed, but her voice was still raspy.
"It was good to see you—" Rava began, but Kendall jolted up as Jess moved to the door.
"—No, you don't have to go—" he found the words tumbling forth and was powerless to stop them.
Jess managed a planned smile and a deep exhale: "It's Thanksgiving –and it's your family –and—"
Kendall waited for her to finish, but she said nothing. Instead, her eyes grew sad.
"Good night," she said with another smile, this one forced, "Good night, Rava."
Rava cocked her head to the side, knowingly, "Good night."
And before Kendall could figure out how to beg Jess to stay, she was gone. The door clicked and, as the kids played in the living room, oblivious, Rava approached Kendall in the hallway. She stood behind him at a distance.
"The assistant? Really, Ken?" He felt her cross her arms at him, "you're a walking cliché."
And, as usual, Rava was right.