A/N: Remember this story? Derek, Addison, their animal-loving daughter who once helped her mother deliver a calf on a family vacation, and her new sharp-toothed baby brother? I hope so, because the timing couldn't be more perfect, because I was mid-update when LS, whose idea inspired this story to begin with, requested some Addek fluff. And we need fluff sometimes in our steady angst diet. So here's some Thanksgiving themed, chaotic family fluff, Addek style. I hope you enjoy!

And if you don't remember, here's a quick previously on: Remember that it's Thanksgiving, but somehow the fresh turkey Derek planned to buy so they could roast has ended up another cosseted pet in Christa's bathtub, hidden from nosy Shepherds? And then remember that Carolyn showed up early, throwing everyone for a loop? And then, at the end of chapter 2, someone else showed up even more unexpectedly?


Gobble, Gobble
Chapter 3: Bizzy


"Am I going to - am I going to invite you in?" Addison finds herself repeating her mother's words blankly. "Bizzy – what are you doing here?"

And then she just stares as her mother steps over the threshold for all the world like she belongs in their home, resplendent in mink, sunglasses in one hand, the gold-linked strap of her clutch in the other.

"It's Thanksgiving, Addison," Bizzy repeats.

"Yes, I know it's Thanksgiving." Addison glances at Derek for support. "Um, I didn't know you were coming. Weren't you – didn't you have other – "

Her voice trails off.

"There was an avalanche in Gstaad," Bizzy says simply. "I assumed you'd heard."

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains it." Addison sighs a little.

In her experience, European weather fluctuations, particularly those involving skis, tend to be WASP for something to do with the Captain. Addison's not quite as fluent as she used to be when she lived at home, but … she can still get along.

What is actually means though … she's not sure.

Meanwhile, Bizzy is still standing in the foyer in her mink, looking perfectly put together and rather disapproving. "I assume from the cacophony that your husband's family is here?"

Addison glances automatically toward the living room, where she can just catch out of the corner of her eye Kathleen's giant cheese ball, adorned with red peppers to make a turkey crown. Oh, Bizzy's going to love that.

"Some of them," Addison says.

Bizzy just arches one eyebrow, managing to communicate without speaking just what she thinks of people who have as many noisy children as the extended Shepherd family.

… not for the first time.

Addison elbows Derek, who has been standing silently at her side; he jumps gamely into the fray.

"Bizzy!" Derek smiles at her in a way that would almost look convincing if Addison hadn't known him so well for so long, and kisses his mother-in-law's cheek. "You're looking well. How's the Captain?" he asks, while Addison makes frantic throat-slashing gestures behind her mother and then swiftly moves her hand up to fix her hair when Bizzy turns around.

Okay, so Derek is good – very, very good – but he doesn't speak WASP. Not like she does.

Luckily, Addison's flailing gesture seems to have distracted her mother from whatever her father has done this time.

"Addison. Is something wrong with you?" Bizzy asks disapprovingly.

Oh, so much is wrong, you have no idea.

"No … Mother, everything is fine. We're so, uh, we're happy you're here," she says, attempting to infuse the words with something other than surprised dismay.

Bizzy is here, right?

It's not another bad dream, perhaps brought on by too much smoke in the kitchen?

"Hi, Bizzy! I didn't know you were coming."

Christa's cheerful greeting as she joins them in the foyer makes clear she's not, unfortunately, imagining it.

Bizzy is actually smiling in response – smiling for Bizzy, anyway: "Christa, look at you, dear, you've grown. Outgrown that dress too, it seems," she adds quietly for Addison's sake.

Addison glares at her mother.

"And your hair is so long now." Bizzy tells Christa, then turns to Addison with a lifted brow.

Christa, for her part, is patient with her grandmother's once-over.

But it's not done yet. Addison follows her mother's gaze to Christa's shearling boots – or rather, shearling-esque boots, since of course they're vegan.

"And those boots are very … après ski," Bizzy offers.

"Thanks," Christa says with a smile, looking down at her boots. "They're really comfortable."

"Yes, just what I look for in a shoe," Bizzy says, her gaze sliding to Addison. "And you, dear? Were you planning a sail?"

Addison realizes she's still wearing Derek's topsiders, which she threw on earlier when her mother-in-law made the first unexpected arrival of the afternoon. "They're supportive," she says now, with dignity, "for cooking."

"Mm." Bizzy's tone is noncommittal, yet somehow extremely judgmental.

God, she's good at that.

"A drink," Bizzy proposes now, still wearing her coat. "Christa, would you mind, dear?"

"Christa's not going to make you a drink," Addison says irritably. "She's ten."

"It's not exactly difficult, Addison. You were mixing far more complicated drinks at her age."

"Yes … and I turned out so well," Addison mutters.

"What was that, dear? You know mumbling is unseemly. I hope you don't mumble," Bizzy adds, turning to Christa with a rather severe look.

Christa glances from Derek to Addison. "I … mumble sometimes," she says finally, tactfully, managing to defend her mother without making her grandmother any more irritated – really, quite skillful.

Derek is impressed.

Addison, on the other hand, looks annoyed – at her mother, not at Christa, and Derek is wondering if he should intervene when she starting talking.

"Bizzy, would you just – " But another voice interrupts before she can finish.

"Bizzy! Oh gosh, it's been a while. Great to see you. You remember me, right? Nancy? You told me at the wedding that not everyone can pull off a pixie cut?" Nancy flashes Addison a wide, reassuring smile … and a small wink too. She's holding something in her hand – a G&T. Silently, Addison sends gratitude to Derek's sister and reminds herself to reserve a hot stone massage for Nancy, too, if they all survive this Thanksgiving.

"Nancy. Of course," Bizzy says, sounding mollified, likely from her first glimpse of the drink.

"Addison … I'm still wearing my coat," she adds pointedly.

Addison glares at Derek.

Derek hastens to help his mother-in-law out of her mink coat, and is hanging it in the closet when he catches Christa staring in horror.

"It's fake," Derek mutters to his daughter, lying through his teeth. It could be worse; he's seen Bizzy wear what Addison told him was a vintage fox-fur stole, each unfortunate fox – whose head and paws were part of the stole – caught by Addison Bradford himself. He shudders a little at the memory, hoping Christa never catches a glimpse.

"Bizzy, why don't you come sit down?" Nancy says pleasantly, Addison shooting her another grateful look.

They're not five steps away when Addison grabs her husband's arm. "Derek. Derek, what is she doing here?"

"I have no idea." Derek shakes his head. As if today isn't complicated enough.

Addison is still just staring as Bizzy swans into the living room, stepping delicately over several toys in her path.

"Hey." He touches his wife's face. "Are you holding up okay?"

"I don't know." Addison steps into his proffered embrace. "That helped," she admits.

"Good. It's available anytime." He rests his hands on her shoulders when she steps back. "Look, Addie, it's going to be fine. Maybe it's … good. Your mother and my mother can distract each other and then maybe no one will notice the – " He cuts himself off. "T-word," he murmurs.

"You think?"

"Yeah. I do." He wraps an arm around his wife, leading her back toward the living room. "Let's just – keep an open mind, think positive … that kind of thing … ." His voice trails off at the expression on Addison's face.

Yeah, it's time to switch strategies.

Leaning in, he steals a quick kiss, which – yes, she looks a little happier now.

"There you are, Addison," Bizzy says as soon as they enter the living room – the smile drops off his wife's face in response – "Carolyn was just asking me if I was the one who taught you to cook."

Bizzy's expression makes clear how ridiculous this question is.

Addison looks like she's not sure whether to glare at her mother or her mother-in-law. She settles for sending Derek a you handle this look.

"Mom," Derek says brightly, "I guess you saw that Bizzy's here – isn't it nice that she was able to join us?"

"Nice," Carolyn repeats. "Yes … nice. I had no idea she was coming, Derek. You didn't tell me."

"Maybe he told you, dear, but you just couldn't hear it over the din," Bizzy suggests, lifting an eyebrow at Carolyn.

Derek presses his lips together to stifle a smile; his mother looks offended, and he doesn't want to start anything.

The fact is, it is pretty loud. It's just he doesn't really notice the … din … after all these years in a big family.

It's not anything terrible: voices, chatter, footsteps pounding, Jack's occasional shrieks, and –

"Is that the smoke alarm?"

..

"Busy," Addison says breathlessly once they've gotten the kitchen under control, windows thrown open to the crisp air from the garden, melted spatula disposed of.

"Bizzy?" Derek repeats. He's washing soot off his hands in the sink.

"Yes. No." Addison pauses, shaking her head a little as if to clear it when he turns around. "I mean, yes. We need to keep Bizzy, busy. We need to keep my mother busy. A not-busy Bizzy is the most dangerous of all." Addison paces, wringing her hands. "Not to mention your mother. Honey, help me come up with something."

Derek thinks. "Maybe Jack can help," he says. "Does your mother wear reading glasses?"

"I don't know." Addison tilts her head, considering it. "That's a pretty personal question, for Bizzy."

A personal question? Glasses?

"Well, maybe Jack can break something else of hers," Derek says. "That would be distracting. Or we can grab her handbag to check for glasses, or – Addie, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because – you can't just check Bizzy's handbag, and Jack definitely can't break it!"

"Why not?"

"Derek," Addison hisses. "That 'handbag' is a limited edition, vintage Jean Cloche clutch. The gold on the strap is from some – 19th century pistol. Jean only made seven of them in 1961 and there are only two left in the world, including the one that's currently in our living room."

Derek blinks, taking it all in. "So that you know, but reading glasses are too personal?"

"Derek!"

"Fine, fine." He tries to come up with a Plan B. "I guess we could – "

"Wait." She puts up a hand. "Derek – it's quiet out there," she says, sounding panicky, gesturing to the living room.

"That's not good?" he asks weakly.

Addison doesn't respond, just tears off her apron and stalks out of the kitchen with passionate purpose, Derek on her heels.

The truth is, she's wearing flat shoes, but somehow his wife is able to stalk the same way in four-inch heels, cozy bedroom slippers, or … his topsiders, which she's still wearing even though they're a little big on her, most likely to annoy her mother.

He admires her commitment.

"Mom!" Addison smiles warmly at Carolyn, who is sitting in the comfortable easy chair where they parked her when Jack mercifully broke her glasses. Bizzy, meanwhile, is perched on the couch with her legs tightly crossed, quite a bit of her drink gone already.

"Yes, dear?" Carolyn asks eagerly. "Did you manage the smoke? Do we need to evacuate?"

"Yes," Addison says tightly, "and no, we don't need to evacuate."

"Are you sure you don't want some help in the kitchen?" Carolyn persists. "I know I can't see as well as I usually can, but … ."

Her voice trails off, but the implication is clear to her daughter-in-law: even blind as a bat, I'm still better in the kitchen than you.

"No, thank you." Addison throws a significant look at Derek, who shrugs a little, apparently having missed his mother's oh-so-subtle undertone. "Actually, Mom, Bizzy was just asking me the other day for your – " Addison pauses, as if gathering strength, " – your casserole recipe," she says confidently.

The room is silent for a moment.

Addison takes a moment to absorb – and, fine, enjoy – Bizzy's reaction. Her mother's face would look impassively polite to an outsider, but Addison doesn't miss the very subtle but very Bizzy shudder at the word casserole.

"My casserole recipe. Of course, dear, I can do that," Carolyn says, a little hesitantly. "But which casserole?"

"Oh, how about the one with the … crumbled potato chips," Addison says, starting to enjoy this even more when Bizzy can't to seem from pressing one manicured hand, with its Bradford-crest ring, to the part of her perfectly-structured tweed jacket where her heart would be.

"Which one with the crumbled potato chips," Carolyn is asking patiently, while Bizzy's face remains in an impassive, if gin soaked, mask.

Derek looks from his wife, to his mother, to his mother-in-law.

"It looks like you have this under control, Addie," he mutters to Addison, resting a supportive hand on her shoulder. "So I think I'll just – "

"Don't you dare," she hisses in response. "If anyone's going, I'm going."

"Addison – mumbling again?" Bizzy asks, eyebrow raised, apparently recovered from her initial casserole-induced condition.

"Sorry." Addison speaks up as she gestures to the space on the couch next to Carolyn. "Why don't you come sit closer, Bizzy, so you don't miss a word that recipe." She waits for her mother to sweep to her feet and sit down again, with a subtle reluctance Addison doesn't miss.

"Oh, and Mom." Addison smiles at her mother-in-law, "make sure you don't leave anything out. Bizzy loves details."

Bizzy seems torn between her perfect manners and the implications of don't leave anything out, especially where potato chips are concerned, but in the end her breeding wins out as Addison knew it would, and as she grabs Derek's hand and heads for the kitchen, she hears Carolyn starting her story:

" … now, some people might think cream of mushroom is better than cream of celery, but the thing is, if you want to make sure you can really keep a growing family full … "

..

"That was close."

Addison leans breathlessly against the wall. "Can we get a door for the kitchen?"

"You want to renovate again?"

"No." Addison makes a face, then brightens, reaching for her apron and hooking it back over her neck. She turns around so Derek can tie it around her waist, offering a new solution over her shoulder: "How about we just use the front door, but we kick everyone out?"

Derek fights a smile, resting both his hands on his wife's shoulders. "Kick our guests out? When we're such welcoming Thanksgiving hosts?"

She shakes her head, turning around. "This is your fault."

"Our fault," he corrects her, moving his hands down to her hips.

"How do you figure that?" she asks, reaching out to straighten his collar.

"Because you're the one who volunteered for Thanksgiving duties," he reminds her, "but you and I are married. So it's our fault."

"Oh." She considers this. "I like that."

"I thought you might." He starts to pull her closer, looking rather pleased with himself, and she starts automatically to go to him when –

"Wait a minute. You," and she pokes him lightly in the chest for emphasis, "were the one who started this whole – turkey disaster."

She whispers the word turkey out of habit, even though neither Jack nor any other Shepherd is within earshot.

Derek frowns. "You're the one who didn't kill Olivia when you had the chance."

"When I had the – " She throws her hands in the air. "You're the one who insisted on the heritage turkey! We could have bought a nice, dead bird from Eli's and we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I thought Chris would be happier with a heritage turkey, from a farm she picked," Derek says, a little defensively, "one who had a chance to roam around, and enjoy country life …."

"Well, you were right." Addison arches an eyebrow. "Your daughter is definitely happy with the heritage turkey that's currently roaming around and enjoying city life, and not smelling very good, and did you even research how long turkeys live? No? I hope you enjoy taking that turkey to work with you once your daughter goes to college!"

Derek lets her wind down on her own, waiting patiently, then frowns. "Wait … my daughter?" he asks finally. "She's my daughter when she doesn't want to see a man in overalls wring a turkey's neck in front of her?"

"Yes," Addison says, glaring.

"Fine." Derek frowns. "I'll just go tell your daughter that you're the one who nixed spending five thousand dollars on a turkey pen for her new pet."

"Well, I'll – " Addison pauses. "Five thousand dollars?"

"Your daughter," Derek says meaningfully. "I told you."

Addison sighs. "Fine, I guess it's too late to kill her now. Olivia," she says hastily at Derek's expression. "Derek! Did you really think – "

But he's laughing, and this time she lets him pull her into his arms, pretending it's a concession.

And enjoys the embrace for about three seconds before she hears two things: Carolyn calling for her, and Jack yelling.

One quick marital exchange of glances and they split up.

..

Derek sees quickly that yes, Jack is currently yelling but it's just that: yelling cheerfully, not crying. Presumably because Kathleen's sons – two energetic little blonds – are chasing him through the hall on his wheeled walking toy.

"Hi, Uncle Derek!" Noah, the smaller of the two, bellows as he passes, and Derek is reminded, as he rubs ruefully at his ear, that children are just … loud. And that's fine, despite Bizzy's political opposition to both sound and children.

Little boys make noise. And that's fine.

And … teenaged girls do, too, because two of his nieces are perched on the couch, exclaiming loudly over something on their phones.

And fine, adult girls too, because next to the fireplace, Nancy is engaged in a passionate discussion with Kathleen that he can't quite make out, although he picks up the words oppositional and research.

And also Tyler and Christa are bickering volubly by the staircase.

Wait.

Two bickering cousins, and a staircase that leads to Olivia – noise is one thing, potential danger is another thing entirely.

..

"Mom? Did you need something?" Addison asks, trying to sound – welcoming, and also trying not to notice her own mother's gaze sliding down the apron Addison is wearing once again.

KISS THE COOK AT YOUR OWN RISK

There was a time Addison would have thought it was tacky, but right now, Bizzy's discomfort is so worth it that she's considering getting a matching tattoo on her –

"Addie, dear, I just wanted to see how everything was going in the kitchen." She raises her eyebrows.

"It's going fine."

"Oh, good. It smells so … festive in here," Carolyn says, looking meaningfully at Addison, then back to Bizzy. "I'm just sorry I can't be in the kitchen helping. Even if it is all going … fine."

Addison smiles as sincerely as she can, storing up her complaints for Derek later.

"Still … it's a lot to do for just one person," her mother-in-law persists.

"Derek is helping," Addison says, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the children and the loud wheels of Jack's running toy. "We have it under control, Mom."

"Maybe your mother can help you, Addie," Carolyn suggests, apparently deciding to ignore Addison's reply. "Bizzy, have you cooked a turkey before?"

"Have I cooked a – oh, you're actually serious." Bizzy gives Addison an amused glance before turning back to Carolyn. "No, I'm afraid I haven't. But I'm sure Addison can handle it."

Before Bizzy can make clear that her compliment was backhanded, Addison excuses herself to go check on dinner – but not before she hears the tail end of the two older women's conversation:

"Did Addie ever enjoy cooking? When she was little, perhaps?" Carolyn's voice.

"Oh, I wouldn't know, dear," Bizzy replies. "You'd have to ask her nannies."

Making a note to remember that conversation the next time she doubts her own mothering skills, Addison escapes to the kitchen.

… only to find Kathleen standing at the stove.

..

Derek, meanwhile, finds Tyler and Christa at the bottom of the staircase in a visibly antagonistic posture – Christa's braced a step above with one arm extended to the banister like a goalie, Tyler a step below looking like he's trying to figure out how to get through.

"I already said I didn't!" Christa shouts at her cousin as Derek approaches.

She turns to him with relief as he frowns, gesturing for her to lower her voice.

"Dad – Tyler is trying to go upstairs," she says urgently.

"What's the big deal?" Tyler asks, spreading his hands – the picture of innocence.

"But I told him he can't," Christa says. "He's not listening to me."

Ah.

"Ty … why don't you guys stay down here," Derek says to his nephew, gesturing expansively to make the lower level of the brownstone more appealing. "There are games in the den. It's much more fun downstairs."

"Christa yelled at me," Tyler says.

When Derek doesn't say anything, Tyler pushes his bottom lip out just enough for Derek to realize he's supposed to be sympathizing.

"That … doesn't sound nice," Derek says without much emotion.

"I'm a guest," Tyler says. "You're not s'posed to yell at guests."

"You're not a guest, you're family," Derek tells him firmly.

"Well, you're not supposed to yell at family either," Tyler counters.

Oh, he's fairly certain both Tyler's mother and grandmother would disagree.

"Chris." Derek gets her attention, nodding toward her cousin.

"Um … sorry, Tyler," Christa says with equivalent stoicism, tightening her grip on the banister.

"There you go," Derek says. "Now let's go find something to do that's not on the stairs. Come on, both of you."

Tyler doesn't move. "But I want to use Christa's iPad," he says, pouting. "I need to see something."

"Christa doesn't have an iPad."

"That's what I told him," Christa says patiently, "and he didn't believe me."

"Everyone has an iPad," Tyler corrects, frowning.

"Not me." Christa gives Derek a meaningful look.

Okay, that's an argument for another day.

"Chris – "

"Don't you at least have an iPod?" Tyler challenges, interrupting him.

Christa looks nervously at Derek. That, she does have. It's hard to miss. It's bright orange with black tiger stripes, it benefited the National Wildlife Fund, and it's currently … in Christa's room.

"Tyler, your mom doesn't want you upstairs because of the cat," Derek says firmly. "And we don't want you to – get hurt again. Both of you, let's go find something to do downstairs, please. We're going to eat soon."

"Oh, is the turkey ready?" Tyler brightens. "I'm starving."

Derek's mouth opens; no sound comes out – except a loud hiss.

A hiss?

All three of them turn to see Arturo perched halfway down the staircase, tail erect, yellow eyes fixed on Tyler. His posture makes the feuding cousins look like tiny kittens.

"That cat is possessed!" Tyler yelps.

"Arturo's not possessed," Christa scoffs, "he just doesn't like you."

"Chris, enough." Derek massages his temples. Time for take two. "Okay. You take Arturo upstairs," he instructs his daughter, which in the Shepherd house translates to something more like you go upstairs in the hopes that your loyal cat will follow, since no one can make him do anything and it would be utter folly to suggest otherwise.

Christa looks like she wants to protest, but she heads up the stairs anyway. Before she reaches the cat, he leaps lightly up the rest of the stairs of his own accord, and then feline and mistress turn the corner together and disappear.

Derek turns back to his nephew, who's scowling.

"And you … come with me." He extends a hand.

"That cat is mean," Tyler complains, lingering around the staircase..

"He's not very friendly," Derek admits, "so it's best to leave him alone. And if you don't want to go to the playroom," he adds, talking over his nephew's protest, "why don't you and Christa go play outside," he suggests, remembering that the two of them tend to get along best in the outdoors. "Throw a ball or … run some laps."

"'Cause Christa's upstairs," Tyler says slowly as if Derek is hard of hearing, then pauses. "But I can go get her," he suggests eagerly.

"No." Derek frowns. Tyler, it seems, has cottoned on to how little Derek wants him upstairs, and is apparently going to seize any excuse to get up there. "We can just wait down here."

A few uncomfortable minutes tick by with Derek basically stretched across the staircase and Tyler looking annoyed … and no Christa.

"Now can I go get her?"

"No," Derek snaps. "I mean – I'll go get her, Ty. You – just go get your coat," he suggests more gently. "Oh, and tell your mother you're going to play outside. So she doesn't worry."

He checks twice to make sure Tyler isn't following, waiting until he hears Nancy's recognizable voice talking to her son, before he heads up the stairs to Christa's room.

..

Addison's heart speeds up to see her sister-in-law standing over the stove with interest.

"Kathy? Everything looking … okay?"

She sends a quick prayer – okay, she doesn't know how to pray, because she only goes to church on Christmas, so it's more like a quick Jingle Bells – that Kathleen hasn't opened the oven.

"Everything looks great," Kathleen says heartily. "On top of the stove, anyway. I didn't want to disturb the turkey."

Thank you, god of poultry. Jingle all the way.

"Oh, good." Addison inches closer to the oven.

"Did you want to check it, Addie?"

No.

"Um, it's not due for a … check yet," Addison says with as much authority as she can manage. "If I rush it, I have to … lower the temperature."

Damn it, that's not right.

She tries to remember the rule.

"Addie," Kathleen says, "have you given any more thought to having Olivia for dinner?"

"What?" Addison stands up so quickly she knocks a bowl off the counter. Once that's cleaned up, she shoves her hair out of her eyes and turns back to her sister-in-law. "What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I can tell how much Christa wants her friend to join us for dinner," Kathleen says patiently, in her understanding voice. "And it's natural for her to want female friends close by. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind about Olivia?"

"I'm sure," Addison says quickly. It's been so hectic since Bizzy's arrival she's almost forgotten the lie she and Christa told Kathleen that Olivia was Christa's friend who wasn't permitted to join them for dinner.

It seemed like a good idea at the time?

"Addie, you know I think you're a great mom," Kathleen begins, and Addison tries not to roll her eyes.

"It's Derek," she tells her sister-in-law, throwing a quick telepathic apology to her husband. "Derek's the one who really doesn't want Olivia around."

"Oh." Kathleen looks curious. "Maybe I can talk to him."

"No!" Addison whirls around. "He, uh, he's made up his mind. What can I do? You know Derek." She gives Kathleen a bright smile. "Did you, um, did you want anything else, Kath?"

"Well, I didn't know your mother was coming, Addie," Kathleen says earnestly, switching tactics, apparently.

"Yeah, neither did I."

Kathleen's eyes widen; now they have that … shrinky glow. "Holidays can bring up all sorts of long-buried familial memories," she says, "for everyone involved. It's possible your mother didn't even know she was coming over until something triggered it. A food, a song, a book, a taste, a word … even a smell – "

"Kath?"

Her sister-in-law looks somewhat disappointed to be interrupted. "Yes?"

"Do you think you could check on Liz and see when she thinks she'll get here?"

Mercifully, Kathleen agrees. And then Addison turns on the oven light, alone in the kitchen.

And there it is.

A sad, small little bird in the center of the giant roaster intended for Olivia who, according to Derek, is still living large in their daughter's bathtub.

And yes, that's partially her fault for not slaughtering Olivia when she could have, but is it her fault Olivia is a better listener than most people, including Dr. Kathleen Shepherd, renowned psychiatrist to the self-loathing denizens of upper Manhattan, not above the park, thank-you-very-much, and the wealthier parts of Brooklyn?

But forget listening.

Forget Olivia, forget turkey.

There's a more pressing question facing her right now: just how high is cranberry sauce supposed to bubble, anyway?

..

"Hey." Derek knocks on his daughter's partially-open door, then heads in when he doesn't hear anything.

"Dad?" Christa leans her head out of her en-suite bathroom. And then a much less adorable head leans out below hers, jutting its wobbly neck.

"So Olivia's okay, then."

"Yeah, she's okay … but I think she's lonely." Christa strokes the turkey's pointy little head.

Well. Better lonely than dead.

"Dad … Tyler knows something's going on."

"I know." He sighs a little. Before he can strategize, Christa is back to the turkey.

"You know, turkeys usually have a flock," Christa says. "They're not used to being alone."

Derek doesn't really like the sound of this.

"Chris – "

"They're not aggressive, either," she says hastily, "except for during mating season."

Like your uncle Mark, then.

"And I think Olivia would do better if she had a companion."

"A companion," he echoes weakly.

Christa nods. "It can be a girl, if you're worried about mating."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Derek says automatically.

Christa looks at him curiously.

"Never mind," he says.

"So … we can go back to the farm?" Christa persists. "Like, this weekend? And find a jenny?"

"Who's Jenny?"

"A jenny is a young female turkey, Dad," Christa says patiently, in the same you'll-figure-it-out-one-day tone he used to use when she would put her shoes on the wrong feet.

"Chris." Derek shakes his head. "We have enough problems with just one turkey right now. Don't you think?"

She doesn't think, apparently.

She just strokes the turkey's head again with more than a little defiance, muttering something about flocks.

Derek massages his temples.

Stubborn. His daughter is very stubborn.

She gets that from her mother, of course, which means her mother should really be up here dealing with her, and her mother also should have slaughtered the turkey when she had the chance.

… why can't they cover this in one of the tween parenting books Addison is so fond of?

"Dad, it's Thanksgiving," Christa says. "It's a family holiday. We took Olivia away from her family."

"Away from her – " Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Chris. You do realize that if we'd left Olivia there, the farmer would have – "

He stops.

Christa's blue eyes are wide and anxious.

He sighs, not wanting to upset his tender-hearted, animal-loving daughter.

Except … wait a minute.

Are her eyes just a little too wide … and a little too anxious?

..

Once Kathleen has returned from calling Liz, she doesn't update Addison right away – first she needs to help her get control of the cranberry sauce, which requires several sponges, a dishtowel, and a bottle of Evian Addison had planned to drink.

Then Kathleen is fussing with the other burners, moving things to the sink, turning on the overhead fans, cursing a little under her breath … looking for fresh cranberries, starting a monologue on the plight of cranberry farmers in Cape Cod …

"Kathy. Kath. Did you get an ETA from Liz?" Addison interrupts finally.

"Liz is in a lot of traffic," Kathleen says, as Addison's heart sinks, "but she did tell me to tell you that she has the thing you asked for."

And then her heart soars.

Soars!

Addison was half-joking earlier when she suggested Liz might have a spare turkey in her cavernous basement freezer, but apparently she was right. Liz is bringing a turkey. Liz is going to save the day. This is worth another prayer, a Silent Night or even a Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.

" … which is very cryptic," Kathleen adds pointedly, while Addison sends some more Christmassy telepathic thanks to her eldest sister-in-law for her loyalty. "What's she bringing, anyway?" Kath asks.

"Uh … lipstick," Addison lies without much thought.

"Lipstick? But your coloring is so different," Kathleen frowns.

"It's a – universal shade. Limited addition." Addison checks the time. "How much traffic did you say Liz was in?"

..

In Christa's bathroom, overlooking the darkened garden below … it's a stalemate.

Derek raises his eyebrows.

Christa raises hers.

Neither of them speaks.

Then Olivia joins in the action by jutting her neck back and forth.

Now it's more like a game of chicken … with a turkey thrown in for good measure.

"You knew the farmer was about to wring her neck," Derek says finally, slowly, piecing it together.

"Of course I knew that, Dad. I'm almost eleven," she reminds him. "I went to the Gobblers United protest in Central Park last week. That's how I found out about the farm."

He's starting to feel a little silly. Christa may adore animals, may be innocent at times and naturally sweet, but she's ten years old – eleven next month – so of course she knew Olivia's original fate.

"Honey – "

He stops talking. What did she just say? How she found out about the – farm?

"You tricked me. You picked a farm where you knew – "

"I didn't trick you," Christa says indignantly. "You wanted a turkey. I found a turkey."

"I wanted a turkey we could eat for Thanksgiving, not host as an exchange animal!"

Christa just regards him stubbornly.

Derek studies his daughter's cute freckled face. She's really known all along.

Gathering all the information he has, he makes sure.

"Chris. You knew you were saving Olivia," he prompts.

Christa nods.

"And that the farmer was supposed to – kill her for us," Derek says, wincing a little at the word kill along with his daughter.

Christa nods again.

Derek sighs inwardly. All warnings about the tween years aside, he wasn't quite prepared for this.

"And you knew that Mom was going to kill Olivia when you and I went to Gristedes," he says.

Christa's eyes widen. "Mom was going to what?" she asks, alarmed.

… okay, so she doesn't know everything.

A little relieved, Derek works on covering his tracks.

"Nothing," he says hastily. "It was just a – test."

Christa's gaze slides toward the bathtub where Olivia is still sitting pretty in her new home.

His daughter may be a skilled fibber – a little more so than he'd prefer – but he has no doubt her concern for the turkey is real.

"I wanted to save her," Christa says. "Turkeys shouldn't be food. They're really smart."

Derek decides now is not the time to debate – he was willing to buy this argument about pigs, after Christa showed him a number of articles and a few videos that convinced him piglets are at least as clever as interns. Even Addison agreed, forgoing prosciutto unless Christa was with friends or her cousins. Pigs are smart. He knows this.

But Olivia, who was pecking the shower curtain with interest last time he looked … smart?

"Okay, listen. We'll deal with all of this later. Right now, we just need to keep Olivia quiet so that Mom can get Thanksgiving dinner on the table and Grandma and Bizzy can both – "

Ooh, he'd love to finish that sentence honestly, but this isn't the right audience.

" – enjoy dinner," he finishes finally, a little reluctantly. "The point is … I need you to take Tyler outside and keep him occupied," he tells Christa. "He's too interested in what's going on up here."

"I don't want to go outside with Tyler. He's too annoying."

"Chris."

"He kicked Arturo! What kind of person kicks a cat, Dad?"

"Honey. Do you want to save Olivia or not?"

"Of course I want to save her!" Christa pauses. "Can't we just send Tyler home?"

"No," he says. "It's a family holiday," he adds, quoting her words from earlier, "and sometimes family means you do things you don't want to do, like go toss a ball around with your cousin to keep a turkey from being slaughtered."

His daughter's face is still set stubbornly.

Derek pauses. "Chris. When was that Gobblers United protest you said you went to?"

Her cheeks turn pink. "Um. Last week," she says quietly.

"Last week, like … during school, last week?"

Christa doesn't answer, suddenly very interested in the pattern on her dress.

"Chris?" he prompts.

She looks up. "I think I'll go play with Tyler to keep him away from Olivia," she says.

"Great idea." Derek gets to his feet, but his daughter is lingering, fussing over the turkey.

He sighs a little. Deception aside, he knows her affection for that fragrant piece of poultry is legitimate.

"Sweetie … if you really think she's lonely, why don't you turn on the radio for her?" Derek asks, and Christa's face lights up.

"That is a great idea."

"Okay, listen," he says, once Olivia has been set up with smooth jazz – her chosen station, after Christa tested out Top 40, classical, NPR, and soft rock, gauging Olivia's interest by the number and enthusiasm of head bobs. "We have a plan now. You take Tyler outside, play some ball, and he won't be able to kick Arturo or blow Olivia's cover. And if he starts anything with Arturo," Derek adds, "or anyone else, you come get me before you punch him. I mean it, Chris."

"Okay, okay." Christa looks downcast as they walk into the hall.

"Hey." Derek waits for her to look at him. "You may be stuck playing ball with Tyler, but you're still saving a turkey's life," he reminds her.

A smile plays on her lips. "We all are," she says, leaning against him for a moment. "Right? Mom too."

He gives her a quick, affectionate squeeze in response.

"So … does that mean I'm not in trouble?" Christa asks hopefully as she starts to descend the stairs.

"It does not mean that."

"… oh."

Derek tugs lightly on her long hair when they get to the base of the stairs. "Go find Tyler," he instructs her. "Like I said before – let's get through Thanksgiving dinner, and then we'll figure the rest of it out."

..

Flush with successful fathering, Derek makes his way toward the kitchen. Sure, the women in his life are complicated, but he's up to the task.

"Addie? Everything o – "

She grabs his shirt before he can finish the word and drags him the rest of the way into the kitchen.

" … so it's not okay?"

"Very funny." She shakes her head, looking frazzled. "Derek, Kathy says Liz is stuck in traffic but she also says she's bringing a turkey, so – I really need you to help me stall."

"Liz is bringing a turkey?"

"Liz is bringing a turkey!" Her voices rises somewhere between manic and panic.

"That's good, right?"

"Of course it's good, Derek, but I need you to stall."

"Stall," he repeats. "Okay, I can do that."

"Okay. Okay." Addison pauses, apparently trying to gather herself. "Where's Chris?"

"She's looking for Tyler."

"To punch him again?"

"I hope not." Derek glances around the kitchen. "Where's Jack?"

"Cousins," Addison says.

"Okay, then." Derek nods, the family accounted for. "I'll just stall the – "

"Aunt Addie?"

They both spin around like they've been caught at something illegal, but it's just one of Kathleen's sons.

"Hey, Noah." Addison smiles at the little blond. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Grandma wants to know when dinner is. She says she's starving."

"Oh … did she say that?" Addison asks mildly, turning to glare at Derek out of Noah's sight line.

"Noah, honey, you can tell Grandma dinner will be ready very soon," she adds, turning her head again.

"'kay," their nephew says cheerfully.

Very soon? Derek mouths, looking doubtful, and she glares at him again.

Noah skips off, only to return a moment later.

"Aunt Addie … Grandma says it's really late already," Noah reports, "and should she just keep filling up on carrots like a rabbit?"

Derek's fairly certain he can see smoke coming out of Addison's ears as she replies. "You tell Grandma she can just – "

" – keep snacking," Derek interrupts hastily, "tell her to keep snacking and we'll get dinner out as soon as we can. Okay, buddy? Great." He hustles his nephew out of the kitchen, then turns back to his fuming wife.

"Addie."

"Don't."

"Addie, come on. She's old. And hungry. And she has no glasses."

"The only reason the glasses matter is that she's mad she can't backseat drive me in the kitchen!"

"She doesn't – "

Addison turns on him, which is somewhat amusing while she's wearing two potholders, but he knows better than to make that clear. "Oh, honey, this is not a good time for you to take her side."

"I'm on your side, Addie," he reminds her, "which is why I married you."

"Well." She looks a little mollified, then frowns. "It's not like your mother was a contender."

Derek sighs. "What were you saying about Liz, before? That she's bringing a – "

"Yes. She's bringing one, but she needs to hurry up. As in, hurry up."

As if in response, the house phone rings. Derek picks up the portable receiver from the kitchen island. He's no sooner pronounced the first syllable of his sister's name before Addison is grabbing the phone.

"Liz? Where are you, how close are … what?"

Derek frowns as her shriek echoes through the kitchen, gesturing for her to keep it down.

Addison doesn't shriek again, but her frantic conversation is perfectly audible.

"Yes, I know there's traffic on the Merritt. … yes, Liz, I'm also aware it's Thanksgiving. Yes, I – just ride in the breakdown lane! … Well, on the shoulder, then. … Yes, I said ride on the shoulder … I know it's illegal, Liz, but why can't William just use his – yes, I know he's a state senator. That's my point."

Addison pauses, rolling her eyes and holding the phone away, as words like duty to the people and public servant float down the line. "Fine, fine," she sighs into the phone, then pauses. "Thirty minutes, really? That's not very – oh, you mean for the … thing. But what about – " Then she covers the mouthpiece and turns to Derek. "They're not in Bill's car anyway," she explains.

And then returns to the call.

"Well, you have medical plates on your car, don't you?" she reminds her sister-in-law. "Yes, I know, Liz, but this is a medical emergency. … whose life is at stake?" She repeats the words Liz just asked. Glancing out of the open kitchen archway, she lowers her voice to a hiss. "Your mother's life is at stake, Elizabeth. And my mother's – yes, she's here, long story. And my life too! Because if you don't get here fast, I'm going to kill one of them. Or one of them is going to kill me."

Addison pauses.

"And I'm still nursing at night, so that's two lives at stake. Well, Jack's immunity anyway – yes, I know he's old enough to wean, Liz. You don't have to tell me he's cutting teeth." She rubs distractedly at a sore spot as she says it. "Look, all I know is there are three lives in the balance here, and – "

"Aunt Addie?" Noah is in the doorway again, looking bashful.

Addison covers the mouthpiece again. "Yes, Noah?"

"Grandma asked me to make sure you didn't leave the 'struction manual in the oven again."

Throwing Derek a dark look, Addison turns back to the phone, leaving her husband to deal with their nephew. "Okay, Lizzie, now I'm sure which life is at stake. It's your mother's. It's definitely your mother's." She pauses, breathing heavily. "Oh, you can? Oh, good."

She hands the phone to Derek and strides into the living room before he can stop her.

"Good news, everyone!" she calls. "Liz says traffic is clearing up on the Merritt!"

"Really? My GPS says it's still bumper-to-bumper," offers Doug, Nancy's husband, who's apparently arrived and has always been fond of his technology. He holds up a sizable sat nav device. Why he's brought it in is beyond her, other than to make her life difficult.

"I'm sure your … thing is just running behind, Doug," Addison says tightly.

"It's actually the latest minute-by minute tech, Addie, I can show you the – "

"Oh no, I think I hear Jack crying." Addison shrugs out of her apron in one brisk movement, handing it to Derek. "Why don't you keep an eye on the kitchen for me, honey, and I'll go get the baby."

" … sure."

..

Okay, so Jack isn't crying.

He's actually being rather worryingly quiet, but she tracks him to the playroom, where several of his cousins are spread strategically near the exits, keeping busy with a board game and two phones. Jack, meanwhile, is standing up, gripping the bookshelves that are thankfully built in, and carefully tugging one book after another out, and then hurling each one to the floor.

Really, his coordination is impressive.

"Hi there." She sits down on the floor next to him, and he turns to beam his four-toothed smile at her.

"Mama," he says happily, and she grins back at him.

She's happy too.

Okay, maybe not happy, maybe more like bordering on manic at this point, but Liz has just confirmed that not only is she bringing a turkey, but it will be ready in thirty minutes once she arrives.

Thirty minutes! Which means her sister-in-law must have had a – cooked turkey ready? That would be unfathomable, laughable, except it is Liz, who has an entire post-apocalyptic storage system set up in her basement. A cooked turkey down there doesn't seem that strange. Frankly … the Loch Ness monster wouldn't seem that strange.

"Ba." Jack slaps another book from the shelf. "Mama!"

"Oh, I heard you." She kisses one of his soft cheeks. "You've been busy here, huh?"

"Sorry, Aunt Addie," says Gillian, one of Nancy's daughters. "We tried to play trains with him, but he bit the conductor."

"Which one of you was the conductor?" Addison asks with alarm.

"No, this conductor." Daniel, one of Kath's little blonds, hands Addison the bottom half of a rubber figurine.

Wait. She freezes. "Does that mean he – "

"No, we have it!" Molly, already taller than Gillian – the cause of an argument last Thanksgiving that Addison hopes isn't repeated this year – quickly shows her aunt the top half of the poor conductor: a smiling, rosy-cheeked, rubber fellow with a handlebar mustache and a jaunty blue cap … who clearly has no idea he was just bitten clean in two by the four sharp teeth of a very efficient baby and is, therefore, missing everything from the belt down.

Addison exhales with sheer relief. "Okay. Good idea to put it away, then."

"We tried other stuff … but he only wanted to play with the books," Molly continues. Her tone suggests she didn't approve of her cousin's plan to destroy the shelves.

"It's fine, honey." Addison smiles at her niece. "He's a handful, I know. As long as someone's watching – Jack," she says reprovingly, "don't bite Mommy's rings."

Privately, she's not a hundred percent sure even her quite sturdy, thank you very much, diamonds will be a match for her son's mouth.

"Mama," Jack responds approvingly. He grabs for a handful of her shirt.

"That's right. Now, can you help Mama clean up this mess?"

"No-no," he says firmly.

"No-no is … busy right now," Addison says, picking up a few books. "Here, I'll help you."

"Dada," Jack says, pouting a little.

"And Daddy is busy too, sweetheart, keeping Grandma in line," she says, under her breath for the last part.

Her son looks … crestfallen. And a little torn too. One of his small hands is grasping Addison's shirt, and part of him seems to want to enjoy his mother's company. On the other hand, cleaning up a mess – especially one he's made – is a position to which he's always been strongly opposed.

Addison replaces a few of the books while her son watches.

Then he bursts into tears.

Sighing, she scoops him into her lap. Why is she cleaning, anyway, while her mother-in-law and her mother, of all people, are engaged in a competition to see who can drive her around the bend faster?

Talk about rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

"Okay, baby, you're okay." She kisses the top of her son's blond head. "Forget the mess. We have enough to worry about."

"No-no," Jack says sadly, tugging on his mother's collar.

"All right. We'll go see her." Christa never fails to cheer the baby up. Addison gets to her feet, a little stiff, lifting her son to her hip and thanking her nieces and nephew for watching him – and using the opportunity to make sure there are no visible teeth marks on any of them.

Which is something new – somehow, it never came up when Christa when a baby.

Kathleen's views on child development may be, for the most part, extremely annoying, but it's certainly turning out to be true for her that each child is different. Which is just one of those miracles of –

"No, Jack," she says firmly. "We don't bite doorways."

… motherhood.

..

Addison brings Jack to the kitchen, passing both mother and mother-in-law as she does – both of whom are being regaled with a very detailed story about one of Kathleen's double-blind studies, this one apparently involving both college-aged marijuana users and white mice. It's easy to slip by, since Carolyn is weakened without her glasses and Bizzy's face has the polite-looking but glazed expression that Addison knows perfectly well means her mother is somewhere else. (Of course, she can snap back to attention in a millisecond if necessary, particularly if she needs to slap anyone's hands away from things they shouldn't touch.)

She hugs her son a little closer as they make their way to the back kitchen windows, where they can see Christa and Tyler playing … nicely, or at least it seems that way. Kathleen's twins have joined them, and they're doing something with a red rubber ball that she hopes isn't too violent.

Jack is pleased by the view, slapping his little palms on the window. "No-no!" he shrieks, bouncing in his mother's arms.

"I don't think she can hear you, sweetie."

But Christa looks up a moment or two later, sees them in the window, and waves with a big smile.

Jack is delighted.

"You know, you have a very good big sister." Addison kisses her son's sweet-scented hair. It's true that the same tender heart that's resulted in a very loud, very smelly piece of ostensibly edible poultry taking up residence in Christa's lovely renovated bathroom … is the same one that gives her impressive patience with her not-always-easy little brother.

She's overcome for a moment with love for her daughter.

"Turkey!" Jack shouts suddenly, without warning. He grips a handful of his mother's hair. "Turkey, turkey, turkey!"

… of course Christa, like anyone else, has her challenges. Addison closes her eyes for a moment, summoning strength to talk her son away from his new favorite word. "Say something else, baby," she pleads. "Mama. Dada. Up. No. Anything."

"Taxi," Jack says thoughtfully. "Ba."

And then he's babbling again, showing his four teeth, but at least he's not saying turkey.

She carries him to the stove – of course her mother-in-law loves to talk about how skilled she is at cooking with a baby on her hip. Addison, meanwhile, is standing two feet away trying to remember which … thing … is in which pot.

One of the pots trembles violently as if it's trying to help her identify its contents.

"Aunt Addie?"

She looks up, alarmed.

… and of course it's Noah again. She reminds herself that it's not his fault his grandmother has turned him into a pint-sized, curly haired messenger, and gives him a smile.

"What did Grandma say this time?" Addison asks, unable to keep from sounding resigned.

"Grandma said she's gonna pass the heck out," Noah reports. "From starvation!"

"Oh, did she?" Addison rubs her forehead with the hand not holding her son, then pauses. "Did Grandma really say heck?"

"Sure," Noah says affably. "What else would she say?"

"… nothing." Addison sighs. "Go on."

"Yeah, so Grandma said that and then Christa's other grandma said our grandma was being dramatic." Noah reports this with fascination bordering on outright glee. "And then Grandma said that Christa's other grandma was being a real – "

"Actually, honey, you know what?" Addison crouches down a little to get closer to Noah's level, balancing Jack on her hip. "I really need to finish dinner, so why don't you go tell both grandmas to – to – "

Oh, how she longs to finish that sentence in a satisfying way, but not with a seven-year-old hanging on her every word.

" – to keep waiting patiently," she finishes, with some reluctance. "Here," she adds, grabbing a basket of – something that one of her sisters in law put together. Muffins, bread, at this point everything that's not one of Olivia's long-lost cousins has started to blend together. "Take this out with you."

With Noah gone, Addison leans against the kitchen wall, holding Jack.

"Can you remind Mommy never to host Thanksgiving again?" she asks her son quietly.

"Mama." He smiles at her, showing his four teeth.

" … so it's a deal, then."

And she smiles back at her son just before the smoke detector goes off again.

..

"Addie, dear," Carolyn says, once Derek and Addison have waved sufficient dishtowels to fan the smoke into the garden, "since I'm … trapped – " She's sitting in a comfortable armchair squinting – her glasses still shattered by her grandson – "maybe we should have a plan in place for the next fire."

"It wasn't a fire, Mom," Addison says tightly, hiding the charred portion of the potholder behind her back. "It was just a little smoke. Which is normal when you – Derek, would you stop coughing?" she hisses under her breath.

"It's reflexive," he hisses back around another cough.

Addison clears her throat loudly to block the sound.

"Can we go back outside now?" Christa asks, Derek following her gaze to where Tyler is starting to approach the staircase.

"Sure," Addison says distractedly, busy trying to pick pieces of burned sprout out of her hair without attracting too much attention. She glances up. "It's chilly out there, Chris. Put on a hat first."

Christa rolls her eyes – Addison makes note of this, as she shoves a fistful of charred sprout leaves into her apron as discreetly as possible, but they'll have to deal with it later.

"Mom, I'm not a little kid."

"Hats aren't for kids, honey, they're for everyone, and it's cold out there."

Christa leaves to get her hat – with an air of supreme sacrifice – and returns to the living room gripping it with both hands.

"What's that you're holding, darling?" Carolyn asks with interest.

"My hat."

"Oh, thank goodness. I didn't really think your mother would let you outside in this freezing weather without a hat," Carolyn says. "Not unless she wants you to catch pneumonia."

"On second thought, Chris, never mind the hat," Addison interjects. She whips the fuzzy hat out of her daughter's surprised hands.

"Addie," Nancy says tentatively, "are you sure you don't want some help in the kitchen?"

She throws her husband a desperate look.

"I'm helping her," Derek says, coughing only a little bit around the words, and shifting Jack in his arms when his son takes an experimental nibble on one of his shirt buttons.

"We can all help!" Carolyn says heartily. "The more the merrier, that's what I always say – "

" – if only your glasses weren't broken," Addison says. "It's awful, really," she adds at a look from her husband.

"You need more than four hands for Thanksgiving dinner, dear," Carolyn sighs. "That's probably why it's taking so long."

Addison grits her teeth.

"I can help," Christa offers.

With a what can you do shrug toward her mother-in-law, Addison ushers her daughter to the kitchen.

… only to find Bizzy is there too.

Fuck, that woman moves fast.

Oh, double fuck, she didn't say that out loud, did she?

"Addison," Bizzy says coolly. "Your mother-in-law is apparently near death from hunger."

"Yeah, I heard." Addison swipes some of her hair out of her eyes. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" she asks irritably. "Since when do you go into kitchens?"

"Since when do you, dear?" Bizzy asks, and Addison's cheeks flush red.

No one invited you, that's what she wants to say.

She says nothing instead, deciding to count to three.

Or ten.

Or infinity.

"And where are you off to, Christa?" Bizzy asks, rather heartily, before Addison can even reach six.

"I was going to go play outside with Tyler," Christa says without much enthusiasm.

"Tyler," Bizzy says, looking like she's trying to remember something. "Nancy's boy. The aggressive one?"

"He's … spirited," Addison says weakly. She glances outside the window, where she can see Tyler halfway up the fence, apparently demonstrating some kind of – parkour? – to Claire and Audrey. She winces a little as he crashes back to the ground, but notes he lands with some grace on his feet and no complaints.

"But I'm going to help in the kitchen instead," Christa says, smiling at her mother, who rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Good. You're a young lady now, Christa," Bizzy adds, addressing her granddaughter directly, "rather too grown up to be running around outside with the boys."

"Actually," Addison says loudly, "I don't think I need help in the kitchen after all, Chris"

"You don't?" Christa asks, confused.

"No. It's fine, sweetie. Go outside. Play with Tyler. Play, uh, play football. Climb the fence. Get – get messy. Get very messy."

"Um … okay," Christa says, looking from her mother to her grandmother.

"Wait – your hat." Addison plunks it down on her daughter's head.

"I thought you said I didn't need a hat." Christa's face is puzzled.

"I did … but it's colder now," Addison says weakly – shouldn't she be getting better at lying after practicing all day?

She waits for the garden door to close behind her daughter and then glares at Bizzy. "Can you please not – be like that?"

"Like what?" Bizzy asks, her tone innocent.

"Like … ." Addison's voice trails off. Like Bizzy, but she can't very well ask Bizzy not to be Bizzy. "Never mind," she sighs.

"That's more like it." Bizzy nods firmly. "Now that you've sent your daughter to play … urban rugby … with a juvenile delinquent, I hope it won't be too much trouble for you to freshen my drink?"

..

Derek checks the back window twice to make sure Tyler and Christa haven't come to blows. He's just turning around to go help Addison in the kitchen when Kathleen corners him.

"Derek." Her face is very serious. "I've been trying to find you. Look … you should know that Addison told me about Olivia."

"She did?" He's confused.

"I don't think she meant to. It just slipped out," Kathleen explains. "In the kitchen. Often, when one is distracted by menial tasks, key truths can – "

"Right," he says before she can continue. Addison has been flustered, overworked in the kitchen. He had a feeling something like this slip of the tongue could happen – but still. At least Kathleen can mostly be trusted to keep quiet about things, as long those things aren't her research proposals. "Can you just – keep it to yourself, Kath?"

Kathleen looks troubled. "I could," she says, "but I really think you should reconsider having Olivia for dinner."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Wouldn't that be a little messy?"

"Messy?" Kathleen frowns. "We'll just set a place for her."

"Oh, you mean sit at the table."

"Where else would she sit? Derek." Kathleen takes a step closer. "I think it would mean a lot to Christa to be able to have Olivia there with her."

"I'm sure it would, Kath, but it's just not practical."

"Christa's the only cousin without a sister," Kathleen reminds him, "which makes her bond with Olivia even more important."

Derek never expected his sister to be quite so attuned to a turkey, but then again this Thanksgiving has been strange enough thus far that he should probably stop being surprised.

"So what do you say, Derek? Can Olivia join us for dinner?"

"Kath." Derek shakes his head. "Look, it's kind of you to – care, but Olivia is our problem to deal with. We really didn't want anyone else to know. Especially now, with Addison's mother here."

"There's no shame," Kathleen says earnestly. "I think it would be good for Bizzy to be exposed to Olivia."

Good?

"What about Mom?"

"Mom won't have an issue with Olivia," Kathleen assures him. "You know she loves strays."

"Stray dogs," Derek corrects her. "That's different."

"Well, of course it's different, Derek, but why would Mom mind?"

"Well, for one thing, she smells."

"Olivia smells?" Kathleen asks, sounding concerned.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Derek says, wincing a little at the memory. "And she's loud, and as long as we're being honest, she's ugly too."

Kathleen's eyes widen. "Derek … I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"I guess Addison didn't tell you very much about Olivia, huh?"

"She told me enough, Derek," Kathleen says, a little huffily. "Enough that I can see you're not being very open-minded about her."

"Open-minded." Derek shakes his head. "What does that even – "

"Christa needs this bond!" Kathleen protests shrilly. "Surely you and Addison can understand that."

"Bond," Derek repeats now. "Seriously, Kath?"

Kathleen sighs. "Derek, have you stopped to think that maybe it wasn't an accident? Maybe Addison wanted to tell me? Maybe she'd like to be more welcoming to Olivia?"

Derek shakes his head, annoyed. "We wouldn't even be in this – predicament if Addison had just killed Olivia when she had the chance."

"Killed her?" Kathleen's voice rises. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

"Derek," Kathleen says severely, "killing is never the answer."

"Really?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows. "Because I'm fairly certain it would have been in this case."

Kathleen's face is flushed a deep red now. But before she can respond, the doorbell rings.

Half a second later, Addison bursts out of the kitchen so fast he half expects to see a hole in the wall shaped like his wife, or at least a cloud of smoke behind her.

"Liz!" She pants. "Derek, Liz is here!" Behind Kathleen's back, she mimes the neck motions of a turkey.

…not half badly, either; that therapy session with Olivia while Derek and Christa shopped for groceries really paid off.

Kathleen, however, just looks confused.

"Addison's really missed Liz," Derek supplies, hoping he sounds convincing. "It's, uh, it's been a while."

While Addison gestures at him to hurry up, Derek pulls open the heavy front door.

On the front step are his sister, brother-in-law, and the rest of the Stratfords: one nephew and five nieces, all standing as usual in age order, perfectly groomed, in color-coordinated outfits, as if they're back on the campaign trail.

"Liz." Derek reaches to help her with the large package she's holding. "Addison has been waiting for – "

Abruptly, he stops talking.

He's just seen what it is.

"This is what you brought?" he whispers as he covers his tracks by embracing his sister.

Liz hugs him back. "You don't think Addie will like it?" she whispers, even more quietly.

Derek considers how to answer this. "I think the key is to make sure Addie never sees it," he says.

"To make sure Addie never sees what?" Addison asks with interest, from behind him.

He opens his mouth to think of something – anything – even considering setting off the smoke alarm again.

But then Derek can't even try to hide Liz's offering anymore, because he's caught sight of something else: a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eyes.

Another pair of eyes. Arturo's, glittering in the semi-darkness behind the staircase, his mouthful of sharp teeth fastened around a gold and leather, very familiar, very limited edition handbag strap.

"Bad!" Jack shouts happily as he pushes past the grownups on his wheeled walker … and Derek unfortunately couldn't agree more.


To be continued, of course. Thank you again, LS, for this prompt! I know it's not Thanksgiving, but I still love this AU family. Anyone up for chapter 4? I also have a great prompt from twitter that's going to turn into a Christmas story here in the Christa universe. And, needless to say, I also have a LOT of works in progress. In the Addek queue: Quid Pro Quo, All We Want, Behind Closed Doors, and of course The Climbing Way. Wish me luck - wish me speed - wish me reviews, the fastest fairy dust of all!

Thank you for reading. :)