THANKSGIVING

7:19 AM

I roll over in the bed and search until my arm finds Brooks. I open my eyes and he's already staring at me, a half smile on his face.

"Morning." He kisses my forehead.

"Morning back."

"Happy Thanksgiving," he says.

"That's right!" I sit up straight.

HOW did I forget Thanksgiving? It's my favorite holiday. Sure, my parents abandoned me this year, but still. Not mad about my present houseguest.

"So, what Thanksgiving plans am I crashing?" He asks.

"Plans? Crashing, you?" I laugh, pulling the covers over my head. "No plans."

"No plans?" He laughs back. "No way. I don't buy it."

"Really," I say. "Zoë mentioned stopping by her family's dinner, but I don't know them and would rather be alone."

"Oh yea?" He raises his eyebrows. "Alone?"

"Well," I say, climbing to my knees on the bed. "Not entirely alone."

"That's what I thought." Brooks smirks.

"We'll need to make our own plans," I say.

"Our own plans," he repeats.

"Our own Thanksgiving." I say, smirking as I wrap my arms around him.

"I like the sound of that," he laughs.

"Let's start..." I trail off, deep in thought. "With coffee?"

Brooks laughs and rolls over to the edge of the bed. "With room service in bed?"

"Oh, I like the sound of that," I smirk.

Brooks walks to the window and pulls back the curtain to reveal a sunny-overcast day. "Or, how about breakfast outside?"

"I could get behind that. But we need to stop at my apartment first. Can't eat in this," I say, holding up my dress from last night's trip to Corbel Finn.

"You could eat breakfast in that," Brooks says, laughing. "But fine, we'll stop at your loft."

"Thank you," I smile.

I grab my phone and read the messages lighting up the screen.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER <3

HAPPY TURKEY DAY!!

I text my parents back. It hurts a little to not be with them on Thanksgiving, but I suppose I'm getting used to it. I'll settle for Brooks. After all, being with him feels just like being back at home, in high school, living at my parents, being kids, and being irresponsible.

Whoever said an outdoor Thanksgiving breakfast picnic was a bad idea? We sit on a Sherpa blanket under the trees in the park, eating vegan granola bars and Greek yogurt cups (stop thinking about John Stamos). The sky is speckled with clouds, dark and gray. But the patches of blue are clear and sunny and perfectly autumn. Deeper than a summer blue sky, ya know?

I have on a blue plaid fleece hanging over my leggings with thigh-high boots. Yes, my leftover curls are in a messy bun. Brooks matches me with black jeans and a gray pullover. His leftover hair is just perfect. It's all very fall-grunge. We should be in a magazine posing for a casual Thanksgiving photo-shoot.

"I love this Thanksgiving," Brooks says, stretching back on the blanket.

"It's not bad," I smirk.

I lay sideways across him so my back is against his waist. His fingers are running along my collarbones.

"No bad?" He repeats, cocking his eyebrow. "You have a lot to be thankful for."

"Do I?" I smirk.

"Of course. Coming back for the summer for starters. Pretty lucky," Brooks laughs.

"You think?"

"Yea," he says, shrugging. Such a simple yea like I just asked if he was hungry or not.

"And what about you? What are you thankful for?" I roll over his chest and lean up closer to his face. Man, I'm thankful for his lips.

"I am thankful," he pauses. He tucks a rogue hair behind my ear. "That I didn't have any other plans."

"Yes. That was pretty lucky," I smirk.

Brooks palms my face, blocking my kiss.

I spread out on the blanket next to him. We stare up at the sky, at the trees, at the leaves falling above us. Their golds and reds are brilliant gems.

"Hey," I say, looking over at Brooks.

He turns to me, and smirks. "Hi."

"What do you think happens when we die?" I ask.

Brooks's lips spread into a huge grin. I love when the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles so big. "How very macabre."

"It's the trees. They're all dead or dying." I laugh, shoving his shoulder.

"They're not dead yet," he laughs.

"Fall is an entire season of dying but somehow still the most beautiful." I lower my eyes to the row of trees shading the footpath behind us.

"Maybe that's why it's beautiful, Em. When we die, maybe we live." Brooks looks at me.

"How very meta."

"Is it?" He leans over on his side.

I bite my lip looking at him. Just look at him! Ugh. I'm thankful for his actual perfection.

"What becomes of us after death? Is there more to life than an earthly breath? Soft words spoken by quiet souls, born again in death, its secrets shared and told." His lips stop moving; his raspy velvet voice stops flowing.

"Who is that?" I ask him. Staring at him in awe.

"An original," he says looking away.

"No way." I lean into him. "Did you just come up with it now?"

"Nah, while ago," Brooks says.

"And I'm macabre?" I tease.

Brooks laughs at me, stretching his arms behind his head again. "Poetry isn't macabre, Em."

I roll my eyes. "You're right. Just didn't know you wrote poetry."

Shit. He's already sexy AF but now let's toss in writing poetry. Think I just got pregnant.

"Sometimes."

I laugh.

"What's funny?" Brooks asks.

"Nothing. I mean, it's just –I'm realizing I don't even know you," I say, shrugging.

"Of course you do," Brooks says, eying me suspiciously.

"Not really," I bite my lip. "I have memories of who I think you used to be. But every time we're together a memory is replaced with who you are now."

"I'm still the same. Mostly, anyway. As much as you are." Brooks looks at me, intense.

"Mostly." I nod.

My stomach is flat against the ground and I prop myself up on my elbows. Brooks stares at me, smirking. He reaches down to the inside of my flannel and his fingers play on the neckline.

"You never told me what this is..." Brooks's voice trails off.

"What what is?" I ask.

"Your tattoo. The WYWH." His fingers trace over my skin.

"Oh," I say, tensing up. I remember when he asked over the summer. I remember not answering –on purpose. Eh, whatever.

"So?" Brooks nudges me.

"Wish You Were Here," I say, quiet.

"Wish you were here," Brooks repeats my words. Man, they sound good coming from his lips. "Like the song? By Pink Floyd?"

"No," I laugh. "Not like the song. It's just –I don't know," I say, biting my lip. "I got it sometime in college when I felt my life sort of shifting –felt myself becoming someone new."

"I get it," Brooks responds. "It's a feeling, not really like you actually wish someone was here."

"Exactly." I nod.

I guess the WYWH encapsulates a sort of existential feeling. Wishing people were here when they're not. Missing the person I am without them. Missing someone I used to be. Or maybe I subliminally got it for another reason.

Maybe it was for Brooks.

"Alright," Brooks says, standing up. "Enough deep talk. How about some football?"

"Football?" I ask. "Seriously?"

"Sure. Touch football. One on one," he grins. I like the sound of that.

"You're on," I say, hopping to my feet next to him.

Brooks pulls a football from the jumbo tote and tosses it to me. He crouches down to my height and runs his hands through his hair.

"Go easy on me," he says.

"No promises."

I won. An hour of touching and grabbing and being tackled by Brooks. Hell even if I lost, I won. We left the park in the afternoon. Back in my studio loft we watch reruns on the flix for hours. Every Thanksgiving episode of FRIENDS in a row. Then we braved the cold to forage for our Thanksgiving feast.

We're in the corner convenience store. Shopping for our dinner. On Thanksgiving.

Getting mad looks from the clerk behind the counter. When he's not creeping on us, he's restocking the rotisserie hotdogs under the heat lamp. Who's judging whom?

"Here. And here. And this." Brooks is handing me one thing after another.

"Brooks!" I shout. "Off-brand cheese balls? We aren't peasants."

"Ha-ha. You're right." He mocks me, holding up a new bag. "Tonight we are royalty."

"Hot fries are a YES!" I laugh and snag the bag out of his hands.

"Open up." Brooks holds out his hand. His other hand is hiding behind his back. The stupid grin on his face is blinding me again, but man am I thankful.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Not telling. Just close your eyes and open."

"What every girl wants to hear," I smirk.

"Come on. I'm not feeding you poison."

"Fine!" I sigh and cover my eyes. I open my mouth, laughing. Brooks puts his hand on my hip to keep me straight.

"Stick out your tongue."

I do it. And feel a warm tingling popping sensation on my tongue. I open my eyes to see Brooks holding a packet of Pop Rocks. Before I can say anything his mouth closes over mine and he's kissing me. The tickling feeling adds to our kiss.

"OK. We're done!" I say, tossing our shit up on the counter.

The clerk is eye-balling us again. We probably do look out of place, especially considering the holiday and all.

"This everything?" He asks, ringing up the goods.

"Yup," Brooks answers. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and throws cash on the counter.

Two minutes later we leave with a one-bag meal.

Our feast consists of chocolate (coconut) milk, instant Ramen noodles and Hot Fries. A Thanksgiving dinner to embarrass all other Thanksgiving dinners.

There's a very real vagabond vibe to it all. To the fact that we're alone together on Thanksgiving. Away from friends. Away from family. It's like we could be nomadic gypsies that just happened across this town on this night and we found ourselves at this convenience store. Real The Lumineers' Sleep on the Floor vibes.

Shit. Stop making mixtapes in your head, Em.