A/N: Fluffy Friday returns! This is for awesome guest reviewer LS, who requested Addek Thanksgiving fluff. Here's seven thousand words of it. What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy Addek with babies. I'm just thankful that in 2017, I'm not the only Addek trash out there! So, here goes: this is set in the same universe as my story "Who's the Hero Now?" If you haven't read that, you can start here, but you'll get to know Addison and Derek's daughter from that story. This piece takes place about two years after that story. And it starts the day before Thanksgiving. Enjoy!
Gobble, Gobble
..
"Tell me again why I agreed to this."
"Because you are incredible," Derek says. "And amazing. And I don't deserve you."
"See, I know all of that already." Addison sets down the alarmingly large knife she's been using to attack a sweet potato. "But it doesn't really answer my question."
Derek slices another Brussels sprout in half; promptly, the leaves shed and form a pile so that all he's holding is a pea-sized ball of green. "Is it because you love Thanksgiving?"
"…really?"
"Addie, no one remembers that," he says hastily.
"Your mother remembers."
"No she doesn't."
"She does, and she's waiting for me to mess up this year instead of making up for it."
"What are you making up for?" Christa asks. She's currently towering over her parents since she still favors the high stool she'd sit on as a toddler. At ten – almost eleven, she would insist – and fresh off a growth spurt, she doesn't exactly need the height, but she still likes it.
"Nothing," Addison says hastily.
"Certainly not salmonella," Derek adds.
"And no one's stomach was pumped."
"I don't remember that," their daughter says.
"You were so little, Chris. Not even two."
She considers this. "And we had Thanksgiving here?"
"We tried," Derek says.
"Your father volunteered us," Addison corrects.
"Did he volunteer us this time too?" Christa asks.
"We decided as a family," Derek says before Addison can answer. She makes a noncommittal noise.
Derek drops the next Brussels sprout entirely; Arturo, their daughter's large and chronically cranky cat, swoops in and bats it away.
"Where is he taking that?" Addison sets down her knife. "Arturo, come back here!"
The cat stops in the doorway and stares directly at Addison, delicately washing one paw. He lets her get about a foot away before he hisses, swipes the Brussels sprout into the foyer, and chases it.
"Chris…" Addison props her hands on her hips.
"It's okay, Mom, he's not gonna eat it," Christa assures her mother, and Derek has to hide a smile. Of course their sweet, animal-loving daughter assumes Addison is worried about Arturo's health rather than the potential of rotting vegetables lingering under the couch.
"Maybe you should keep him upstairs while we cook," Addison suggests to Christa.
There's a moment of silence in the kitchen while all three Shepherds imagine a home in which Arturo could be compelled to do … anything. Other than keeping his claws and teeth off his beloved mistress – Addison and Derek's one requirement – Arturo is not exactly a compliant cat. In addition to costing them a small fortune in the specialized food Christa researched at school ("it's an independent study," she beamed, and she did get an A…), Arturo likes to supplement his diet with one or two of Addison's pricey shoes per month, and the occasional half-purse to wash it down.
"He'll be good," Christa says. Derek looks at his daughter. Addison likes to say she's inherited his optimism, and it certainly seems to be in effect right now.
Arturo, good?
"Just don't let him eat the turkey."
"We don't have a turkey," Christa says.
"We will have a turkey, when Daddy goes to get it." Addison glances at him. "Because we can't just order a regular turkey from Eli's like normal people. It has to be special."
"Eli's turkey isn't free range," Derek frowns.
"Eli's is better than free range. It's the best location in the city! Why would a turkey want to be anywhere else?"
"It's a heritage turkey," Derek reminds her. "Fresh and delicious – and local."
"And far away," Addison shakes her head. "And not ready until today. But otherwise great."
"That's the spirit," Derek says approvingly.
"If Grandma's all better, how come she didn't want to have Thanksgiving?"
Addison glances at Derek. "She's recovered from surgery, sweetie, but hosting Thanksgiving is a lot of work."
"Oh." Christa considers his words. "How come Aunt Nancy isn't doing it?"
"Because it's nice to take turns."
"What about Aunt Kathy?"
"Honey, can you just – "
A loud noise interrupts them.
Very, very loud.
Christa drops her cranberries and claps her hands over her ears.
Addison and Derek exchange a nervous glance.
"I volunteer you," Addison says with a broad smile. "Consider it an early Thanksgiving present."
..
Derek ascends the stairs with no small amount of trepidation.
The ear-splitting shrieks get louder as he approaches.
"You are so quiet, I almost didn't hear you," Derek teases as he opens the nursery door.
There, chubby hands gripping the sides of a double-reinforced crib, his son is standing, blond hair tousled from sleep, cheeks flushed, yelling.
Not crying.
Yelling.
He stops as soon as he sees his father and smiles, showing off the four little teeth that perfectly match the imprints he's left in each family member.
"You do know we have a baby monitor." Derek lifts his son out of the crib and kisses the top of his sweet-scented head. "So we can hear you. You don't actually need to project all the way to Staten Island."
Jack responds by cheerfully babbling his few words – just the important ones, Dada, Mama, No-No – his name for Christa, quite possibly inspired by her reaction to his destructive tendencies.
Derek changes him, which as usual is half hygiene and half wrestling match, and then scoops him up again before Jack can launch himself off the changing table.
"What do you think – you want to come down to the kitchen and help us cook, buddy?"
"No-No," Jack says.
"No-No is helping us cook too," Derek assures him.
Jack considers this. "Ba," he says finally.
"Hungry? That's even more reason to go to the kitchen." Derek pokes his son gently in the stomach to make him laugh – and it works. "You're going to be very good and not eat anything inedible or break any furniture, right, buddy? Mommy's not in the best mood because when she insisted on hosting Thanksgiving dinner, she forgot how much work it is."
"Mama," Jack agrees.
"That's right, Mama is wearing an apron and she's elbow deep in sweet potatoes, so we probably shouldn't mess with her."
Jack reaches up and grabs a handful of his father's hair.
"So we're in agreement, then. Good."
..
"No-No!" Jack shrieks with glee when he spots his sister; Derek hands him off and Christa leads him to the play area in the corner of the big kitchen.
"Is it just me, or was that a short nap?" Derek glances at Addison, who hasn't responded. "Addie? Is something wrong?"
She turns to glare at him.
"What's that you told Jack? You know we have a baby monitor?" Addison props her hands on her hips.
Derek swallows. "Uh, it picks up noise from all the way across the room, huh?"
"It does." Addison shakes her head. "I'm not in the best mood?" she repeats icily.
"No," Derek says quickly. "Yes? I'm sorry," he adds sincerely. "I just wanted Jack to be nice to you. As in, bite you fewer times than usual."
She can't seem to keep from smiling a little at that. Derek leans in and kisses her, wincing a little at the bitterness.
"I tried a raw cranberry," Addison admits. "It was a little tart."
It's Derek's turn to smile. Addison doesn't seem annoyed with him anymore, and when Jack speeds over and pulls at the hem of her apron, it seals the improvement of her mood.
She bends down to scoop up her son. He snuggles close and then tucks one bare foot into the pocket of her apron.
Christa climbs back onto her stool and inspects the bowl of raw cranberries.
"You said we all decided to have Thanksgiving here," she points out as she digs through the round red globes.
"We did," Derek says quickly. "I was just – kidding upstairs."
"And he didn't realize the baby monitor would pick it up," Addison says cheerfully.
"That too," Derek admits.
"It's nice hosting Thanksgiving here," Addison says firmly, jiggling Jack a little on her hip. Then she pauses. "I was preheating the oven, but … does something smell like it's burning?"
..
A little while later, after Jack is safe in his playpen with Christa guarding his exit, and Derek has retrieved the owner's manual from the smoking oven and dealt with the dripping plastic, Addison flops onto one of the kitchen chairs.
"I need a drink."
"I think you probably need all your wits about you," Derek suggests as gently as he can, earning a glare in return.
"I can't believe you talked me into this."
"You talked me into this," Derek reminds her.
"Okay, then I can't believe I talked you into this." Addison sighs.
"I guess we talked each other into it," Derek admits.
"Why?" Addison shakes her head, her lips curving up into a smile.
"Because … we make decisions as a family," Derek says optimistically.
He nods toward baby Jack, a prime example of that.
Naming their new baby was a family decision.
Jack for Derek's Uncle John, who taught him to drive.
His middle name – that was Addison's choice.
She blushes a little when he reminds her now. "It's an old family name," she says defensively.
Derek glances out of the kitchen to make sure Christa's not in earshot, then leans closer to Addison. "So it's not because you made me watch Gladiator the night we –"
"Hey, Chris!" Addison says brightly and Derek looks up quickly, only to see she was teasing. He pulls her in for a quick hug.
That was a good night.
And the baby who resulted was named by all three Shepherds together. His first name was Derek's choice, his middle name Addison's.
…and his full name, Jack Russell, wasfor Christa, who attempted several times during Addison's pregnancy to barter her unborn brother for a puppy.
Jack might as well be a puppy for the level of enthusiasm he has toward his older sister. Derek is convinced his son learned to crawl specifically to follow Christa around, and his early walking sealed the deal.
He's not the smoothest of walkers, nor the most coordinated, but he's –
"Fast," Christa moans, crossing the kitchen threshold just after Jack. "He's so fast. I can't even close my bedroom door."
"Why do you want to close your bedroom door?"
Christa rolls her eyes – a new habit, and one that thrills neither parent, but Addison has assured Derek based on her Don't Trust and Definitely Verify: Surviving the Tween Years book is perfectly normal. "Why not?" she challenges, and then chases Jack back into the living room.
Derek pauses, then glances at his wife. "You realize the way we timed this Jack is going to hit the terrible twos right when Christa hits the terrible teens."
Addison considers this. "There's not much we can do about that now."
"You're so practical," he says, leaning in for a kiss. "And who knows, maybe it will be easy."
"And you're such an optimist." She kisses him back. "I wouldn't want it any other way. And Chris might be a little trying right now, but she'll go back to-"
"Mom!" Christa shrieks at a decibel sure to be heard across the country. "Jack bit me!"
..
Once they've assured themselves that Jack hardly left a mark in Christa's arm, and Addison has deposited their protesting son in his wheeled walker, Derek glances at his watch.
"We should probably go pick up the turkey."
"Right." Addison dries her hands on her apron, then sighs. "You're going to hit traffic."
"We won't."
"It's the biggest travel day of the year," Addison reminds him.
"Not to Queens, it isn't." Derek beams at her. "Isn't it great that there are farms in Queens? Who knew?"
"Christa knew." Addison leans in to kiss him goodbye. "Drive carefully."
She pulls Christa's hat lower over her ears; their daughter promptly tugs it higher. At almost eleven, she's far too mature for the animal-ear hats she favored over the years, but her soft grey scarf does have stitched-on raccoon paws at either end. Addison hugs her close for a moment. "Come straight back here, okay? I need all the help I can get with Thanksgiving dinner."
..
They hit traffic.
They spend so long on the 59th Street Bridge that Derek is pretty sure he could have gotten out of the car and walked to the farm faster.
But he's not complaining – other than guilt for leaving Addison to deal with both the cooking and their tireless son, he's enjoying the time in the car with Christa, who tends to open up on long car rides.
"… and Sadie's parents got her a makeup thing for her birthday. Like, you go and they put makeup on you."
Derek nods. "Which Sadie? Sadie R.?"
"Sadie B.," Christa says. "Sadie R. doesn't like makeup."
Good. They're only ten. Almost eleven, sure, but still! Derek glances quickly at Christa's sweet freckled face. He's quite positive there's no way to improve that face – certainly none that you can buy at Sephora.
"How about you?" he asks casually. "Do you like makeup?"
"No," Christa says immediately. "It makes my face itch."
"Oh." Derek considers whether Surviving Tween Terror would have a problem with his response. He could say good, but that seems to be shaming the idea of wanting to wear makeup.
Which he has.
He has a big problem with it.
But apparently surviving tween terror means pretending not to.
"Remember when Katie put it on me at Christmas that time?" Christa asks, naming one of her older cousins. She wrinkles her nose.
"You can tell her not to do that," Derek says, frowning a little.
"Dad, I know that. But it's okay," Christa shrugs. "She probably won't try again 'cause last time they were at our house, Arturo took her lipstick."
"Did he put it on?"
"No!" Christa giggles. "He put it under the couch. That's where his treasures are."
"Right." Derek reminds himself to move the couch and sweep under it before his family comes.
Makeup. He's quite certain Christa was born only a few years ago. She was toddling across hardwood floors with her two pudgy little fists wrapped around his index fingers – was it last month? And surely it was last week they dropped her off for her first day of school in red gingham pinafore and pigtails.
A loud horn interrupts his thoughts.
"We're moving!" Christa cheers, then pauses. "Dad, that guy is giving you the –"
"Don't worry about it," Derek says hastily, taking his foot off the brake.
..
Steuben's Family Farm is cheerful and small – it's hard to believe it's just across the bridge – and it certainly smells like a farm. Derek wrinkles his nose; Christa sighs happily.
"Are we going to go out to the paddocks?" she asks eagerly.
"Oh … not this time, sweetie. We can come back another time and see the animals."
"So the farmer will just bring us the turkey?"
"We'll go into the shop." Derek points. "See, that's where they keep the food they're selling."
"Food?" Christa looks confused. "What do you mean?"
Sudden horror seizes him. "Honey … when I said I was going to pick up the turkey … I mean, you know we're hosting Thanksgiving dinner, right?"
Christa nods, still smiling.
"Right, so that means that we need to – I mean, we're buying – well – "
Her blue eyes are so wide and innocent. He cringes thinking of how she'll react when they're handed a hairless pink turkey carcass. He was certain she understood.
Didn't he tell her? Or Addison? Or both of them?
Christa's known the facts of life since she could talk, but somehow neither of them managed The Talk when it comes to buying Thanksgiving turkeys.
And it's not in any of the tween-survival books Addison bought them, either.
"Chris," Derek says gently, "let's talk for a minute before we-"
A loud squawk interrupts him.
"Look, Dad, that's him!" Christa beams.
Derek winces. A tanned and seemingly serene farmer is approaching, holding a large wire cage. The large wire cage is holding a large
And not very pretty
And not very happy
Turkey.
"That's him!" Christa says again, sounding thrilled. "Does he have a name?" she asks the farmer.
"No," Derek says.
"Olivia," the farmer says, smiling at Christa. "And it's a her. Most Thanksgiving turkeys are hens."
Christa nods, probably filing it away in the animal reference library she keeps in her head.
The farmer sets down the wire cage, and Derek smiles awkwardly, ready to right the misunderstanding.
"Hi, Olivia." Christa kneels down in front of the pen happily. The turkey – who looks quite vicious to Derek, pecks its way over to see her.
"Not so close, Chris." Derek tugs on the collar of her coat.
"Oh, Olivia won't hurt her. She's a sweet girl, aren't you," the farmer says. True to his word, the turkey stops in front of Christa and then moves its head back and forth in a way that looks revolting to Derek but seems to charm both Christa and the farmer.
Derek turns to the farmer, keeping his voice down for Christa's sake. "I placed an order for Shepherd," he says quietly. "One twenty-two pound organic free range heritage turkey."
"Yup."
"… okay, so do I go into the shop to buy it, or …?"
"That's your turkey," the farmer says, not sounding concerned at all. Bored, even.
"That's not a turkey," Derek says. "I mean, that's a turkey, but it's not a … Thanksgiving turkey."
"Why not?"
"Because it's alive!" Derek hisses.
"I'll wring his neck for you before you go."
Derek swallows hard. Kneeling in the scrubby grass, Christa is cooing to the turkey.
"Uh, okay," he says uncertainly. He rests a hand on the top of Christa's hat-covered head. "Chris, honey, we should get going," Derek says. "Why don't we go wait in the shop, and –"
"Wait for what?" Christa turns around, her expression guileless.
"For …" Derek glances at the farmer for help. The farmer mimes wringing a neck and Derek makes frantic stop gestures at him as subtly as he can. "For … me to pay," he says finally.
..
"Can I sit in back with Olivia?" Christa asks happily as Derek opens the car door.
Derek and the farmer exchange a look.
"Um…"
"Remember, I don't do house calls," the farmer tells him as they settle up. "You take her live, then you're responsible for killing her."
Derek winces at the word killing. "Right. The thing is, I thought she'd already be … dead … when I got here."
"Fresh turkeys," the farmer says as if Derek is the stupidest man he's ever encountered. "We sell fresh turkeys. Why would they be dead?"
Derek's not sure, but he's quite certain that he is going to be dead when Addison realizes he's brought home a live turkey.
"So," the farmer smiles and holds Derek's credit card just out of reach. "You're going to need some starter feed for that bird of yours, a pen, and a heat lamp or two …"
..
"Christa, can you try to quiet her down," Derek pleads as he struggles with the heavy bags of feed.
"Shh, Olivia," Christa coos, rocking the large and quite ugly turkey in her arms. "Be nice and quiet and I'll feed you something delicious when we get inside."
"Addie?" Derek calls quietly, satisfied when she doesn't answer. He turns to his daughter. "Okay, Chris, we have the cage and the heat lamps, we just need to figure out a place to put Olivia before –"
"Is that a turkey?"
Derek winces at Addison's shriek. "…before your mother sees," he finishes weakly.
"I'm imagining this," Addison says. "Right? You did not just bring a live turkey into my – Christa, get some newspapers, honey, before he –"
"She," Christa corrects. "I'll clean it up, Mom," she adds hastily, disappearing into the bathroom with Olivia in her arms.
Addison covers her eyes with one hand for a minute. "Derek … it's not really a turkey, is it?"
Olivia squawks loudly.
"Turkey!" Jack yells, zooming by on his wheeled walker. Or close enough, anyway.
"Honey, Jack has a new word!" Derek nods encouragingly at Addison.
"He should have used it for a cooked turkey, Derek," she hisses. "Not – an alive turkey!"
"She was alive when we got there," Derek explains.
"She – she? The turkey is a she?"
"Actually, most Thanksgiving turkeys are hens."
"That's fascinating trivia, Derek, but also most Thanksgiving turkeys are dead."
"The farmer was going to kill it in front of us, Addie," he explains, keeping his voice low. "Christa was already playing with it and …"
"I knew she should have stayed home." Addison shakes her head. "You realize we've been banned from two fish places at this point. I have to buy salmon in secret!"
Christa emerges from the bathroom with Olivia in her arms and proceeds to spray and scrub the floor.
"Thank you, honey," Addison says wearily. "Look, Chris …" Addison kneels down on the floor next to her. "We're not going to be able to … serve turkey … at dinner tomorrow," she starts gently.
"That's okay! We can have Tofurkey!" Christa beams. "It's shaped like turkey, but we don't have to kill any animals."
Addison stands up and directs her next words to Derek. "I think there was a mix-up at the hospital. Somewhere there's a nice animal-loving farm couple with a kid who just wants sushi and steak tartare."
She turns back to Christa. "Find somewhere to put that thing that will keep it from making any more messes, okay? Derek – can I see you in the kitchen?"
Derek follows Addison through the archway.
"What if Arturo kills that turkey?" Addison demands.
"Then we can eat it?" Derek suggests.
Addison looks like she's trying very hard not to laugh.
"Mom?" Christa calls from the living room. "Dad? I need a credit card so I can order this deluxe turkey bed. It's heated and everything so it mimics the outdoors!"
"You know what mimics the outdoors?" Addison hisses for Derek's ears only. "The outdoors. Where you should have left this turkey!"
Derek smiles weakly at Christa, who's sitting cross legged on the floor, one hand petting Olivia and the other typing away at Derek's laptop that rests the low slung coffee table.
"Uh … how much is it?" Derek asks nervously.
She tells them.
"Well, there you go, no question – she's definitely your kid," Derek mutters when Christa is re-occupied with her new pet. "No respectable farmer would buy a turkey bed that costs as much as a car."
..
They talk Christa down from the turkey bed ledge, and Derek helps her set up a comfortable looking pen for Olivia.
"But she can walk around too, once I've litter trained her, right?" Christa asks.
"Um … let's see what Mom says," Derek suggests. "Look, she likes it in here." He flicks on the heat lamp and the turkey heads toward it eagerly.
Christa watches.
"And she's safer from Arturo," Derek points out.
"Arturo wouldn't hurt her," Christa says firmly. "But if he wanted to, he could put his paw between the bars anyway."
He can't really argue with that.
"Let's leave her here overnight, honey, and we'll figure everything out tomorrow."
"But she can –"
"Not in your room," Derek says.
Christa looks like she's gearing up to argue.
"Your room is Arturo's space," Derek adds, hoping he sounds sincere. "It might be hard on him that there's another animal here. Remember when we brought Jack home, and – "
"Okay, Olivia can stay in the kitchen," Christa says.
Derek sighs.
Why does it feel like Addison might not consider this semi-victory as impressive as he does?
..
"Where's the main course?" Addison asks him suspiciously when he opens the bedroom door.
"In her pen, in the kitchen," Derek admits.
"Her." Addison shakes her head. "Derek, I can live with Arturo, even though he hates both of us – but me more," she sighs. "But not a turkey. A turkey isn't a pet! A turkey is food."
"Okay," Derek says. "Look, we don't have to keep her. It. Whatever. We'll bring her back to the farm or – donate her somewhere – but we're not going to find anyone to take her at nine o'clock at night the night before Thanksgiving."
"Then what are we going to eat tomorrow?"
Derek pauses.
"Tofurkey?"
She throws a pillow at him.
..
The phone rings at 6 a.m.
They're not a family accustomed to sleeping late – two doctors, a one-year-old, and a very active tween – but it's still a bit early for a call from –
"It's your mother." Addison elbows Derek gently, then a little less gently. "Derek – your mother is calling. At six o'clock in the morning," she adds.
Derek takes the phone. "Hi, Mom," he says wearily. "No, it's fine, we were up – ow! Nothing," he says quickly when she inquires. "Everything's fine. …Addison? Uh…" He pauses.
"No," Addison mouths frantically. "I'm not here."
Derek covers the receiver with his hand. "Where would you be at 6 a.m.?" he whispers.
"I don't know," Addison whispers back. "Anywhere. Dead? Tell her I'm dead."
Derek shakes his head. "She's right here."
Addison rolls her eyes and grabs the phone. "Hi, Mom," she says with forced cheer. "No, we were up. … Yes, I agree that early risers get more done. … Yes, I also agree that idle hands are the devil's workers."
She pauses.
"You want me to guess what you're most looking forward to at tonight's dinner?" Addison rolls her eyes for Derek's benefit; he reminds himself to tell her Christa obviously got that habit from her mother.
"I don't know – Kathy's stuffing? No?" Addison mouths help at Derek. "Okay, Nancy's pie? Uh … the green bean thing … with the stuff …?" Addison can't seem to bring herself to say casserole. "Not that either, huh?" She shoots Derek a look of desperation.
"Oh," Addison says faintly. "The crispy golden turkey. I should have guessed. Yes, Mom, I know that the outside looks done before the inside – hey, why don't you talk to Christa?" Addison puts the phone on speaker.
"Chris, honey, Grandma's on the phone!"
Christa bounds in and directs her voice to the speaker.
"Grandma, guess what? I got a –"
"An A! She got an A on her science project," Derek interrupts hastily. "Right, Chris?"
"Right," Christa says slowly. "But I was going to tell Grandma that – "
"Oh my goodness, the sweet potatoes are bubbling over," Addison cuts her off this time. "Yes, Mom, I know that sweet potatoes shouldn't bubble. We'll see you later, okay? Christa, say goodbye to Grandma," Addison instructs, and then she hangs up with relief.
"I wanted to tell her about Olivia," Christa says. "Grandma always says she loves turkey." She pauses. "Ohh," she says softly.
..
"Family meeting," Addison announces, retying her apron.
"Let me just get Arturo," Christa says.
"Honey, he doesn't need to – okay, fine." Addison sighs. "Wouldn't want the cat to miss a family meeting."
Once all the Shepherds are settled – Derek, Addison, Christa, Jack, Arturo, and Olivia, who juts her neck out at frequent intervals – they can begin.
"Sweet potatoes?" Addison holds up her checklist.
"You peeled them and chopped them," Christa reminds her mother, then pauses. "Where are they now?"
Addison pauses. "I'm not sure. Somewhere, I think. Derek, you're in charge of the Brussels sprouts."
"Arturo ran off with half of them."
At the sound of him name, Arturo perks up. He's been watching the loose skin on Olivia's neck hungrily, though he's devoted enough to Christa that he hasn't made a single swipe.
"Fine, then just make sure to roast the other half. The way Lizzie does it, so your mother doesn't complain."
"My mother never complains."
"Your mother always complains."
"Addie…"
"We do have one slight problem," Addison says. "It's Thanksgiving morning, and I've already called every store I know to see if they have …" She glances at Christa. "…options," she says euphemistically.
"And?"
"And they don't," Addison says with heavy sarcasm in her tone. "Shockingly, because it's not last minute or anything."
"It's okay," Derek says, hoping he sounds convincing. "My mother won't notice."
"Your mother told me she's most looking forward to turkey," Addison says, "and I don't think she means our new pet."
"She'll be fine. I'll – call my sisters."
"Oh, to see if one of them has a spare turkey sitting around?" Addison pauses. "Actually, knowing Liz, she might."
Derek nods.
"Okay, what else is on the list – setting the table?"
"Me," Christa says. "Jack is going to help."
Their son, who has been hurling soft blocks at the sides of the play fence, looks up at his name. "Bye," he says.
"That means yes," Christa reminds them.
"Okay. What else?"
"I'm making the salad," Christa announces. "With walnuts and little dried cranberries and goat cheese."
"That sounds great," Derek tells her, then pauses. "Did we buy lettuce?"
Addison shakes her head.
"Okay, we'll figure something out."
"I can go to Gristede's," Christa offers.
"You're turkey-sitting," Addison reminds her.
"Oh, yeah."
Derek and Addison exchange a glance.
"Derek, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?"
..
"Okay, listen to me. I have an idea."
"Good." Derek sighs with relief. "What is it?"
"I'll kill Olivia, and we tell Christa she ran away."
Derek laughs. "You can't kill Olivia."
"Why not?"
He considers this. "How do you know how to kill a turkey?"
"Derek, I'm a surgeon. I'm sure I can figure out how to kill a turkey."
"Christa's going to be upset."
"Not if we tell her Olivia ran away."
"If we tell her that, she'll want to organize a search party and we'll all end up in Central Park making realistic turkey calls to try to attract Olivia back."
"Not if …" Addison thinks for a moment, "not if we convince her Olivia's happier in the wild."
"I'm game if you are."
Addison pauses. "Pun intended?"
"Pun intended."
"Hey, Chris?" Addison calls, leaning out of the open doorway. "I think you should run to Gristede's after all. Dad will go with you."
..
Addison … is face to face with death.
Or at least she's planning on it.
Right now she's face to face with life – a live turkey. A very large, very smelly live turkey who keeps doing that head-sticking-out neck thing that kind of looks like a dance move. It's disconcerting.
Addison picks up the butcher knife. "See, Olivia, it's called a butcher knife for a reason," she says softly. "Okay, so, look, I really hate to do this. Which is why I prefer to pay people to do this, but … apparently that didn't work."
Head bob. Head bob.
"You understand, right?"
The turkey stops moving.
"Maybe it's better that way." Addison reaches for the turkey, then stops.
"Okay, um, Olivia, I just want to say that I really am sorry about this, but my mother-in-law is not going to settle for a Tofurkey. I'm pretty sure she still thinks tofu is a Communist plot." She sighs. "I kind of need her to like this Thanksgiving dinner. I have a lot to make up for. You know how it is. Or do you?" She pauses. "I guess if you're a heritage turkey, then you knew your turkey mom."
Olivia juts her neck out a few times.
"I bet she was delicious," Addison sighs, and then raises the knife.
..
"You think Olivia's okay by herself?" Christa asks anxiously.
"She's not by herself, Chris. Mom's with her." Derek tries to shake off the guilt of turning his wife into a pet-murderer. Really, it's the farmer's fault for not selling dead birds.
"Yeah," Christa says, not sounding convinced. She switches the bright yellow grocery sack to her other hand. In his nerves about the imminent demise of Olivia, Derek barely glanced at the grocery cart; as a result, he ended up purchasing four kinds of lettuce and an imported cheese that had better have gold flecks in it.
Christa hops from foot to foot at the corner while they wait for the light to change. "It's cold!"
"Where are your gloves?" Derek frowns.
"I left them in Olivia's bed. She likes wool."
Derek takes the grocery bag from his daughter, hoping that Addison removes the gloves before she slaughters the turkey. "Put them in your pockets, at least."
"When it gets warmer, we can put Olivia out back in the garden," Christa is saying as they walk up their block. "I looked up a lot of stuff. And we can have an outdoor pen and everything. We have to build it. Maybe we can build it together."
Derek smiles down at her. "I'd love to build something together," he says, feeling guilty.
Christa beams. "Not 'til spring though, we don't want her to get cold."
"We don't want that," he echoes, reaching for his keys.
"Olivia's being loud," Christa says as the door opens and squawks fill the air, trying to peer in front of Derek. "I should go see if she needs anything."
"No!" Derek moves his body in front of the door.
Christa gives him a curious look.
"I mean … I just realized we forgot something."
"What did we forget?"
"Coffee. Your mom needs coffee."
"She does?"
Or a stiff drink.
"Yes, she does." Derek stows the grocery bags and closes the front door, hustling Christa down the front steps.
..
The next time he opens the front door he does it slowly, cautiously – and hears nothing but blessed silence.
"Addie?" he calls tentatively toward the kitchen, a hand on Christa's shoulder to keep her from running in, just in case. "Everything okay in there?"
"… everything's fine," Addison calls after a pause.
"Good." Derek glances at Christa. "Go wash your hands, sweetie," he instructs, waiting until she's halfway down the hall to the powder room before he takes a deep breath and heads for the kitchen.
He crosses the kitchen threshold alone. He has to admit he's not eager to see a dead turkey, not the least because Addison insisted he's the one who has to pluck it, but sometimes a man just needs to do what has to be done. He steels himself for the side of the dead bird.
And then he stops in his tracks.
There's no dead bird.
Addison and Olivia are sitting across from each other at the breakfast nook, Addison with a glass of red wine, Olivia with a crystal goblet of what smells – strongly – of starter feed.
Derek blinks.
"I tried," Addison says defensively. "But it didn't work."
"It didn't work?"
"It didn't work," she repeats with dignity.
Derek raises an eyebrow. "Maybe that's because the two of you are having cocktails. Did you try using a knife, or were you planning to just kill her with kindness?"
"Very funny. You know, Derek … this is your mother's fault."
"What? How do you figure that?"
"And Olivia agrees," Addison says primly. "You know, that neck thing aside, she's a pretty good listener."
"A good – what?"
Olivia juts her neck back and forth.
"Told you," Addison says.
..
"Family meeting," Derek announces once Jack has gone down for a nap.
"Another one?" Christa looks cute in an oversized ruffled apron. She dries her hands. "I was gonna wash my lettuce."
"It'll be quick," Addison assures her. "Arturo can sit this one out," she adds.
She waits until they're assembled.
"So. We have three hours until your mother and sisters get here," Addison says. "We have to make the sweet potatoes, roast the Brussels sprouts, make the tablescape –"
Derek raises his eyebrows.
"Make the tablescape," Addison repeats firmly. "I need to shower. And Christa, you need to wash your hair."
"Why?"
"Because it smells like turkey," Addison says patiently. Christa takes a handful of reddish-brown waves and sniffs it experimentally, then nods in agreement.
"And what about the – " Derek glances at Christa, then sticks his neck out a few times, miming turkey.
"I put in a few calls," Addison says. "And I found a chicken in the freezer."
"You did?"
She nods. "Rosa must have bought it for us. I can't quite make out the date on the plastic, but I'm pretty sure it starts with a '20'."
"Great," Derek says. "We can stuff it and … that will be delicious. What?" he asks at Christa's expression.
"No Tofurkey?"
"There's always next year," Derek says patiently. "And you have plenty of vegetarian sides to eat, Chris."
"Only three hours," Addison reminds them. "And Jack should wake up in about … forty-five minutes."
They exchange terrified glances, then – as one – they nod.
"I'll go see how many Brussels sprouts are under the couch," Derek says.
"I'll go wash my hair," Christa says.
"And I'll go try to chop the ice off the chicken," Addison says.
She follows Derek into the living room. "I really think it's going to be okay," she says. "Turkey and chicken are basically the same thing, right? And we'll figure out somewhere to put Olivia so your mother doesn't notice, maybe in one of the upstairs bathrooms – turkeys like water, right? – oh, let me just get the phone."
She disappears into the kitchen, and then returns with a look of horror on her face.
"Addie?"
"That was your mother," Addison says grimly. "Traffic was oh so light and she's coming early."
"Early," Derek repeats faintly.
"Mom!" Christa calls from upstairs. "Can I use your bubble bath?"
"Sure – wait, for you or for Olivia?" Addison calls back.
There's a long pause.
"Me," Christa says, not very convincingly.
"Derek…"
"Chris, Grandma's going to be here soon, so you're going to have to bathe the turkey later," Addison calls up the stairs.
She turns to Derek. "I never really thought I'd say those words."
"Parenthood is full of surprises," Derek says sagely, raising an innocent eyebrow when Addison glares at him.
..
Twenty minutes later, they gather at the foot of the stairs. Addison inspects their baby son first – Jack is still wearing the striped pajamas he napped in rather than the adorable Thanksgiving outfit she bought for him, but he's awake and not crying and she doesn't see any tooth marks on Derek, so that's something.
As for their daughter, Christa's long hair is still wet, but she's wearing a dress – okay, with fuzzy shearling boots and the dress is a little shorter than Addison remembers, probably due to the growth spurt, but it's something. She has Arturo in her arms, but on the plus side he's not hissing.
And Addison can't exactly complain about her children's clothing; she herself is on her third outfit since something in the kitchen keeps spattering; she's finally given up on actual shoes and is wearing Derek's topsiders.
She glances at her husband and shakes her head.
Somehow … Derek looks good. Refreshed, even. So Addison is relieved to see, at least, that his socks are two different colors.
No one's perfect.
"Okay. Okay. This is good," Addison says, trying to keep mania out of her tone. "We're doing great. We're basically ready."
Christa sniffs the air.
"Is something burning?" Addison asks frantically. "Derek, were you watching the oven?"
He frowns. "Is something in the oven?"
"Turkey," Jack says happily.
"Derek!" Addison is wringing her hands.
"Turkey!" Jack shouts, louder this time.
"There's no turkey, buddy. We're going to have some nice sweet potatoes and – what is she doing down here?" Derek demands.
Olivia flaps her wings.
"She's supposed to be upstairs," Addison reminds their daughter.
Before Christa can respond, a piercing wail breaks the air.
"Mom, the smoke alarm's going off!"
Olivia squawks.
Arturo hisses.
Jack bursts into tears.
Of course it's at that moment the doorbell rings.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Carolyn Shepherd calls from outside the door.
To be continued - if you want! Should I write what happens next? Happy (American) Thanksgiving to those who celebrate(d), and happy fluffy Friday to everyone! Please review and let me know what you think, and thank you so much! xoxo