Chase
Thanksgiving
I don't remember the last time I celebrated Thanksgiving. It wasn't the year that my wife died, because she died at the beginning of the summer, and I didn't do anything that year. Haven't done anything since, so it must have been the year before.
"I've never made a Thanksgiving meal before," Paisley says as she stands in the kitchen. In front of her, she has a list of things that need to get done in order for us to cook. She's browsing the list, and I'm standing back, waiting for her to tell me what to do.
"Me neither, back when I was married, she always made the meal. I haven't made one since I lived out here by myself. It's bad, but normally I have some cereal, so just tell me what you think I need to do."
She laughs. "Cereal? I did the same thing."
We've got so much more in common than I ever imagined we would. "It was worth it, since I didn't care to dirty up all the dishes and have leftovers for a month, but this?" I gesture around where we have dishes spread out, ready for what we'll be having today. "It's going to be worth it too."
"Who knows," she shrugs. "Maybe this can end up being a tradition for us?"
Is she suggesting we might have longer than until they can fix the bridge in the spring? I'm almost afraid to ask.
"I'd like that," I tell her honestly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "More than you know."
She smiles, and the way her eyes light up makes my chest tight. "Okay then, let's see if we can pull this off without burning the cabin down."
"That's setting the bar pretty low, don't you think?"
"Have you met us?" She waves the list at me. "We're both cereal-on-Thanksgiving people. I'm being realistic."
I laugh, and the tightness in my chest that's always here on the holidays isn't there this time. "Fair enough. Where do we start?"
She scans the paper, her finger trailing down the handwritten notes. "Turkey first. It's going to take the longest, so we need to get that in the oven. Then we can work on everything else while it cooks."
The turkey is much bigger than it probably should be. But I found it in the deep freezer and it wasn't freezer burnt. I eye it warily. "I'm not going to lie, I have no idea what I'm doing with that thing."
"That makes two of us." Paisley pulls up a video on her phone. "But I found this. It doesn't look too hard."
Famous last words.
Twenty minutes later, we're both covered in butter and herbs, laughing so hard my sides hurt. Paisley has somehow managed to get rosemary in her hair, and I've got what I'm pretty sure is paprika on my forehead.
"This is stupid," she laughs, trying to hold the turkey still while I attempt to tie the legs together with kitchen twine. "Why is it so slippery?"
"Because you insisted we butter the whole fucking thing," I grumble.
"The video said to," she argues, her fingers slipping.
"The video made it look a lot easier than this." I finally get the twine secured and step back, surveying our work. It looks like shit compared to the video, but we've managed to at least get it this far. "There. In the oven it goes."
We wrestle the roasting pan into the oven together, and when I close the door, Paisley lets out a triumphant whoop.
"We did it, Chase."
I glance over at her. "Don't celebrate yet. We still have to see if it's edible."
She swats my arm. "Don't be a downer. Obviously this is going to be amazing."
"I'm a realist," I correct, but I'm grinning. "What's next?"
"Mac and cheese." She says as she starts marking things off her list. "Homemade. With like three different kinds of cheese."
"Three? Do we even have three different kinds here?"
