Thanksgiving Dinner

Thanksgiving Dinner

“Did you get the cream?” Jake asked, leaning over a pot with a large wooden spoon as steam billowed out.

“Shit!”

“You’re the top. You’re not supposed to do that.” Jake’s grin was irrepressible.

“I know. I know.” Quill held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll take whatever punishment you desire as long as it doesn’t involve going back to the grocery store today. Did you know I had to park next door at the sporting goods store? And I should have bought a helmet while I was at it. I couldn’t even push my cart down the aisles without bashing a granny in pink curlers.”

“No one wears pink curlers anymore. That’s an urban legend.”

“You haven’t met the granny from hell. She had the produce guys run ragged. I’m sure they were giving thanks that the store closes in two hours.”

“You really didn’t get the cream?”

“I tried. There was no cream to be had. I even corralled someone to look in the back. I should get a medal, not a long face.”

“But we can’t have pumpkin pie without whipped cream. Your family’s coming.”

“Yes, and my parents will ooh and ah over your cooking. You know Mom.”

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

Quill cut off Jake’s lament. “It’s Thanksgiving, and we are all thankful to have you, and it’s not only for your cooking.”

“But it’s our first time--”

“And you want it perfect. It will be. I had to beat the salivating neighbors off with a stick to get in the door. They all know we’ll have the best food for miles.”

“But...”

“I’ll call Mom, and see whether they can bring the cream.”

Jake made a face. “They’ll bring Cool Whip.”

“My poor chef!” Quill tousled Jake’s hair and snatched a kiss. “I know the first Pilgrims didn’t have Cool Whip, but I don’t think they had Italian parsley or clementines either, and it wouldn’t be a Maguire holiday without bottled salad dressing and Cool Whip.”

Jake looked horrified and clutched his chest before falling onto his knees. “Save me from these infidels,” he hooted, no longer able to contain his laughter.

“Sam is a bad influence on you. Up and back to the stove.” Quill swatted Jake lightly, his voice filled with laughter. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Cream,” Jake said and swatted him back with the wooden spoon. “And happy Thanksgiving.” 

Quill wrapped his arms around Jake, forgetting the cream, the turkey, and all the napkins still needing ironing for a blissful moment.