Pine Ridge, New York
“Maybe he was bluffing. Or maybe Tessa’s spells worked. I bet they worked.”
I adjust Laurel’s little orange-and-white onesie. It says Baby’s First Thanksgiving on it, and it was a gift from Mr. Minegold. We were invited to lots of places to eat tonight, but Artie and I decided to hunker down together, in our now “heavily warded” house.
We put on the Foodie Network, and they’re having all kinds of fun cooking competition shows, as well as some basic How To Not Poison Everyone With Your Cooking tutorials.
When Artie and I are together, even the terror of Blase’s words can’t stop the flicker of happiness in my heart. “If this were to all go away,” I whisper, hugging Laurel tightly to my chest, “I would still have had the best life. I had a family. I was loved. I had friends who would fight for me. People who were willing to help me. I got a chance to go to college... A little bit. I had a husband who adored me.” I wish I could have had a wedding... I wish I could have seen Laurel grow up.
Artie comes over and shakes me a little as he hugs me around the waist. “You aren’t going anywhere. Stop talking like you’re on your way out. You and I are going to have so much to be thankful for. We already do. Look at this healthy little pink potato,” he says, blowing bubbles on Laurel’s cheek, making her squeal and wave her arms excitedly. “Look at this home. You heard what Mr. Wickstaff said. After a year here, we can talkabout rent-to-own options. And there’s a college here, Immy. Right in town. You can start to take classes in a couple of years once I can afford it.”
“When Laurel’s in school. Unless her brothers are still at home. I don’t mind taking my courses online. I don’t mind just being a wife and mom. It’s a good job. A happy job. A hard one...”
“Yeah, but you could do other things if you wanted to. You know what I think you’d be amazing at? Helping in Chloe’s store. Or at the daycare. Hey, I bet if you did work there, you’d get a discount for— Wait, did you say brothers?”
I actually laugh out loud for the first time in days at Artie’s startled reaction. “Here, hold your daughter. I’ve got something in the oven.”
“Oh, my God! Babe, are you serious!?” Artie crows.
“What? It’s the chicken.” I point to the whole roasting chicken I’ve put in the oven. “I’m supposed to brush it with butter to help it brown,” I explain.
“Ohhh. The chicken. Right. I’ll get the potatoes peeled.”
Artie puts Laurel in the sling, and she kicks her feet as she rides on his side. He starts to get the potatoes and then looks at Laurel. “I’m afraid she’ll grab for the knife. Here, you take her and play with something fun. I’ll do the potatoes and the carrots.”
“I’ll help. I’ve got those frozen dinner rolls to go in the oven, too.”
“Best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had, I know that. Although I did think you meant you had something else in the oven. This oven.” He pokes my stomach.
I raise my eyebrows. “Humans call the belly an oven? That’s a new one.”
“No. Bun in the oven is a cute way people used to say that someone was pregnant. You said brothers. Then the thing about something in the oven... I got excited.” Artie shrugs.
“You want more babies? We can’t afford that.”
“Not yet, but someday we’ll be able to.”
I admit thinking about the future like it’s going to happen is better than thinking about the present and waiting for it to end, either because of Blase or because of some cruel, cold-hearted killer instincts waiting to be unleashed.
“I do like when we practice making babies,” I confess.
“I like that part, too.”
I want to ask him if he bought more condoms at the store along with the little paper packet of “just add water” gravy, the box of “just add butter and water” stuffing, and the “just defrost” pie.
“Also, it’s been about a month since we met. It’s almost our month-aversary. When I thought you were pregnant, I immediately was like—she hasn’t had her period yet. But you did ask me to get pads.”
“It’ll be today or tomorrow, I guess.” I wait for him to look disgusted.
He doesn’t. He just rubs my back. “I’m glad we can stay home together. I’m glad you don’t mind that it’s the three of us and a chicken, not twenty of us and a turkey.”
“We’d need more plates.”
“Well, it’ll be Christmas next month. MenuGenius will send me three unflattering t-shirts and five more ugly plastic cups from restaurants on the other side of the world that I’ll never eat at,” Artie chuckles.
I giggle back, and realize... There’s no place on earth I’d rather be, even scared, even worried. I want to be with Artie and Laurel, eating frozen pie and drinking out of mismatched cups.
Blase had no idea what or who he was messing with. He’s right. Mr. Minegold was right. There is something instinctual and violent that lurks in me, and it comes with a side of justice and protectiveness.
