Here is the final piece to the Thanksgiving story! Thanks for your patience! And for all of your reviews! Your words of encouragement mean so much to me! For those asking- yes, there will be a big Christmas story and it will follow this storyline. And yes, I will be updating my Darker story next with the ball. Enjoy xo
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"Is it supposed to be that color, sir?" Taylor asks as we peek at our bird through the open oven door. I'm using the oven at the back corner of the kitchen, so nobody gets their greedy eyes on my fowl before I can surprise them with my newfound culinary skill at the Thanksgiving table. Ana and the rest doubt my abilities in the kitchen, but I'm about to prove them all wrong. This bird is going to knock their socks off.

"What do you mean? Turkeys are supposed to be golden brown. That's when you know the skin is crisp."

"I'm not sure I'd call that brown, Mr. Grey." He cocks his head and stares at it for moment, almost like he's decoding a bomb. Either that or he's trying to figure out how long it'll take his underwear to dry on a fast cycle. "It feels more like an enthusiastic mustard to me."

"What the fuck is an enthusiastic mustard?"

"The kind you squirt on your hot dog that doesn't have the seeds." Is he trying to say my turkey looks cheap? That saffron tin I threw on there was more than the bird itself. And the last thing I want to hear about is anything enthusiastic Taylor squirts on his hot dog, seeds present and accounted for or not.

"That's not mustard; there's way too much color in it to be mustard. Look at those red and orange streaks hugging the sides. It's like a Santa Fe sunset."

He stares at me for a moment.

"Which is not brown, Mr. Grey."

"I said golden brown. It just leans more heavily toward the golden." Like all the way, but I won't give him the satisfaction of admitting defeat in our color war. "Besides, yellow is a progressive step toward brown."

"Progressive, sir?"

"Bananas are always yellow before they're brown."

He looks confused.

"It's like a suntan. You don't just go from Wonder Bread white to Hawaiian Tropics in one go."

"I've never seen someone that color on the beach. The hospital after a spill of iodine, maybe... Or cirrhosis."

"What the fuck is your point?"

"It doesn't look like the turkey in the book, Mr. Grey," he says, opening that damn Sugar Jayne Does Dallas on the Thanksgiving Dinner Table, or whatever the fuck it's called, cookbook. I swear, he treats that thing like it's the Turkey Day Bible and he's been entrusted to uphold the gobble gobble gospel. I think he just wants an excuse to look at breasts and thighs.

"Of course it doesn't! This is an international turkey. We're using spices from around the globe! You can't expect it to look like Mom and Pop America."

"I thought it was supposed to look like America on Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving was all about foreigners coming to a new world, trying things out and surviving..."

"Are we trying to survive this turkey, sir?" What, is he a fucking comedian all of a sudden?

"You know what I mean." I put a finger to my head to indicate he should start using his mind. "Forward thinking. Forging new paths. We're taking the boring old Thanksgiving turkey to a whole new level. I promise you, Taylor, people will be talking about this for years to come."

"That's what I'm afraid of, sir."

"Christian, can you give me a hand," Ana calls from the dining room.

Fuck. I shut the oven door fast. It would be just like her to sneak up on the quick and peep on my poultry.

"Just a minute," I call out. "Taylor, go get Ana's mother at the airport. When you come back, the bird should be done and we can make the gravy."

"We're making the gravy, sir?" He has a look of horror on his face like I just told him our ship was sinking and there are holes in all the lifeboats, so we have to swim to shore through shark infested waters.

"Yes, of course."

"I thought you were scared of the giblets, sir."

"Taylor, fear or no fear, there's only one person I trust with my drippings- You and me."

"That's two people, Mr. Grey."

"Not really."

"Yes, sir. I'll try to read up when we're at baggage claim."

He leaves and I take one more look at my turkey. It does sort of look like it has issues with its liver. The real issue being its liver is in a bag in the fridge. I know the problem! It looks sickly because it's still too raw. I don't think this thing is cooking fast enough. I jack up the temperature to 525. That skin is going to be nice and crispy.

########

"Why do we have to invite all the family over to dinner anyway?" I ask, helping Ana put the finishing touches on our table. She made me attach these long leaves to the ends to accommodate extra guests. Maybe I should've accidentally broken them so we'd have no room and she'd have to send the photographer, Kavanagh and Elliot out to the barn to eat with Boone.

"It's Thanksgiving," she says, like it's obvious or something.

"I'd be more thankful if we could just have dinner with the kids, watch a holiday movie and go to bed as soon as it gets dark."

"Are you that tired?"

"I didn't say anything about sleep." I raise a brow aimed at the removal of her underwear.

"Didn't you have enough fun with the twine earlier, Mr. Grey?" She passes in front of me, purposely brushing that pregnant peach ass of hers against my groin.

"Oh, Mrs. Grey, I could never get enough of you in twine." Although I prefer a thicker rope, twine works in a bind- so to speak.

She smiles and a blush dusts her cheeks. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close, my bite finding her delicious neck.

"Christian, it's almost time for dinner."

"I'm just starting with an appetizer."

She giggles as I nibble her ear lobe.

"I have to finish putting place cards on the table so people know where to sit."

"I know where I want you to sit."

"Christian!" she playfully scolds.

"Fine," I reluctantly let her go. "But as soon as the pie is served, I'm grabbing everyone's coats and sending them on their way."

I look down at the cards she's placed and run my eyes over the names.

"Why did you put me next to Kate and Elliot?"

"He's your brother."

"I sat next to him growing up, I've had my fill." I can just imagine Kavanagh shooting questions and giving me the snark eye all night. I swear, if I choose salt, she asks me what the hell my problem is with pepper. She thinks this makes her a good reporter. Reporter is just an official title for she can't mind her own fucking business. "Besides Elliot steals my rolls."

"What?" Ana spits a laugh.

"It's true. He loves those little tube croissant things." I remember how I'd be first to grab mine while they were piping hot. I had my eyes on the prize. He had his eyes on his armpits, making farting sounds and trying to blame it on me; but I never lost focus. He was always so envious of my buttering technique, too. I had my spread-to-bread ratio perfected down to a science. "And every time I turned my head for even a blink, he'd swipe them."

"Like the bread bandit?" she snorts.

"Ana, the lost rolls of my youth are not a laughing matter."

"I know, I'm sorry. I promise to make sure you have your heart's desire of buns tonight."

"Now, you're talking." I give her a swat on her own buns and she squeals.

"Where are you seated?" I ask, not able to find Ana's name anywhere near the vicinity of mine.

She points to the other end of the table.

"Why are you so far away from me?"

"It's traditional for the husband and wife hosting the meal to be on opposite ends."

"There's no valid tradition that tells the husband and wife to keep their ends apart!"

I examine Ana's end. To my horror, the photographer is two seats over from it!"

"No, Ana! Over my dead body will Jose be that close to your end!"

"You could consider it the beginning of the table."

"I don't want him that close to your beginning, either."

"My dad and Jose Sr. are friends," she says, like it's an answer.

"What does that mean?"

"Ray wants to sit next to Jose Sr. and Jose has to sit next to his father."

"Why does he have to sit next to his father? What, are they attached at the nutsack, or something?"

"Christian, honestly."

"I am being honest! I am to the brim, cup over-floweth full of honesty right now." I take a breath before honesty explodes out of my head. "Besides, how will we share our news about the baby if you're in another state?"

"I'm sure we will figure something out." She moves over to me and gives me a sweet, soft kiss. "Don't worry, you'll have my end all night long after they leave."

She kisses me again and I move to deepen it.

"I have to finish getting ready," she murmurs against my lips.

"Can I help?" I murmur against hers.

"No, because you'll keep taking off what I'm putting on." She reaches around and pulls my hands that are already halfway done untying her apron, away.

"That's the idea."

She swats me and smiles as she heads upstairs, and I watch her juicy peach bottom leave me.

Once she's gone, I move hurriedly to the table and shuffle the place settings to my liking. Once everyone's seated, she can't make them change places.

Taylor texts me: "I just picked up Carla. I think she had a few cocktails in first class." What the hell does that mean?

"Is she drunk?" I text back.

"She's not not drunk, sir."

Oh fuck.

"Stop by Starbucks and make it a triple."

The last thing I need is a drunk Carla.

#######

"Daddy, Daddy," the kids run downstairs in their Sunday morning best. Those outfits will be a Saturday late night worst the second food hits their plates.

"I don't like my shirt, Daddy," Teddy says, pulling at the collar. Ana's got him in a full baby blue suit with a tie that has little turkeys on it that could be mistaken for splats of gravy from afar.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's making my neck itch."

"Is it too tight?"

"No, I think it's too clean."

I roll my eyes.

"Well, don't worry. It'll be filthy as soon as you try to get the cranberry sauce from the fork to your mouth by way of your sleeve."

"Do you like my dress, Daddy?" Phoebe twirls. She's in a pale yellow number with a chocolate brown cardigan that has sunflowers for buttons.

I drop to my knees on the rug and grab my chest dramatically, as if in wound.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

"You pierced my heart with your beauty."

She giggles just like Ana as she wraps her arms around me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"How does Chester look?" She pulls him out from her sweater pocket. He's wearing a suit that matches Teddy's- turkey tie and all. Gail must spend all of her free time making outfits for that fucking rodent. He's got a more extensive wardrobe than me. Of course, all I wear is three colors.

"He looks presentable enough for the table in his cage."

"He doesn't gotta table in his cage. Just a dizzy wheel."

"Tell him to do a few laps on the dizzy wheel while he eats, he'll burn off the holiday bulge before it sets in." That hamster is so fat. He doesn't even have to walk for himself. The only time he uses his legs is when he's sprinting to and from his attack victim, which is usually me. Of course, it is probably difficult for a hamster to walk around in dress slacks.

"No, I'm gonna get him a tea cup and he can sit in it by my plate."

"We're not going to eat dinner with a rodent on the table."

"But, we always do, Daddy." Fair point well made.

"Can we go eat with Boone?" Teddy asks.

"No, you're not eating in the barn, you're eating with your family."

"Boone is family, Daddy."

Ding-Dong.

Fuck, the first guests have arrived. Why are they so early? I look at my watch; they're actually five minutes late. Still, what happened to the twenty-minute rule?

The kids race to the door.

"Look through the peep hole first! Make sure it's not a crazy we don't know." We have to let in the crazies we do know, it's Thanksgiving.

"Ana, they're here!" I call and turn to see this goddess of mine walking in from the kitchen. She looks breathtaking. Her hair is down and wavy and smells like a meadow; her lips are a plum- that much like that Jimmy Horner in the corner- I want to stick my thumb or something else inside. She's wearing a navy dress that's covered up with the cutest frilly white apron. It's moments like these I can pretend she's barefoot, pregnant and chained to my kitchen.

"Well, hello Mrs. Grey."

She smiles and unties her apron, taking it off to reveal a plunging neckline that pops some of the plumpest produce I've ever seen.

"Ana, why are your tits out like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you buy that thing on the pornography rack?"

"I've worn it before."

"Yeah, but not when they looked like that!" She's grown like four sizes, seemingly overnight. Wars could be fought over those promised lands, and they were promised in front of God, my family and a bunch of other idiots to me.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I am not. I don't want every man at the table to imagine feeding on them instead of the turkey."

"You're worried about your father and brother staring at my chest?"

"Jose, okay!"

"You don't want to stare at them?" She pushes them forward, lessening the available square footage in my pants.

"Of course I do, they're beautiful."

She brushes them up against me.

"This dress does have its advantages."

"Oh yeah. What's that?" I can't resist, I have to touch.

"You can imagine taking it off of me later." Straight to my cock!

I can't resist; I pull her in for a deep kiss.

"Hey, bro. Keep it PG for the kids," Elliot says, breaking up our moment.

With an arm still around Ana's waist, I turn to see my brother, Kavanagh and little Ava headed toward us. I can see Elliot's eyes pop out of his head when he nearly shoots his load, getting a load of Ana.

"Mommy and Daddy is making bacon and eggs again!" Phoebe hollers.

"What does that mean?" Ava asks.

"It means Mommy's cooking the eggs Daddy loves extra special."

"We're having eggs tonight?" Elliot asks. "I didn't know you liked eggs so much, bro."

"Phoebe, what did I say about talking about bacon and eggs before dinner?" I swear, I tell her to keep the baby a secret and she almost blurts it to the first idiot she sees, who just so happens to be the biggest.

"Sorry, I forgetted."

"Geez, Christian. Lighten up." Kavanagh snarls. I notice she's carrying a gigantic punch bowl full of bottles of liquor.

"Katherine," I say, upholding my well trained manners and giving her a peck on the cheek. "It's always a treat." I motion to the liquor. "I see you brought your own supply."

"Funny." She doesn't laugh. She just scrunches her nose up like she smells something bad or rather just her usual expression. "I'm making Kavanagh Kool Aid." Always like Kate to class up an event.

"That stuff you made in college?" Ana asks.

"Yeah, I though it would it be fun. Jose loves it. We'll make a toast to the three amigos."

"There will be no toast to the amigos in my house!"

"Mommy's making bread in her stove!" Phoebe blurts out, excitedly, then gasps and throws her her hands over her mouth. "Oh no! I forgetted again!"

"Cool!" Elliot say. "Fresh rolls." Fucker gives me a look of warning aimed straight at my buttered biscuits.

Ding-Dong. Wonderful, more of the flock.

"I'll get it!" the kids say in unison and battle it out for who's going to get to turn the door knob as they race down the hall. I take Ana's hand and we follow behind them.

"Don't run on the marble! You'll crack your heads open!" I yell to them, but they pay me no mind.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Grace says, holding one of the apple pies she baked as she and my father-who holds the other two- enter the front door that Teddy just opened in well fought victory.

"Thanks, Mom," I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "You know apples are the way to my heart." I married a girl that smells sweet like them. I give Ana kiss on the side of her head and inhale the scent of her hair.

I say a quick hello to my father and sister as Grace pulls Ana in for a bear hug. She's still so grateful her son found someone who could put up with him. Who am I kidding?-So am I.

"Oh, Ana!" Grace says, pulling back to look at her. "You're positively glowing."

"Mom!" I put a shush finger to my lips. She nods and pretends to lock her lips with her fingers. She and my father are the only ones, besides the kids, who know about the baby. I think I may have to worry about her spilling the beans more than Phoebe. At least Phoebe spills the beans using breakfast code.

"Gramma, Grampa!" Phoebe says, tackling my father's leg. "You have to see our turkey brother!"

My father gives me a quizzical look.

"I'll explain later."

My grandmother clears everyone aside with her cane and then stands in front of Ana, giving her the once over.

"Have you put on weight, dear?"

"Grandmother!" I say. I knew Ana was getting bigger, faster this time. I love it, but I know how she gets about comments on her weight- pregnant or not. "Ana looks perfect to me."

"Don't listen to the old coot, Ana dear." my grandfather says and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "If it's a pound or two, it's weight in all the right places." He gives me a knowing wink. Not knowing like he knows she's pregnant; knowing like he knows I'm getting good lovin'. My grandparents are are so embarrassing. I can't imagine if I dated real girls in high school.

"Everyone come in and make yourselves at home," I say and they scatter inside.

Before I can shut the door, here comes Ray, Jose Sr. and the photographer. Junior's got that camera strapped around his neck again. I don't think I've ever seen him without it. I'm sure he's going to try and snap photos of my family without me in them. Fucker.

"Daddy!" Ana says, giving Ray a big hug and the kids run over and grab on each of his legs, leaving me in an awkward alone moment with the Father and Son Jose.

"Glad you could make it," I say, reaching out a hand that Father Jose doesn't take; he just grunts and nods.

"Christian, I'm really excited to be here," the photographer says, looking about ready to piss his pants or make some other mess in them when he turns his attention to Ana and her cleavage. I swear, if he make one move, I'll use the turkey carving knife on those raisins he calls testicles. Not that I've seen them up close, but I can only imagine.

"I'm sure." I turn to Jose Sr. "Did you have a nice trip in?"

He takes what feels like five minutes or decades or years waisted off my life to answer.

"Long," he says.

Conversation finished.

Everyone gathers in the great room and fraternizes, while Ana and Gail dart back and forth from the kitchen. I wisely closed the partition to the area my oven is in, so they wouldn't see any of my magic at work. I'm keeping an eye on my iPhone alarm for when my turkey is done. I've timed the baking of this bird as precisely as I butter my rolls.

"Ana, quit running so fast," I say, stopping her as she passes by. "You're liable to trip on a carpet edge and fall and be in a coma for a week." Or put someone in one with those tatas flying around.

"A coma, Christian?" She sounds like that's ridiculous.

"It's happened before."

She rolls her eyes. I look around to make sure no one is looking and give her a little swat.

"Here, let me do whatever you're doing, Ana."

"No, that's okay. I'm in a groove. Just worry about your turkey."

"I don't need to worry. My turkey is fantastic!"

She squints her eyes like she might not believe me.

"Then, entertain the guests."

"I don't want to entertain the guests. I want hide in the kitchen with you." I look over at Kavanagh who's mixing up her punch on the bar. I don't think she's using any recipe, except for sorority girl common sense. "Besides people are about to be entertained with hard liquor."

"Make conversation with Jose's dad."

"What? Why?" She always wants me to make friends with that man! How can I talk to a guy that primarily grunts for communication and is allergic to more than one word sentences? Then again, I grew up with Elliot...

"He's staring at the wall."

"He always does that. Especially when I talk to him."

"Ana, could you help me with the green beans?" Gail calls out.

"Christian, please just do it. I don't want you in the kitchen too long. Things happen when you linger in there."

She kisses my cheek and darts back to do her work. Things happen when I'm in the kitchen too long? Yeah, it's called flavor. After tonight she'll be begging for my culinary expertise.

I move to the great room and begrudgingly head for Jose Sr., who's still staring at that wall. What does he see, anyway? The future that didn't happen with his son and Ana? These people need to get over it. It's been seven years! And to think, they despise me, wish me dead so they could steal my wife and I still invite them to my house for the holidays!

"Yo, bro," Elliot shouts, taking the first dip out of Kate's frat party punch bowl. Though, I'm sure he's not the first one that ever dipped into Kate's bowl when that punch comes out. "Remember that time Mom and Dad rented a cabin for Thanksgiving and you were in the shower and I cut off the hot water and you screamed and I told you a bear did it and it was in the house gonna eat you and you ran naked through the woods..."

"I believe you locked me out as well. For an hour!"

"Good times." He laughs.

"I remember when he used to piss on the apple trees and say it was apple juice!" My grandfather shouts out and everybody laughs.

"I'm so enjoying this trip down memory lane at my expense," I say.

"Oh Christian, it's all in good fun," Grace says. "Remember the lemon eating contests?"

"Elliot won every time," I say. Sucking face with lemons prepared him for life with his wife.

"Why don't you have some punch, Christian?" The lemon herself asks, holding her ladle out to me like that witch who offered Snow White the apple. Or was that Satan to Eve?

"Because I want to be able to walk in a straight line to my meal."

"Ana," she calls to her as she hurriedly passes. Kate is the worst friend. She's watching Ana work while she chug-a-lugs with my brother. Only she would bring a big vat of liquor as her Thanksgiving side dish offering.

"What, Kate?" Ana asks.

"Let's all toast."

Everyone grabs a glass. Kate tries to hand one to Ana, but I stand in the way.

"She's not drinking that!" Over my dead body is my wife and unborn child going to be exposed to that toxic sludge.

"Why not?"

"Because she has work to do in the kitchen." That excuse came out a little wrong. Everyone's looking at me like I've chained Ana up and have forced her to be the slave of my stove. Hey, that could be a hot role-play...

"Cave man, much?" Kate asks, cocking her head in snark.

"He means I have to think clearly when measuring out the ingredients."

I love my Ana; we're in this together

"Exactly, we don't want too much flour in the potatoes," I add.

"You don't put flour in potatoes," Grace says. Thanks, Mom.

"My sweet potatoes!" Ana remembers and I watch those sweet, sweet potatoes leave me.

I stand there waiting for Kate to say something, but for the first time in the history of the world, it doesn't happen.

"What's your toast?" I ask.

"What toast?"

"You said you wanted to make a toast."

"I don't want to say anything; I just want to drink."

Of course; I should've known.

I feel tugs on my leg. I look down and it's the kids.

"Hey, Daddy, when do we open presents?" Teddy asks.

"Presents? It's not Christmas."

"It's Thanks-givers day," Phoebe adds. I thought that means you gotta give us a good one and we says thank yous." Of course my kids would think that. They see Dad as an easy mark. They expect gifts on an average Monday, and they usually get them.

"Boone's getting cable television in the barn on Monday. Enjoy that."

I see that Jose is enjoying another round of college memories at the bowl, so I sit down across from Jose Sr., who's still starring at the wall.

"How's it looking out there, tonight?" I attempt to joke.

"Dark."

"That good, huh?" I hope he's commenting on the night sky out the window, rather than my fate.

"Uncle Jose, I'm so happy you're here!" Phoebe squeals and jumps on him as he makes his way back to his father. "I missed you for the longest time!

"Me, too," Ava says and gives him a big kiss on the cheek.

What is he, fucking Santa Claus? Ava never says she misses me!

"It hasn't been that long, Phoebe." It could never be long enough!

I'm about to ask Jose Sr. his opinion on world affairs just to hear what he gives for a one word response, when I hear laughter. It's a woman. I think I hear Taylor's voice, too. Oh fuck. He's back with Carla.

"I think someone's arrived, Christian," my mother says. "Want me to see?"

"No, no. You enjoy your punch. I'll go."

"Oh, I am. Soooo much!" she laughs. She better watch it. I don't want to have to keep an eye on two drunk mothers tonight.

I walk to the foyer and see Taylor helping Carla through the front door. And by help, I mean carrying her shoes, holding her at the waist, and her hands clutching his shoulders in an effort to stay upright.

"You know, Taylor... You're very good with women's things . Are you a professional?"

"It's more of a hobby than a profession, ma'am."

He spots me.

"Sorry we took so long, sir. We had to make that Starbucks run. Twice."

Oh fuck.

"Christian!" she says, unlocking from his shoulders and finding mine. She gives me a hug that would send the old me into an institution.

"Carla, welcome. How was the flight?"

"Wonderful. First class has a lot of good benefits."

"Like dental insurance?" I joke.

She doesn't get it at first, then she throws her head back dramatically and starts to laugh, far too loud. Thankfully, my mother's laughter in the other room is drowning her out.

"Oh you are funny! No wonder my Ana married you. You've got such snappy..." She tries to snap her fingers a few times, but misses. "...wit."

"I think the last thing Ana married me for was my sense of humor."

"Oh, I know what the first thing was!" She points her finger, wiggles it and winks.

Oh my god.

"Where's Bob?"

Her expression changes from a smile to a snarl.

"Probably hanging off his mother's tit like usual."

Uhhhh...

"That's what I like about you, son. You always choose your wife's tit first."

How the fuck do I respond to that?

"Ana!" I call out. "Your mother's here!"

########

"So, I ask the Captain, how do you see to fly at night," Carla tells the crowd in the living room. "And he says, with my eyes."

"With my eyes!" My mother laughs, along with the rest of the drunken crew surrounding Kate's bowl like it's a fountain of holy water.

"I think it's just the jet lag," Ana says, as we spy from the dining room.

"I don't think there's any lag in her. She just keeps going."

"Carla, I'm so glad you're my mother-in-law," Grace says.

"I'm not your mother-in-law, I'm your sister-in-law."

"I'll just call you my best friend."

Oh. My. God.

They hug and laugh. And to think I was worried about introducing an inebriated Carla to the party. I think she's more sober than my mother.

"We need to do something," Ana says.

"We have to get food in these people!" I give her a look. "Remember, drinking rule number one."

She tries to fight it, but she smiles.

And at the perfect time my iPhone buzzer goes off. My bird is done. I can't wait to see my beautiful creation.

########

"Oh my god," I open my oven to find my bird in a cloud of smoke.

"Well, at least it's not mustard anymore, sir."

It definitely progressed past yellow and kept going beyond brown, until it made it all the way to charcoal black.

"What do we do now?" I say, waving the puffs of smoke emanating from the foul smelling fowl.

"Someone put it on 525 degrees!" Taylor says, reading the temperature.

"That was me!"

"Why, sir?"

"It wasn't cooking fast enough."

"Maybe I can take some of the char off with a knife, like you do with burnt toast, sir."

"Good idea." I put on my oven mitts and pull out the grate, rushing it to the sink. "Close the oven! I don't want to alert everyone with the smoke alarm going off."

Taylor closes the oven door, grabs a knife from the drawer and starts to scrape. He really moves fast under pressure. He must've been remarkable in pinch-time battle.

"I think it's working," he says.

"You just took a chunk of the skin off!"

"That's where the burnt part is."

"You can't serve a skinned turkey, it looks creepy."

"Creepier than it is?"

"Yes! Charcoal is much better than Hannibal Lector and fava beans."

"Is Ana serving fava beans, sir?" What an idiot.

"Here, let's try and wash off the residue." I lift the sprayer and douse it.

"Sir, the stuffing!"

Fuck! I turn off my sprayer. I forgot about that. Now the bread is all wet. Taylor gives me a look of utter disgust. He's seen dead bodies in war, how is he so disgusted by water soaked bread?

"People like their stuffing moist," I say. "I got it. Put the stuffing in a bowl. We'll slice this bird up and cover it with gravy."

He proceeds to spoon soggy yellow and red striped bread into a bowl. I pull out a knife from the holder and start to slice pieces and place them on a platter.

"Aren't we supposed to carve it in front of people?"

"Nobody wants to see this in public!"

I finish with the slices, then race to the oven, pull out the pan and set it on the counter.i accidentally catch my finger on the side and sear my flesh.

"Fuck!" I cry out in pain.

"What, sir?"

"Nothing! Let's just make the gravy."

"What are those lumpy black things at the bottom, Mr. Grey?"

"The giblets."

"How'd they get in there, sir?"

"I put them in halfway through."

"In the pan?"

"Am I speaking English? Yes, Taylor. In the pan. Like you told me."

"Sugar Jayne never said to put them in the pan." What, is he a member of her fucking cult now?

"You told me to cook them."

"Not like that, sir. You're supposed to simmer them in a little pot."

"You mean, like marijuana?"

"No, like a saucepan."

"Why should I cook it separately when the flavors all blend together at once in there?"

"Because, this happens, sir." He grabs a spoon and proceeds to scrape the charred organs from the bottom.

"It'll be a dark gravy."

"With all due respect, sir." You always know someone's going to disrespect the fuck out of you when they say that. He points to the electric yellow drippings at the bottom. "It looks like the turkey went."

"Went where?"

"All over the bottom of the pan."

"Are you saying my gravy looks like piss?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's not piss; that's sunshine colorful."

"I don't think of sunshine when I see it."

"We'll just add whatever you add to gravy to make it thick. Piss isn't thick, Taylor."

"Not usually." I don't want to fucking know what that means. He opens his book. "You add flour."

You add flour to gravy and not to potatoes? Who knew? I get the flour out of the canister on the countertop.

"How much?"

"How much what, sir?"

"How much do you fucking love me?!" I roll my eyes. "Flour! How much flour!"

"1/2 cup, I think. It depends on your desired volume."

"We want a lot." It's going to take a lot of thick piss to cover up this shit. I guesstimate a pour and stir it in.

And I stir, and I stir, and I stir...

"It's not getting thick!"

"It said it should."

"What do you mean should? They didn't guarantee it?"

"Sugar Jayne says,..." He opens the book to read. "It's like trying to get a pickle to sit still in a half empty jar."

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

"I don't know, sir. I think it's a country joke."

"Well, I'll tell you what's going to be a fucking northwestern suburban legend- you and me and this turkey piss, if we don't fix it!"

My gravy is separating and balling up. It now not only looks like the turkey pissed, it looks like he passed kidney stones in the process.

"Taylor, we can't serve this."

"Oh, thank God!"

Did he just make the sign of the cross?

"You need to go to the store and get me another turkey."

"It takes hours to make a new one! We won't eat until breakfast."

"You think I want to do this all over again?"

"Maybe, sir..."

"A cooked one! Get a cooked one!"

"What store, Mr. Grey? Everything's closed now."

"I don't know. Just go find something!"

He takes off.

"Christian!" Ana calls, knocking on the door. "Are you done in there, yet?"

"Uh, almost."

"What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

"It kind of smells like an Indian barbecue restaurant."

"Don't be silly. There's nothing but full blown Americana in here!"

I wait for her to go and place the pan with my piss drippings back in the oven, so no one will see it.

"Oh great, you're here," Ana says, as I enter the dining room. "We can start."

"Start what?"

"Dinner."

"Already?" I think I failed to mask my horror at the possibility of the meal actually being served.

"What do you mean already? We're behind schedule."

"Everyone's busy relaxing and enjoying themselves."

"Let's do karaoke!" Mia calls out.

"We don't have a machine!" Carrick says.

"Who cares?" the drunk mothers say in unison and start to sing "if we could turn back time", a la Cher.

"You said they need food in them. Drinking rule number one, remember?"

"Oh yes, I mean, I can't wait to eat..." Who am I kidding? I'm biding my time, hoping everyone out there gets so drunk they forgot we didn't eat and just go to bed. Unfortunately, I can't get past Ana or the kids. Taylor better fucking hurry! "But, first we have to make our announcement."

"Yes, we do." She smiles and leans up to give me a kiss.

"Everyone find your seats," I say. They don't pay attention. "Find your seats!" I say, louder.

"Are they lost?" Carla asks.

"Are they lost?" Grace laughs, and she and Carla hobble up together arm-in-arm.

The group meanders over, stumbling about to find the name tags I rearranged.

"Ana," Jose says. "Let me take a picture of you by the table." I know what he's really taking a picture of- a closeup of her rack. Before he can get his flash off, I swoop in, put an arm around her waist and hold a napkin over her chest.

"Why are there two names on my card?" Grace asks, lost in her drink induced double-vision.

"It's because you're double the special," Carla says and they laugh.

"Why are Elliot, Jose and I at the kids table?" Kate asks, with a look pointed at me. Though her point isn't as sharp when five types of alcohol are involved.

"Don't look at me, Ana made the tags."

"Yay! I'm at the big table!" Phoebe yells and she and Ava hug and cheer, jumping up and down like they've just won Chutes and Ladders all-stars.

"Me, too!" Teddy says, sitting in his chair. He grabs his knife and fork and slams the ends down on the table around his plate. "I'm gonna eat like a man tonight."

"Christian, did you do this?" Ana asks, pulling me aside, pointing to the tags.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because, I would rather sit with the children than the three derelict mice over there. Besides, Elliot likes it."

"Cool, we get to color on our placemats over here!" Elliot picks up his crayon and starts in on the turkey paint by numbers.

"Christian, the kids are supposed to be there."

"Why should the kids be moved off to some second class table? I put seventeen leaves on this thing, it should have enough room."

She's thinking about it. She knows I have a point.

"You know, you're right."

"I know." I am?

"It'll be a tight squeeze, but everyone should be able to sit at the big table."

Why do I have a feeling she's going to make sure I'm smushed closer to my brother and Kavanagh now?

"Where's my seat?" she asks.

"Right next to me."

"The kids are to your right and left."

"Yay!" They all cheer again. Even Chester lifts up on his hind legs in celebration from his teacup. I think he lost his pants.

"No, I mean right next to me. Like a love seat."

I push the seats close together.

"Christian, that looks completely bizarre. There's no chair on the other end."

"Do you think I care what looks bizarre?"

"No, you definitely don't care about that." She folds her arms and raises a brow. With those arms folded, her tits squeeze together and up like they're being inflated with a bicycle pump. There's no way I'm letting those things spill out onto the plate in front of an inebriated Jose.

"Plus, I can have easy access under your skirt." I whisper in her ear.

"Christian," she looks around to make sure no one is in earshot. "You are not fingering me at the Thanksgiving table."

"Not even a tickle?"

"No!"

What a Debbie Downer.

After a shuffling, everyone is in their correct chair. This is it. Time for the big announcement.

"Before we begin, Ana and I want to say something..."

"You're moving to Toledo!" Carla says.

"Moving to Toledo!" Grace says, laughing.

"No, but good guess."

"Is this bacon and eggs time?" Phoebe asks.

"Phoebe, shhh," Ana says with a finger to her lips.

I hook my arm around Ana's waist and pull her closer.

"Ana and I are extremely thankful this year. We have been blessed with good health, our family, our friends..." Jose smiles like I was talking to him. Jose Sr. just continues to stare at the wall. "And of course our children." I look to Teddy, then to Phoebe, then to Ana. Her eyes are so blue under the sparkle of the chandeliers. I'm taken back to that first day I brought her to this house to admire the view. We were so young; impulsive. I loved her then, but it's nothing compared to what I feel for her now. And the view- my favorite one- gets better every day. "I am especially thankful for my wife, who gave me all this with her devotion to me; her faithfulness; and her ability to love me in spite of myself..."

"She's a saint!" Kavanagh yells out and she and Elliot laugh. I choose to ignore them.

"And, we'd like to share with you our good news. Ana is-"

"He stuck a bun in your oven!" My grandmother shouts. "I knew that's why you were so fat!"

"Yay, bread time is finally here!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms victoriously in the air.

"Yes, Ana is going to make me a father again."

There are squeals and cheers and tears. Mostly tears coming from Jose. That's right- cry, fucker, cry!

"My brother only shoots straight bullets!" Elliot says, raising his glass. He's taken his coloring supplies to the big table.

I pull Ana in for a kiss, putting a hand across her belly. Fuck the rest of the world; it's just us.

"Thank you, Mrs. Grey," I whisper, gazing into eyes that I got lost in once and found myself inside.

"For what?"

"More."

We share a kiss.

"Sir," I hear Taylor's voice calling from the kitchen, breaking our moment. I turn to him. "Your turkey is ready."

"Great, Taylor! We'll carve it in the kitchen."

"Why don't you carve it out here so everyone can see?" Ana asks.

"They've all seen a turkey before."

"I've seen a turkey before. I married him!" Carla says.

"Thanks, Carla," Ray says.

"Not you, Ray. You were the good one."

"Carrick," my mother says. "Remember that turkey shaped thing that night on our honeymoon-"

"Okay, mother," I say, then head for the kitchen.

"Would you like me to help, Mr. Grey?" Gail asks.

"No, no. You're a guest today. Sit and enjoy."

I walk into the kitchen and see Taylor holding a large cardboard box.

"Great, you got a turkey!"

I look inside the box. It's not a turkey. It's about forty-five sandwiches on French rolls wrapped in plastic with orange stickers that say: Day Old.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Turkey, sir."

"That's not a turkey! Those are sandwiches."

"Turkey sandwiches. It's the best I could do. The only thing open was the Quickie Mart. I cleared them out."

Fuck. I pull one out and open it up.

"This is round meat!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"It's processed! Nobody will think I cut this meat! It's all flat and shiny."

"Flat and shiny, sir?"

"The real stuff is rough and moist." Anything good always is.

"Maybe they won't notice."

"What will they think? I have a processing plant back here to make Bologna shapes out of my meat?"

"They are quite intoxicated, sir. I'm not sure they can tell shapes."

He does have a point...

"Okay, take all the turkey out and put it on a platter. We'll dress it up with some garnish."

"What's the garnish, sir?"

#######

"Why is there lettuce all over the turkey?" Teddy asks.

"It's tradition! The pilgrims loved lettuce."

"Ewww, salad parts!" Phoebe says, covering her mouth with her napkin.

"Here." I hold the silver tray out for my brother to pass around. I figure, start with the biggest idiot; pass it to the drunks and the kids; and by the time it gets to Ana, it'll be all gone and she'll never notice.

"Christian? That's lunch meat!" Ana whispers to me.

Fuck. She noticed.

"What are you talking about? It's fresh turkey!"

"Why is there mayo stuck to it?" Kavanagh asks, holding up a slice with white stuff dripping off.

"That's not mayo," Elliot laughs.

"That's a dip I made," I say.

"A dip for the turkey? Like ranch?" Teddy asks.

"Much fancier than that. It has truffles in it." Good lie, Grey.

"Like chocolate?" Teddy asks.

"Like mushroom things," I say.

"Eww, mushroom parts! Phoebe squeals.

"I have a pickle!" Jose says, like he's proud it actually exists.

"I think we need wine! You can't have pickles without wine!" Grace says and heads to the kitchen and the wine fridge.

"Christian this has to be joke!" Ana says.

"Are you laughing?

"No!"

"Then, it's not a joke."

"Now, I'm really not laughing."

"You're a tough audience."

"Lovers spat!" Elliot yells.

"There's no spat, we're just discussing what's in my dip."

Ana drags me from my chair and pulls me around the corner.

"Did you mess up the turkey?"

"That's subjective."

"Subjective to what?"

"Subjective to how dark you like your meat."

"Everyone, dig in to the turkey!" Grace says from around the corner. They all cheer.

"See, they like it!"

"Why is the meat yellow?" Phoebe asks.

Of fuck!

I rush back around the corner and see that everyone has my turkey slices on their plates and they're eating them!

"Eww! It tastes like hot soap," Phoebe says, spitting it out on her plate.

"Mine tastes like my butt!" Teddy says. I'm not sure how he knows what his butt tastes like, but now is not the time to ask.

I grab the kids plate from them.

"I think my mouth has third degree burns!" Kavanagh yells out. Well, maybe one good thing will come of it- she can't talk for awhile.

"Where did you get that?" I ask.

"I found it in the kitchen on a platter," Grace says, grabbing for her water, but deciding on her wine, instead.

"I need some punch to kill my tastebuds!" Jose says, running for the great room and Kate, Carla and my mother follow.

Everyone is gagging and spitting into their napkins, except for Elliot.

"I like it," he says with a shrug as he digs in and grabs a roll off my plate.

########

Ana and I clear the explosion that was Thanksgiving from the table.

"Well, at least everyone was so drunk, they might not remember it," I say, taking my leftover turkey pieces from table to trash.

"At least we had the extra one I made."

"I'm sorry," I say, lowering my head so I don't have to face her disappointed eyes.

"For being a bad cook?"

"For letting you down. I wanted to make it special for you. And I wanted you to be proud of me."

"I am proud of you." She sets the cranberry sauce she's holding on the edge of the cleared table and puts her arms around my waist. "You don't have to cook a turkey well for me to be proud."

"Well, I'm thankful for that."

"And I'm thankful for a lot, too."

"Oh yeah?" I brush her hair away from her face.

She presses her chest against my torso. Man, those melons look ripe against my ribs.

"I have wonderful family and friends- drunk, but wonderful. I have beautiful children, both in the world and on the way." She touches her belly. "And I have you. You make everything perfect, Christian."

"Perfect? I screwed up today."

"But, you tried so hard and you did it with love. That's all that matters to me."

"So, you're going to let me try again at Christmas?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

We both laugh and I give her a kiss. Her lips are so luscious. I get a wicked idea.

"You know," I say. "Everyone is asleep. There's a lock on the dining room door." I move to lock it. "And we have plenty of leftovers..."

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Grey?"

I pull her back into my arms and unzip her dress slowly, releasing those glorious breasts as the satin hits the floor.

"I'm a man starved," I say, removing her bra and bringing my mouth to the swell of her chest.

"But, you've already eaten."

"Not my favorite dish."

I hook my fingers into her panties, and slide them down her thighs.

"I could never get my fill of you, Mrs. Grey."

I pick her up and carry her to the table, placing her at the center of the wood as the main feast.

What's your favorite holiday dish, Mr. Grey," she purrs.

"Potatoes, cranberries and Ana..."

She smiles as I reach for her discarded bowl on the edge of the table and spoon the leftover cranberries onto her breasts, officially making my Thanksgiving dreams come true.

Thank you for reading! Watch out for my Christmas Story! xo