The First Lazy Thanksgiving
Pairing: Eddie Munson x You
Summary: Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days... but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to?
Contains: Lazy plans gone awry, unscheduled visits from unwanted family, food prep, stolen moments, fast-forwarding through stressful things because it's my story and I can, cunty relatives, smokin' the reefer, a proposal, leftovers, lots of time spent with Team Evil Woman. (If you're not into the family fics, I won't hold it against you.)
Words: 7.8k
Note: This one goes out to everyone who'd rather be spending today with Eddie.
"What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?"
Eddie looks over at you without missing a note in the song he's practicing in his chair. You're lying on your side on his bed, one hand propping up your head and the other still on the book you've abandoned in favor of watching him play Other Sweetheart.
He shrugs and looks back down at his flying fingers. "All tastes the same to me."
"What." It doesn't come out as a question, because it is an outrage. You know that Wayne works so much overtime during the holidays, he doesn't even bother coming home, and that the Munsons aren't big on family meals… but has no one ever invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner? Even for a round of leftovers? Or sent him a plate?!
"We usually grab a few Thanksgiving-y TV dinners for when he gets off work." Eddie holds his guitar upright and plays a more complicated tune to downplay his explanation.
You feel guilty for leaving him alone last year. You'd only been with him for a few months, but you'd gone back to the place you'd just escaped from to spend another stuffy Thanksgiving with your family. That's what he did while you were away? Ate a tasteless TV dinner?
"No, wait," he says quickly, "Jeff's mom made him bring me a plate last year. Stuffing was the best."
You try to mask the pity on your face, but he notices. His eyes turn to steel.
"I'm not a charity case. The Munsons don't need to celebrate meaningless shit whenever The Man tells them to." This sounds a little rehearsed. He holds your gaze, but his face soon softens. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, woman."
"How dare you. This cold black heart does not get mushy," you insist. He raises an eyebrow. He knows better. "Unless there are pictures of really cute baby animals," you continue. "But you tell anybody that, and this'll be your last Thanksgiving, Munson." You point a finger at him in warning.
He snorts and looks back to his guitar, starting a new song.
"I was merely doing as my mother instructed," you explain, rolling onto your back and looking up at his ceiling. "Because you're coming to Lazy Thanksgiving, and she wanted to make sure we had plenty of your favorite." You pause, waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. He stops playing. You've got him.
"…what's Lazy Thanksgiving?"
You smirk. "It's is our first Thanksgiving without all of my annoying-ass relatives, so we're doing it OUR way, all week long. Which means food we actually like, people we actually like, and pajamas all damn day. Just like we've always dreamed of. So pack your best sweats, Munson, 'cause you're staying with us 'til Wayne's off doubles."
You glance over to check for a response.
"Is that an invitation or an order?" He's fighting a smile. He's coming.
"That's up to you, babe." You bat your eyelashes at him.
He rolls his eyes, sets his guitar aside, and crosses the room to crawl on top of you. His chin rests in the valley between your breasts, and you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.
"You really want me?"
"Like right now, or over Thanksgiving break?" you tease. Before his lips can even form a pout, you continue, "'Cause the answer to both is a definite yes."
There was only half a day of school on Tuesday, but it felt like longer than usual. You wanted to be OUT of there.
The groceries were bought, the turkey was thawing, your family was hours away, and Eddie was coming to stay for several days. It really was the Thanksgiving you'd always dreamed of. There would be no awkward catch-ups, no uncomfortable clothes, no arguments or hostility, and no weird dishes with undesirable or un-pronounceable ingredients. You couldn't wait.
You and Eddie were out of your seats and on the way to your shared locker before the final bell of the day finished ringing. You shoved all the crap you wouldn't need into the metal prison - rescuing Eddie's discarded history notebook with the intention of making him study, which earned you a whine - and slammed the door shut.
He hooked his arm around your neck and marched you through the hall and out the doors, where you took your first breath of free air.
No school for a week. Just what the doctor ordered.
You climbed into the van's passenger seat and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. On today's menu was band practice - in lieu of their usual Hideout gig, which had been called on account of the owner not wanting to scare off the home-for-the-holidays crowd with teenage metal - then breaking for family stuff 'til a special Hellfire session on Saturday. Other than that, everybody was on their own.
The boys chattered about their plans for the week until the van jerked to a stop in your driveway, and everyone piled out and headed into the garage. You went into the kitchen, to see what kind of snacks you could dig out. Nevermind that they'd just eaten lunch half an hour ago; you cannot practice metal without fuel. It's against the law. (According to Gareth, anyway, who would make a terrible lawyer.)
The look on your mother's face stopped you in your tracks.
She was holding the phone in a white-knuckle grip. Eyes narrowed. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.
What have you done? You quickly scan a week's worth of Hawkins High shenanigans, but can't think of any mischief that would warrant a call home for you. Your brother, either. What the fuck?
She gestures for you to close the door, and you do… definitely not thinking about stepping on the other side of it before you do so.
"Alright. See you soon," she says through gritted teeth. She stands to hang up the phone on the kitchen wall, then knocks her head against it. You're still frozen to the spot.
Finally, she removes her head from the wall and turns to you. "Get your brother in here."
You reach for the door handle, point to Gareth, and crook your finger in a 'come here' motion. He comes in, stands next to you, and waits.
"Your grandparents have decided to grace us with their presence."
You both groan.
"They'll be here by dinnertime."
"Tonight?!" you both shriek.
"It's only for a day. They want to be back home in time for the real family Thanksgiving."
"So we're upending everything we've planned to accommodate them?" You can feel the rage swirling inside you.
She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've gotta make a new grocery list, if there's even anything left at the store, find the recipe for that stupid pie, make something for dinner tonight, get that turkey thawed a day early, clean, drive my car into the quarry…"
"We can handle dinner and cleaning," you say at the same time Gareth asks, "Why do you need a new grocery list?"
"Can you imagine your grandmother's face if she found out I served her a dinner roll I didn't make from scratch?"
"She'll live." You roll your eyes.
"And she doesn't, that's one less thing we have to wor…" Gareth clears his throat, and you try not to smirk.
"Go practice, it's the last fun you'll have 'til they're gone."
He turns on his heel at her suggestion and disappears into the garage.
"Where do you want me, Coach?"
"Help me with this damn grocery list."
You made a list of all the foods you thought you were leaving behind, flipped through recipe cards until you found the things your grandparents expected, and checked the cabinets to see what you already had. So long, Lazy Thanksgiving. You were a nice thought.
When the page-long list was complete, your mother set off to the grocery store. Again.
You hid all the food your grandparents would disapprove of, then dug through the freezer and found pizza rolls for the boys and a forgotten lasagna for dinner. You popped the pizza rolls in the oven and tidied the kitchen to the sounds of Corroded Coffin. Possibly the last decent music you'd hear for the next 24 hours. Your grandparents would probably call for an exorcist if they saw your tape collection.
Your head was buried in a bottom cabinet when the oven timer dinged, catching you by surprise and making you bump your head. You back out on your hands and knees and grumble, rubbing your sore spot, when you feel a burst of hot air.
"Watch it, hot stuff." Eddie grins, pulling the pan of pizza rolls from the oven with a potholder shaped like a turkey.
You stand and lean against the counter, exhausted already.
"Told the jackals they couldn't eat 'til they cleaned the garage," he grins proudly.
"Thank you." You hadn't even thought about having to clean the garage.
"You want me to stick around, or just get lost 'til the coast is clear?"
"What?" You look up in confusion.
"I mean…" he gestures to his clothes and flips the end of his hair. He's a little sweaty and his hair's a little tangled, but you don't know what he's getting at… oh.
"You think we're uninviting you?"
"I'm not exactly grandparent material." He forces out an awkward chuckle that makes your heart sink. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close.
"You're not going anywhere unless you take me with you." You nuzzle your face into his chest, and he gives you a squeeze. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go anywhere unless I take Mom with me. Wait." You pull back, wide-eyed, and ask, "Can we all just hide out at your place until the old people give up and go away?"
"I wish," your mother grumbles, back from her grocery run. She drops a load of bags on the table, and the boys follow with more.
"Okay," she says, scanning the room. "Kitchen looks good. Garage looks good. Did you find something for dinner?"
"A frozen lasagna from your meal prep era."
"Okay. We have three hours to clean. Then I need you in a dress."
You groan, and Gareth snickers.
"And YOU," she turns to him, "in khakis." That wipes the grin off his face.
"Eddie?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"You are absolutely still invited. But if you want to run and hide, we will not think less of you." He smiles. "Do you own a pair of pants without holes in them?" He nods. "Okay." And then she starts putting groceries away, and that was that.
You catch Eddie's eye, then nod to the pan of now-edible pizza rolls. He picks it up and leads the boys back outside, where they descend on it like locusts, while you tackle the mountain of groceries.
When Eddie returns with the empty pan, he addresses your mother.
"I'm gonna go drop Jeff and Grant off. Are you sure you…" he trails off nervously, hovering near the door.
"Honey." Your mom places her hands on the table, leans forward, and stares into his soul. "I want you here more than I want them here."
He chuckles. " I'll go home and grab some clothes. Do you need me to pick up anything else?"
"Nope, I think we've got everything," she answers. "But I appreciate the offer."
He nods, gives you wink, and leaves to take the nerds home.
Your family whirls through the house like cyclones, dusting and scrubbing and straightening everything in view. Eddie joins in when he returns, which makes things move even faster.
The house is deemed acceptable with an hour to spare. You pop the lasagna into the oven, take rushed showers, and change into clothing acceptable to grandparents.
"Woah," Eddie says when he steps back into your room with dripping hair and a towel around his waist, seeing you in your modest (hideous) dress.
"Shut up."
"You never wear pretty things like that for me," he teases.
"Keep it up, Munson, and you're gonna be feasting on one of these stupid fucking shoulder pads."
He cackles and throws his towel at you. You catch it, and get a delightful idea when he turns around to get dressed.
You wind up the damp towel, and when he bends over to pull his boxers on… SNAP.
He yelps, jumps a foot in the air, and grabs his ass with both hands.
"YOU'RE THE DEVIL!"
You howl with laughter. Was it mean? Yes. Was it funny? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes.
"Look what you did to me!" he shrieks, rubbing at a red welt rising on his pale ass.
Your jaw drops.
"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you THAT bad." All traces of amusement are gone as you go to him and trace the mark.
"Guess you could always kiss it and make it better," he pouts, sticking his lip out and activating the dreaded Puppy Eyes.
You fall to your knees and plant a trail of light kisses around the raised mark on Eddie Munson's ass. When you look up, he's staring at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't really expected you to do it.
"What? Never had a girl kiss your ass before?"
You both dissolve into a fit of giggles until a knock interrupts.
"Are you decent?"
"Never," you answer together, grinning at each other.
You can hear your mother sigh through the door. You stand, and Eddie hastily continues getting dressed.
"Eddie, I need you to sleep in Gareth's room tonight. He's setting up his sleeping bag for you."
"Okay," he agrees.
"Best behavior."
"Yes, ma'am," Eddie says.
"I wasn't talking to you."
Eddie snorts.
"Yes, Mother," you call, giving him a shove. He loses his balance and falls onto your bed with a grin.
"Alright." She raps her knuckles against the door once more and walks away.
Eddie's lying back on your bed, feet on the floor and hands laced behind his head. He's in a plain white t-shirt and dark, unbuttoned jeans that reveal his plaid boxers… and just a liiittle bit of his happy trail. He smirks when he sees you looking.
"Quit dripping on my bed." You pick up his discarded towel and throw it at him, letting it hit him in the face. He sits up, unbothered, to rub his wet hair with it. At least he didn't shake it out like a dog. (Although you have seen him do that before.)
You give your room a once-over, straightening a few books and smoothing out the blankets on your bed. Eddie stuffs his things into a duffel bag and drops it on the floor of your brother's room, where he'll be sleeping tonight.
The plan had actually been for the three of you to camp out in the living room and watch movies all night, but that would have to wait. Your grandmother would probably pitch a fit about Eddie being allowed to sleep under the same roof as you. You'd love to see her face if she found out you'd slept in the same bed before.
You hear the oven timer ding again; dinner is ready. They'll be here soon. You get up to go set the table, but decide you want just one more minute alone with Eddie before the invasion. You go in for a hug and stand still in the middle of your bedroom, just enjoying the quiet.
"Should I button this?" he mumbles when you pull away, looking down at his flannel shirt and then back at you.
"Up to you. You'll look nice either way."
He bites his lip and pulls his shirt together, fingers fumbling. He gets three buttons done before realizing it's crooked. His face starts to turn red from frustration.
You put your hands on his, then move them to his sides. You calmly unbutton, and then re-button his shirt, straightening out his collar when you finish for good measure.
"Should I tuck it in?"
"Edward." You take his face in your hands. "You look perfect. Stop worrying. It's gonna be fine." You kiss the tip of his nose.
"What if they hate me?" he asks, his big brown eyes boring into your soul.
"Babe…" you begin gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "They will. But that's okay. Because I think they kinda hate me too. Smile, nod, don't mention anything fun or cool, and you'll survive. And next time I get you to myself, I will make this worth your while."
"Really?" he grins.
"Really." You lean in for a kiss… which is interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking twice. You groan. Gareth walks by your door, in his khakis and button-down, and announces: "They're heeere."
You peel yourselves apart. You straighten your stupid dress in the mirror, and Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair.
"Promise you won't stop loving me after you endure this torture?" you ask, reaching for his hand.
"Could it be any worse than the time you made me watch Grease?"
"Are you still pretending you didn't love that movie?"
"I absolutely did not," he lies.
"C'mon, stud, let's get this over with."
The reunion with your grandparents went about as expected. Thankfully, your mother took the brunt of their displeasure.
"Is this a store-bought lasagna?"
"No, Mother, I made it from scratch."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
"No, Dad."
"That's the price of being a working girl, I suppose. Women these days think they can have it all!"
"When's the last time you had this carpet professionally cleaned?"
"Last month, Mother."
And then, when your mom was properly worn down, they turned their focus to you.
"What grade are you in now, dear?"
"12th."
"Oh, you'll graduate this year! Where are you going to college?"
"I don't know."
"You really should be focusing on that. Can't have any… distractions."
And Gareth.
"I heard you're playing the drums now!"
"…yeah."
"Are you in a band?"
"…yeah."
"Well, what kind? Jazz? Symphony?"
"…marching?"
"That's exciting! And good exercise!"
And Eddie.
"What do your parents do, Edward?"
"They're… gone."
"What do you mean gone?"
"Eddie lives with his uncle," your mother supplied. "He works at the power plant. He's the reason we're not eating in the dark."
Your grandmother pursed her lips, but your grandfather nodded his head in approval.
Finally, after the longest dinner in the history of the world, your grandparents decided to turn in.
They retreated to the basement, where the pull-out couch had been made for them - and was probably re-made before they got into it - and you had the upstairs to yourselves again.
Which is when the real work began for everyone else.
Leftovers were put away, dishes were washed, potatoes and carrots were peeled, ingredients were measured, and everything that could be prepped for Wednesday's pre-Thanksgiving meal was prepped. You finished around midnight. Your mother would get up in a few hours to put the turkey in the oven, but the rest of you were off the hook until breakfast.
You kissed Eddie goodnight and went to bed alone.
At nearly five in the morning, the door creaked open and someone entered your bedroom. You cracked an eye open, hoping it was Eddie coming to crawl under the covers with you and steal a snuggle before everyone else woke up. But it was your grandmother, checking to make sure you were alone in your bed. Bitch.
She crept back out, and you glared at the door for half an hour before finally going back to sleep.
The next time you woke, it was because two bodies dropped on either side of you. You kept your eyes closed.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." That one's Eddie.
"Please. Have you ever tried waking her up? She's more like the dragon." Shut up, Gareth.
"Right. Good thing we've got pinned under the covers. She'd probably claw us to shreds."
"Dragon breath is probably the bigger concern right now." You can hear the smirk in Gareth's voice.
"Fuck you both," you grumble. They laugh. "What time is it?"
Eddie looks at his watch. "Almost eight."
"How long you think we can stall before they come get us and drag us into the kitchen for another thrilling conversation over breakfast?"
The three of you sigh, just before your mother peeks her head in.
"Why are you in here? Whatever, I don't care. Get dressed and come eat before she starts in on the 'young people sleeping all day' crap again." She closes the door without waiting for a response.
"Alright, you heard the lady, be gone." You try to stretch, but you don't have much room to move, being pinned beneath your own blankets and all. You lay there, defenseless, until Eddie kisses your cheek and rolls off the bed. Gareth follows.
You grumble your way into another dress you hate, fix your face, and wait in the hallway for them. No way you're going in there alone.
The three of you appear in the kitchen doorway together.
"There they are! I thought they were going to sleep all day!" It's 7:58 on a day when there's no school, you old bat.
"When I was your age, I was awake at 4:30 every morning!" Good for you, gramps.
"Why don't you grab plates and eat in the living room?" Finally, someone speaking sense. Thanks, Mom.
The three of you grab plates and start filling them with sausage, eggs, and silver dollar pancakes.
You look down at the silverware drawer while you retrieve a trio of forks, and when you look up again, your grandmother is staring at you. And then at your plate.
"Remember, dearie: A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"
Your face flushes. Your blood boils.
"Perhaps you'd like a piece of fruit instead?"
As soon as you're able to move again, you're going to stab her.
"Mother, does this say teaspoon or tablespoon?" your mom asks, holding out a hand-written recipe on an index card. "Go," she mouths when your grandmother turns her attention to the card.
You hurry into the living room and sit on the couch with the boys, staring down at the plate in front of you, still shaking with rage.
Eddie takes the forks and rests his chin on your shoulder. Did he hear it? Oh god, you're going to burst into flames right here.
"Hate to tell you this, but uh…" his voice drops to a whisper. "Your grandma's a real bitch."
You snort. He kisses your cheek and straightens.
"I'll drink to that," Gareth raises his orange juice and takes a swig. He puts his glass down and digs into his breakfast, but you hesitate.
"Stop."
You glance at Eddie. He stabs a piece of his scrambled egg and lifts his fork to your mouth. "You're fucking perfect. And you need fuel to survive today. C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you snapping any little old ladies in half 'cause you're hungry."
You laugh and lean forward to take his offering, then dig into your own plate. Just a few more hours. You can do this.
You let your empty plates sit on the coffee table as you stall, not wanting to go back into the kitchen and remind your grandparents that you're here. You rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, wishing your Lazy Thanksgiving hadn't been derailed.
"What are you just sitting around for when there's work to be done?" Your head snaps up off of Eddie's shoulder when your grandfather enters the room. Busted. The three of you begrudgingly pick up your plates while he settles into an armchair.
"Boys! Tell me about the local team!" he booms.
Oh. Cool. It's just you who needs to be working. You collect the plates without a word and leave the room with mouthed "I'm sorry" to Eddie. He and Gareth look at each other in panic; like they know anything about ANY local team.
"There you are! Did you think this cranberry sauce was going to make itself?"
You think the only person invited to this dinner who actually likes cranberry sauce bought a can of it that's been pushed to the back of the cabinet, but you don't say a word as you drop your breakfast dishes in the sink and fetch the bag of cranberries.
"How long have you been seeing that boy?"
The way she says "that boy" makes you bristle.
"It was a year in September."
"Oh, he didn't waste any time, did he?" You rip open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending a few berries flying. She tuts from her place at the table, mixing something you wouldn't be eating, as you pick them up.
You take the bag of cranberries to the sink and dump them into a bowl.
"You should be using a strainer for that," she says, after you've already stuck the bowl beneath the faucet. You clench your jaw and start digging for the fucking strainer.
"Do you really think he's the kind of boy you want to be spending so much time with? I'd be ashamed to be seen with him in public. You know, dear," she turns her attention to your mother. "Gareth's getting a little shaggy too. Aren't there any barbers in town?"
This is it. Your last Thanksgiving. You're going to spend the next one in jail. You turn slowly, but before you can face her…
"Don't you have to be at church soon?" You whip your head toward your mother in confusion. Church? You? Has her own mother officially driven her insane?
Her eyes widen and say "get with the program, dummy."
"Oh! Right!" You say cluelessly.
"The kids volunteered to help with the church's Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless," your mother explains to both your grandmother and you. "The youth group is supposed to be at church in a little bit to start cleaning and setting up tables for tomorrow."
"I can't believe I almost forgot," you say, putting the cranberries aside and drying your hands on a towel. "I better go get the boys."
"Yes, you better," your mother nods knowingly. Whatever you were planning to get her for Christmas is no longer enough.
You dart past your grandmother's narrowed eyes and enter the living room. Your grandfather is droning on about defense, and the boys' eyes have glazed over.
"Uh, sorry to interrupt," no you're not, "but we better get going soon, if we're going to get to church on time."
Both boys raise an eyebrow, and you mimic your mother's "get with the program" look.
"Church? Today? While your grandparents are in town?"
He doesn't bother to turn, so you're able to smirk at the back of his head as you remind him, "Well, Grandpa, we didn't know you were coming until the last minute, or else we would've made time for you."
He grunts, not daring to argue further about commitments to a church, and you all disappear to "get ready." AKA reconvene in your bedroom to explain how your heroic mother is allowing you to escape, grab your jackets, and flee.
Two minutes later, Eddie's van leaves your driveway, and you all heave a sigh of relief.
"Where to?" Eddie asks.
"Literally anywhere but here," you answer.
"Think anything's open?"
You run through a list of options in your head before your brother chimes in, "I'm not going out in public dressed like this."
Right. Grandparent Clothes.
"My place?"
Eddie's place.
It's chilly when you walk in. "Sorry," Eddie mumbles, turning the heat on. "Set the heat back before I left."
"It's fine," you smile, pulling him close. "Body heat is better anyway."
"Why's it so cold if I'm in Hell?" Gareth grumbles.
"Would you like to go back home and talk sports with gramps?" Silence. "That's what I thought."
Eddie grabs a stack of blankets, and you all pile onto the couch and cover up. The next several hours are spent watching re-runs of game shows and shouting at contestants on the tiny TV.
This is the kind of Thanksgiving break you'd planned on.
When it begins to approach the two o'clock dinner-time your mom had shouted at your backs as you fled, you turn off the TV and fold the blankets and Eddie turns the heat back down.
Your spirits begin to dampen again as you pull back into your driveway.
"Two hours, tops," you remind them. "They'll be outta here before we know it. Then we can get back to Lazy Thanksgiving."
"Just like the pilgrims intended," Eddie jokes. You grin.
You drag yourselves back into the house. Your grandfather looks like he's spent most of the morning napping, your grandmother looks smug, and your mother looks like she's about to snap.
Your very early Thanksgiving dinner went by without major incident. Forced conversation, food you didn't really like, and your grandma complaining that she could've made it better. Things to be expected.
The food was the same kind of food you'd always had on Thanksgiving, and exactly what you were hoping to avoid this year. The dressing with mysterious chunks in it. Greasy gravy. The controversial casserole that once caused a screaming match between your parents. The pie that two competing aunts once brought on the same year, which made them stop speaking to each other until Easter. The made-from-scratch rolls that your cousins used to mash into little balls and throw at you when the grown-ups weren't looking. The fancy dishes that only came out on special occasions; God help the fool who scraped a metal utensil across it. Police interrogations were less brutal than the year your aunt noticed a crack in her best gravy boat.
And then, the happiest part of the day: their departure. You gave them awkward hugs, wished them a safe trip, and watched them pull out of the driveway. All four people standing in the garage held their breaths until the car was out of sight, and let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Thank GOD!" your mother exclaims. You and Gareth scrub the greasy lipstick marks off your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.
"Gimme one," your mom insists. You haven't seen her smoke since the divorce. But seconds later, she's blowing a puff of smoke and looking more relaxed than she has in the last 24 hours.
You stand in the garage in silence, enjoying being back to a foursome, and thinking about all the leftovers you didn't want.
"Eddie?" your mother asks, slowly blowing out her smoke and gazing into the distance.
"Yeah?" he answers, stubbing out the cigarette he'd burned through at twice her speed.
"If I were to leave a crisp $20 bill on the kitchen table and go take a nap, is there any chance it could turn into something greener by the time I wake up?"
He looks at you. You look at him. All of your eyes eventually land on her.
She glances toward you and scoffs. "Children, please. I went to college in the '60s. Can you make it happen or not?"
"Uh…" he chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah?"
"Good."
"You uh… you want anything specific?"
"I would like to be calm and happy for the rest of the week."
"Okay."
Your eyes dart between them during the strangest conversation you've ever witnessed.
"Okay," she repeats, flicking her cigarette like an expert and walking into the house.
After a moment of silence, you have to ask: "What the fuck just happened?"
"Our mother just bought weed from your boyfriend."
The three of you laugh in disbelief. This is officially the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.
"I gotta cruise by Rick's real quick, wanna ride?"
"Sure… you think he'd want a plate?"
Eddie gives you a strange look.
"We've got plenty of leftovers. And we're making the good shit tomorrow, so there'll be even more. Wayne's getting a heap too."
"Kay."
You're piling food onto a styrofoam plate - well, two, for reinforcement - when the phone rings. Gareth answers, rolls his eyes, and mouths "Dad."
You cover Rick's plate with aluminum foil and hand it to Eddie. "Go on, tell Rick I said hi and Happy Thanksgiving. When you get back, all of the annoying relative shit should be over."
You send him away with a peck and pick up the phone in the hallway to join the conversation with yet another relative you didn't want to talk to. How thoughtful of him, to call the day before Thanksgiving so he could spend the real holiday with his new family.
You were sitting at the kitchen table, looking through Black Friday ads from the newspaper when Eddie returned. He quietly closes the door and plops into the seat across from you.
"Rick's in love with you now."
"Oh yeah?" you grin.
In a pretty decent imitation of his reefer-loving friend, Eddie drawls, "Thanksgiving food on a Wednesday? It's like Christmas came early, man… except it's Thanksgiving. Are those real mashed potatoes? And pie too?! You tell your girl and her mama that I really appreciate this."
You try to muffle your laughter as he plops the requested bag of green on the table, exactly where the $20 had been an hour before.
"Think I should roll those for her?"
You shrug. "I just found out she smokes like an hour ago, don't ask me about her drug preferences."
He contemplates for a second, then pulls the bag toward him and reaches into his pocket for rolling papers.
"You wanna hit the mall Friday morning?" you ask, flipping the brightly colored pages. "Ought to be some decent sales."
"Mhm," he hums, tongue poking out of his mouth, trying not to break his concentration.
"Are you trying to impress my mother with your joint-rolling abilities?"
"Maybe," he grins, finishing another.
Gareth wanders in the kitchen and sits at the table hesitantly, watching Eddie work. He's smoked with you a few times - better to keep an eye on him that let him go off with people you don't trust, you figure - but he's never rolled on his own before.
"You wanna try one?" Eddie asks. Gareth looks to you nervously. He's still not entirely convinced the DEA isn't going to bust down the door every time he touches the stuff. You crook half a smile, and he gets up to sit next to Eddie.
He's more patient here than he is at school. No jocks to unsettle. No reputation to maintain. No need to rule with an iron fist. He wasn't Eddie the Freak or Eddie the DM or Eddie the third-time senior here. His guard was down, and he was just Eddie. You love all the Eddies, but this one's your favorite.
You watch him teach proper rolling techniques out of the corner of your eye while you pretend to browse ads. They'd finished almost half the bag when you hear your mother coming. Eddie slides the rolled joints into the bag and puts it back where he was supposed to.
Gareth grabs the ad on top of the stack of papers and opens it to a random page, blushing crimson when he's greeted by Sears lingerie models. Flip, flip, flip. He becomes very interested in power tools, and you and Eddie try not to make eye contact, because you know you'll laugh.
Your mother enters the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch and spots her loot.
"Well, what do you know, looks like the Cannabis Fairy paid me a visit."
You snort. Eddie tries to hide a smile.
She looks down at the bag, and then at him.
"What, you think an old lady can't roll her own joints?"
"Just trying to save you some time." He smiles and bats his eyelashes. Moron.
"Riiiight," she says, pulling on her coat and picking up the bag. She steps into the garage… and leaves the door open. You look from it to Eddie, until she pokes her head back in. "Are you coming, or are you still pretending to be good kids?"
The three of you exchange glances, rooted in place until finally you shrug and get up. The boys follow. You grab jackets and step down into the garage.
She's sitting in a lawn chair, arms crossed like she's waiting to bust you for breaking curfew… with a lit joint in her hand.
"Et tu, Gareth?" she sighs when he steps down and closes the door.
"Uh… peer pressure?"
Everyone laughs.
You and Eddie drag the battered loveseat that the previous owners abandoned closer, and drop into it. Gareth unfolds another lawn chair and sits uneasily.
And that was how you found yourself passing around illegal substances in your garage, on the eve of Thanksgiving, with your boyfriend, little brother… and your mother.
You melt into Eddie once you begin to feel the effects. You lean your head on his shoulder and wish you'd thought to bring blankets out. His hand rests on your leg, radiating warmth into your skin, and you wish you were small enough so that you could fit your whole body in his hand. He could just carry you around and keep you in his pocket and let you attack people who irritated him. They'd never know what bit them. (You. You'd be what bit them.)
"Alright, what'd we miss?" Gareth asks.
"Let's see…" your mother ponders. "I'm a terrible mother who's raising disrespectful delinquents. My marriage failed because I emasculated my perfect bread-winning husband by insisting on working outside the home. He is blameless. The new church I selected must not be much of a church, to let in such shaggy youths. My son will become a devil-worshipping drug addict. My daughter will become impregnated before she graduates because I let that boy sleep in my house. Good news though: If you get knocked up, they probably won't come down for graduation, because they'll die of shame. Oh, and my turkey was dry."
You take a moment to process all this. Where do you even start?
"Dude…" Gareth begins. "Grandma's a cunt."
After a moment of stunned silence, your mother starts to laugh. And then you all join in. Minutes later, tears are streaming down your face, and you still can't stop laughing. You're clinging to Eddie, shaking together, finally feeling warm and happy and comfortable after a day of hell.
"Oh, man," your mom finally gets out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What do you say we go finish up their leftovers so we can start over tomorrow?"
"That is the best idea in the history of Earth," Gareth says with genuine awe. Which sets you and Eddie off again. Your mom and Gareth go inside, and you and Eddie eventually pull yourselves together and off the loveseat.
Your mom has decided not to bother with individual plates; she's thrown all the grandparent-specific leftovers onto a glass pan and stuck it in the oven to reheat. You gather around the table and wait. When it comes out, you each grab a fork and go to town.
That's one way to get rid of leftovers you don't want.
"I'm going to bed," your mother finally says, getting up with a stretch. "I cooked all day today. Tomorrow's your problem. Wake me up when dinner's ready."
"Kay," you mumble through the last mouthful of the casserole you weren't generally fond of, but tonight found pretty good.
You left the dish in the sink and retreated to the living room to finish off the night with a movie.
"Ugh," Eddie groans, leaning back into the couch and sticking out his belly. "Why did you make me eat so much?"
"Yeah, that was definitely my doing," you laugh, pulling a blanket across your lap. Gareth puts in a tape and settles into his favorite spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.
"I can't even breathe," Eddie whines.
You roll your eyes, reach over, and pop the button on his jeans. He falls silent as the previews begin, but you can feel him staring at you.
"What?" you finally ask, turning your head when you can't stand it anymore.
"Will you marry me?"
"What?"
"That was like the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me."
A laugh escapes you. "You are such a dweeb."
"But you love me," he grins.
"…yeah, I guess," you sigh, pretending to be defeated.
His jaw drops in mock offense.
"You two are gonna make me puke up all that old person food if you keep on," Gareth chimes in from across the room.
You laugh and snuggle into Eddie's side, pulling the blanket over both of you.
"Love you," you whisper.
"Lots?"
"Lots and lots," you confirm, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder.
You woke when the screen turned to static, shook the boys awake, and dragged your corpses to bed.
"Best Thanksgiving ever," Eddie mumbled when you crawled under the covers beside him.
"Babe?"
"Hm?"
"That was Grandparent Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Lazy Thanksgiving. It ain't over 'til the last piece of turkey's gone."
He chuckles. "So what exactly are we doing tomorrow?"
"We'll make the food, since Mom did everything yesterday. Turkey's done, so we just need sides. It'll be easy, pretty much everything has instructions on the box. There's rolls and a pie hiding in a cooler in the garage. So we'll make food, eat food, lay in front of the TV and watch old Thanksgiving specials I recorded and whine about how much food we ate… until it's time to eat more food."
"I think Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday."
"Mine too, now." You smile a sleepy smile, not wanting to say goodnight and go to sleep just yet. "Still wanna hit Starcourt Friday morning? Lots of stuff on sale. If we strike out, we can always go back to your place… if you don't mind being alone with me for a little while… I'm sure we could find something to do…"
"You know, Black Friday's sounding pretty good too."
You chuckle and lean in for a kiss.
"I'm so happy you're here with me," you breathe.
"I'm happy you wanted me here," he says, giving you another kiss.
"Sorry about the grandparents," you wince.
"It's alright… we'll have it at our place next year." Your heart soars at the thought of getting to be like this with him every night. "And we won't tell them where we live."
You laugh and snuggle closer. "Sounds good to me, Eds."
He sighs happily and kisses your forehead, and you both drift to sleep in a comfortable silence.
You woke up so warm and comfortable, you almost didn't want to get out of bed, even though it's nearly eleven.
But today is Lazy Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you've always dreamed of. No unwanted guests. No hard labor. No stuffy clothes. You turn over to look at the clock, and Eddie pounces.
"Where you think you're goin'?" he mumbles into the back of your neck, holding you in place with an arm around your waist.
"Food," you yawn.
"This is all I wanna eat." He nibbles at the back of your neck, and you shrink away from him with a laugh.
"Not on the menu today, I'm afraid."
"Hmph." He lets you go and flops onto his back. You turn to look at him. Arms crossed. Pouty. Hair a mess. Perfect.
You slide closer and sling a leg over his. You put your arm across his middle and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He doesn't budge.
"Tomorrow, however…" you whisper with a soft kiss to his neck. He finally uncrosses his arms to run a hand up your thigh.
"Tell me more."
"Hmmm…" you hum, nuzzling into him. You can feel him melt. "Nope." You nip at his neck and haul yourself out of bed. He growls, but you're already out of the room before he makes a move.
Your mom is drinking coffee and watching the parade in the living room. "You sure you've got this?" she asks.
"We got this," you confirm. "We'll wake you up when it's ready."
"Like anyone could sleep through this thrilling display!" she says with mock-offense, gesturing to a high school marching band. You smile and return to the kitchen, hoping she enjoys her first uninterrupted parade in years.
Both boys wander into the kitchen a few minutes later, while you're pulling things from the cabinets and moving them to the table.
"Eddie, you're on stuffing. Gareth, you've got mashed potatoes."
"And what about you, Your Highness?" Gareth grumbles.
"Everything else, Prince Ass."
Eddie snorts and picks up one of the four boxes of Stove Top to read the instructions. He looks at you apprehensively.
"I have faith in you." He smirks and reads the box again.
"How many potatoes?" Gareth asks, skimming the instructions. Potato flakes from a flimsy cardboard box. If that didn't finish your grandmother off, the packets of gravy mix would.
"A buttload."
"That's not on the box."
"Then whatever the biggest batch is."
"Kay," he shrugs, reaching for the measuring cup you've left in the middle of the table.
The three of you work together in a shockingly harmonious manner. Pots on the stove, dishes in the oven, bowls in and out of the microwave, and nearly an hour later, the table is as set as it's gonna be. No serving dishes saved for special occasions; everything remains on the stove and counter, in whatever vessel it was cooked in. You were all fully capable of getting up and fixing your own plates.
And that's exactly what you did.
"Are we gonna hold hands and say what we're thankful for?" your mom teases.
"I'm thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are gone," Gareth says quickly, causing a laugh to spread around the table.
Screw it. "I'm thankful that all my favorite people are here."
"Awww," Gareth mocks, causing you and Eddie to both kick him under the table. You smirk at each other when he hisses.
"I'm thankful for the invite," Eddie smiles, making your heart soften.
"And I'm thankful for brown-and-serve rolls," your mom says, ripping hers open and slathering it with butter. "Okay, you little dorks, raise a roll."
You each pick up your roll and raise it, as instructed.
"To Lazy Thanksgiving!"
"To Lazy Thanksgiving!" you all echo, then take a bite out of your perfectly adequate rolls that took 8 minutes to prepare. (A great improvement from the traditional 4-hour ordeal.)
Lazy Thanksgiving really was the holiday you'd always dreamed of.
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