All familiar characters belong to Janet. The mistakes are solely mine.

Chapter 10

Ranger's POV

"Considering the meaning behind the day, I'm thankful that this dress actually still fits me," Steph told me, as she came out of the bathroom. "I bought it last week when I went out with Celia, fully knowing that I was cutting it close size-wise. Of course, the straps have to be adjusted again to accommodate this mountain range I have going." She gestured to the front of her body. "Instead of a Chia pet, I swear I have Chia boobs ... they grow as you stand there looking at them."

I couldn't pass up that kind of visual experiment. My eyes went to the chest slightly on display. "I can attest to that. And I am thankful for them."

"You do seem to enjoy using your hands as measuring devices on a daily basis. Can you fix the straps for me?"

"I've been patiently waiting for an opportunity to offer my assistance."

She was going to present me with her partially bare back, but she stopped mid-turn and shook a finger at me.

"No funny business, either," she warned.

That is one thing I will never promise her. You'd think making love to your wife would be more difficult with twins between you, but we've made it work ... and work extremely well. Consistently telling and showing her how beautiful, amazing, and strong, I think she is, lessened her feeling uncomfortable with her changing body and it being naked around me. And finding different positions that gave her maximum pleasure and no discomfort made our time together even more exciting on top of it already being enjoyable for all involved.

I fixed the thin straps so they wouldn't dig into her shoulders, and I pressed a kiss to one bare one before sliding my hands up her arms, slowly spinning her around to face me again.

"Maybe you should have chosen something with sleeves," I said, though I'm not complaining about my current view. "You're going to be cold."

I approve of her choice despite the less-covered nature of her dress. I would enjoy it because how she looks right now is second only to watching her walk around our house or apartment in just one of my shirts, which she started doing recently, claiming she wasn't spending 'a fortune' on clothes at the start of each new week of pregnancy. There is nothing bulky about the fabric covering her now. The top of her dress is a blush-colored lace that looks similar to a fitted camisole. The white knee-length skirt part of her outfit is also curve-hugging, with a sexy slit in the back so she could walk easily. The nude heels she'd put on, I have less faith in that she'll be able to walk comfortably. There is a sidewalk, and the snow that's falling isn't sticking to the ground, but she could still slip if I don't keep an arm or two around her at all times.

"No, I won't. It's a short walk ... no we are not driving," she told me, knowing exactly what I'm thinking. "I'll be fine. You know your parents will have a fire going, their tree lit, and candles flickering everywhere. I'll be all toasty five minutes after we get inside. You know ... I saw a winter jacket that has a built-in baby pocket so the baby will be bundled up, too, all tucked up against you. But I didn't see one in duo-baby form. Oooh ... unless they have a daddy version of the jacket. I should've looked. We, and they, would be covered - literally - if they did."

"Are you planning on doing a lot of outside activities with two newborns?" I asked. "I remember a time you would refuse to even get out of bed if you saw flurries flying outside your bedroom window."

"You can't blame me. Those were the times you were in my bed with me."

"I'm not convinced I was the sole reason for you trying to avoid an entire season."

She moved to our bedroom window and shoved the curtains further to the side. "See ... there are flurries coming down now and I'm anxious to go out in them."

"You make it impossible to argue with you sometimes."

"So don't. If women can give birth in trees during a natural disaster, or in a cab during a below-zero blizzard, I can walk for the three of us just a few feet down the street. I'm a Jersey girl, which means I can do a cross-country trek across frozen tundra in five-inch heels and not fall once while flipping Jack Frost the bird."

Although I've seen her run adeptly in them, I'm not reassured. "If you want me to stay warm, you could let me carry or just drive you."

She cupped my face in both hands and kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that would've ruined her lipstick, but given the frequency of our lips finding each other's, she's become an expert on what brands won't smear on her or come off on me.

"That was a nice try. And I do love you even more for attempting it, but I'll be okay. Now ... before we head over to your parents' house, I have something for you. Since you always say you're thankful for me, and now the boys, and always Julie ... though she wasn't in town when this was done or she would've been included."

I don't like surprises, but all the ones that come from Stephanie, I've loved. So I'm curious more than wary.

"I am thankful, grateful, and lucky, to have convinced you to be my wife, Babe. That's never been BS."

"I know, which is why I didn't argue with your sister's idea."

Now the wariness set in big time. "Which sister?"

"Amalia."

I relaxed again. If it was Celia or Nola, I'd be expecting the box Steph pulled out from a drawer in the closet to be rigged to blow glitter or cake-scent all over whoever unwisely opened it.

"It won't explode," she told me, once again correctly guessing my thoughts. "I promise. I definitely want to remember this time in our lives, and I thought you would too, especially now that it's almost over. And what better day to give this to you on, than one where we're supposed to celebrate all we have to be thankful for ... so here you go. Open it. It was done on that day Mary Lou, Ophelia, and Amalia, were visiting us at Rangeman. I went along with their suggestions since the boys will be outside of my body soon instead of safely tucked inside it."

I lifted the top off of a metallic gold polka-dotted gift box, pushed aside the ivory tissue paper, and all the air was immediately sucked out of my lungs. It was a simple black and white photo inside a sterling silver frame, but it was a shot of Stephanie ... which to me made it absolutely priceless. I recognized the window in the background as the one in our bedroom at Rangeman. Steph was standing so the side of her beautiful, and very pregnant body, was in profile. The lack of color stripped down any potential distractions and my eyes ate up every detail of my wife ... from her familiar curly-haired ponytail, to the gentle, turned-up slope of her nose, the fullness of the lips I already miss feeling on me, the sweet curve of her breasts, down to the roundness of where our boys won't be for much longer.

It's a breathtaking shot with the sunlight streaming in from the window offsetting the shadowy room. Her hands were resting above and below her stomach which to me felt like a private hug from her to her boys. I could barely detect the stretchy Rangeman uniform I know she'd been wearing, all I saw was her. Her clothes, the room, and the window, were secondary to the woman starring in the photo.

"You're not saying anything," Steph prompted. "Do you like it? I thought it looked okay. And Amalia said it's one of her favorites out of all the pictures she's taken ..."

"It's beautiful, Babe. You're beautiful."

"I know you have to say that, but ..."

"I don't have to do anything. I say only what I mean."

Her arms came around me. "Of course you do. So you like it."

I got through to her because it wasn't a question this time. To prove that I more than like it, I moved us closer to the bed.

"Anything you have in mind that involves the bed ... better also include my dress, because I doubt I'll be able to get back into it."

I bent my head to her neck. "Thank you for giving me some ideas," I said, against the pounding pulse I found there.

"Like those ideas weren't already there?" She teased.

"They were." I straightened and put the picture of her beside the one I already have sitting on my nightstand of her and Julie. "But I did want to put this where it will be the most appreciated."

"I'm requesting one in advance of you and Julie holding the boys for my side of the bed."

"Consider it done," I told her before kissing her mouth, suddenly regretful that we have to leave.

But we did leave our house after getting our coats on and I grabbed something from the kitchen that Steph wanted. My wife was right. The air was cold enough for us to see our breath in front of us during our five-minute 'trek', and it was still snowing lightly on and around us, but inside the Manoso homestead was a family-fueled seventy-eight degrees. Due to the contrasting temperatures, the downstairs windows had a familiar layer of steam covering the inside of them from all the cooking, baking, and talking, that had already been generated within these walls. The only way I could accurately describe the scent is to say the house smells exactly like home. This is the same scent I used to dream about while on missions when I was able to catch a rare hour or two of sleep.

In deference to the holiday, the Manoso Christmas tree was set up and the white lights are already lit even though it's not dark inside or out, but the Christmas ornaments had been left off until Thanksgiving has been fully celebrated. In their place were glitter-snow edged pine cones, gingerbread 'acorns' along with real ones, and actual fall leaves treated with something to make their red spectrum of the rainbow have an iridescent copper shine to each leaf when the tree lights hit them. Solar powered candles are also in every window, so in essence and effect, this house alone could change the name of the holiday from Thanksgiving to Welcomesgiven.

Among all of the harvest decor, Steph's offering/craft project was the only thing with a sense of playfulness about it. Everything else was specifically chosen to follow an exact color scheme. Today, stands a very different home than the haunted one from Halloween. The witches are gone, Mr. Claus hasn't arrived yet, but Mother Nature and Mama Manoso are each patting themselves on the back for capturing the unique beauty of this time of the year where we transition from colored leaves falling on still green grass to snow shovels.

"What have you brought with you?" My mother asked, as she hurried to usher us far from any possible escape routes and further into the lion's den.

"Sorry," Steph said. "I wanted Julie to feel like she's with us today even though she couldn't be here. We started talking about food and other fun stuff, and she dared me to make that. So yeah ... you're stuck with a hollow Rice Krispie Treat turkey filled with M&Ms. Ranger shot a short video of me making it to send to her. When she sent an immediate thumbs-up back, I knew I had to bring it despite it being a 'unique' food and decoration."

"I'm so glad you did bring it, Dear," her mom-in-law said. "I have yet to meet anyone who doesn't have a fondness for those little treats. It can go right next to the real turkeys." I caught the teasing glint in her eyes and waited for what she'd say next. "They're like twins after all."

The real and the fabricated turkey are similar in the way they're shaped, since Steph opted for a full roast turkey design, complete with paper 'drumstick' covers. But if the turkey we are supposed to eat is the color of Rice Krispie treats, we'd be thankful we all made it to the ER to get our stomachs pumped before food poisoning had a chance to really set in.

All kidding aside, my mother is more than happy to indulge Julie through Stephanie. While the Halloween decorations had been geared towards fun, Thanksgiving is all earth-toned elegance. There are flowers arranged inside tinted glass pumpkins, which included orange roses, gerbera daisies, and carnations, in varying fall hues on every end table. There are potted autumnal-colored yellow, orange, and red, chrysanthemums flanking the doors, stairs, and placed on any surface that could support the planters.

Over the dining room table someone, I'd guess Celia with our mother coaching from the sidelines, had taken fishing line and strung fall leaves from the ceiling down to the table. Since you can't immediately see how the craft store leaves had been hung, it did appear as if they were falling freely from the ceiling to join the leaves sprinkled on the table among the candles set inside small bronze holders that spelled out "Blessed Are We" down the length of the table runner the color of burnished gold. There are also five-inch high floral arrangements and assorted miniature gourds to hold down the leaves in case the autumnal scene suddenly came to life and a gust of snowy wind tried to blow them away. The Damask tablecloth is a wine red, all the placemats are pumpkin-colored, and the stacked plates at every seat ranged from gold, pumpkin, to ivory, in color. And the candlelight was reflected in every glass on the table.

The 'appetizer' table had been set up in the living room between two short beige, marble columns shouldering the load of two more dramatic flower arrangements. In the center of all the bite size treats was an edible cornucopia made from bread dough, with a barely detectable platter holding Cuban-inspired fruit salad that spilled out from inside it. Stuffed mushroom caps, mini-cranberry brie tarts, salami/cream cheese roll ups already on crackers, antipasto skewers, stuffed jalapenos, and spinach dip tucked inside puff pastry shells, are just a sample of what I know is inside the kitchen waiting for its chance to be eaten and appreciated. All are proof that I don't need, that no one aside from Stephanie will be eating for a week after leaving here.

My mother even added Steph's favorite snack for this phase of her pregnancy ... slices of ham spread with mayo, topped with dill pickles, and then rolled into cigar shapes. The closest I'll get to them is by kissing her after she's eaten one. Steph continues to joke that it's how she can tell that I really love her ... because I'm not afraid to kiss her after she's been crying or after she's eaten something I find morally and orally reprehensible.

"Mama messed with tradition a little this year," Nola informed us, taking a sip from her apple cider mimosa.

After our coats had been stored away for the afternoon/evening, drinks were quickly placed in our hands as a holiday warm-up.

Cranberry margaritas, mimosas, bourbon pecan pie cocktails, and apple pie on the rocks, along with white and red wines for the older Manosos, were available drinks for those not driving today. For Steph, myself, and the designated drivers, sparkling cranberry/pomegranate punch, non-alcoholic hot pumpkin nog, and cranberry lime spritzers, were freely deposited into any empty hand. Thanksgiving for the Manosos is like the Olympics is for athletes.

"She didn't really mess with it much," my little brother, Elias, added. "Mama would never not make me her pumpkin pie. And Grandma Rosa brought the chocolate bourbon pecan pie and pumpkin pecan cobbler. Those are traditional."

"But the cinnamon roll apple pie," Celia said, gesturing towards the kitchen where the food is being lovingly tended by our grandmothers while the grandfathers continued to try to sneak bites of everything when their backs were turned, "orange/cranberry custard pie, and actual pasta pie. Plus that pumpkin lasagna, are new."

"I'm happy to hear that one mentioned," Steph said. "I actually loved the pumpkin-shaped lasagna from Halloween, even if it did have pumpkin inside it."

Ophelia gave her sister-in-law a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Mama will beam from the inside out at that compliment from you, but this is a pumpkin dessert lasagna ... made with a nut crust, and cream cheese, pudding, pumpkin, and whipped cream, layers."

"I can say even without tasting it first that I'll like that one even more than the Halloween one," was Steph's reply.

"Of course you will, my dear Stephanie," Mama Manoso said, materializing like a ninja again from behind us this time. "That was my intention. I want my grandsons to love my cooking early on. So if you enjoy my meals, they will be born with an ingrained appreciation for them."

"I'm not sure that's how it works, Mama," I told her.

"And if it is," Steph added, "if they appreciate your food any more, they'll be born the size of dump trucks."

"If I were you, I'd be crossing myself after saying something like that," Elias told my wife. "I've known since I was six where babies come from, but how they come out still seems like something evolution needs to work on."

"You're telling me?!" Steph agreed with interest. "Which is why I did cross myself ... on the inside. Now that we're reaching the finish line, I'm starting to get really concerned about the whole labor thing. I've been vacationing in Denial Land, telling myself whenever I'd get nervous that by the time they're done cooking in here," she said, curling an arm around her stomach, "someone would have discovered a different, less painful, way of getting them out of there."

"I'll be right there beside you, getting you through the entire process, Babe. No worries."

"That's easy for you to say. If you had to force two human beings out of your South Pole, you'd have a worry or two."

I hadn't warned her not to say things like that when either Nola or Elias had food in their mouths, because she'd then be in danger of wearing it. I moved her back just in time to avoid a partially-chewed food shower.

Celia followed us out of the danger zone and hugged Stephanie hard. "I just love you, Steph. You are definitely one of us. You fit into our family perfectly," she told my wife.

While she was expecting just a smile from Stephanie as she pulled back, I knew my wife's eyes would also be bright with tears she'll refuse to shed. I pulled Steph to my side and spoke for her to give her a minute to compose herself. She's fine crying over gifts for, or talk about, our boys, but she for damn sure won't want to cry for her poor excuse for parents and how unloved and unwanted they continue to make her feel.

"With me, with us, is exactly where she belongs. And she always will," I stated. "She's very much a Manoso."

"Carlos, you may want to save statements like those for the dinner assignment I'm giving everyone," my mother warned me.

Apparently photographic evidence on Mother's Day isn't enough for her, she wants to remind us to be grateful more than just a few days out of 365 of them.

"Mama doesn't only want us to enjoy today, she wants a top five list of our blessings," Ophelia explained.

"Why wait for dinner or Mother's Day?" I asked. "I can answer that one right now. I'm thankful for my wife, Julie, our boys, having all of you for my family, and I'm grateful that I made it back home every time I was sent away from it."

It's clear that they require turkey in their stomachs in order to absorb that kind of honesty, because we all had an unplanned moment of silence after I spoke.

"I'm beyond grateful for all of those, too," Steph said, "but I know that was said to make us stop our thoughts in their tracks so you could postpone the food-fest that's going to be starting soon. I can feel your longing for a green drink and the gym as we speak."

As intended, the family laughed and a dark cloud of memories was lifted just as a collective prayer was sent out to all those living through the same thing today ... whether through memories or their current reality. I'm luckier than a lot of men I've served with, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't remind myself of that and appreciate everything in my life that much more.

I smiled at Stephanie as I pushed those thoughts away. "You know me too well," I told her.

"I do," she said, before going up on tiptoes to say something directly into my ear so only I'd hear her words. "I'm profoundly grateful for you. Everything good in my life ... I have because of you, a husband I love more than anything, this family, these babies, an exceptional daughter, my job, and a happy marriage. Thank you for never giving up there, and never once giving up on me here."

"Rangers don't know the meaning of the words give up, Babe."

"That sounds a little like a warning from your Ranger, Steph," my brother wisely pointed out.

"It was," I said.

There's no reason to lie about my intentions towards her anymore.

"And I have no problem at all with that, warning or promise, since I'm not going anywhere except to the dining room," Steph said, tugging me along with her.

As always, wherever she goes ... I'm either right beside her or half a step behind her.

My grandfathers, with my parents hovering, brought out two turkeys besides Stephanie's cereal one. One bird was roasted and basted in the oven, while my father was in charge of the one in the smoker. Steph leaned over to me to say she suspects some sort of holiday voodoo is afoot, because all the sides made it to the table at the same time as the turkeys. And all the dishes that were supposed to be, remained piping hot in the process.

This year's menu included almond/cranberry slaw as an alternative to the usual turkey Caesar salad Abuelo Manoso loves. My preferred apple/sweet potato quinoa salad and riced-cauliflower stuffing in lieu of the standard bread-based ones, were made special for me. Since I'm the minority at the table because I don't view today as an eat until you explode event, the majority had their choice of corn pudding, baked granny smith apples filled with sausage stuffing, ripe plantains stuffed with Chorizo and mozzarella cheese, and a layered heart attack that has a base of macaroni and cheese with a one-inch thick layer of toasted, Stuffing-flavored potato chips on top of it.

Shredded Brussels Sprouts with cranberries and pistachios, Parmesan cheese and bacon green beans, twice-baked maple syrup and walnut sweet potatoes, along with the traditional whipped potatoes made with sour cream and chives, added with my grandmother's Papas Rellenas ... Cuban potato balls, rounded out Thanksgiving dinner. And to aid in digestion, there's a vat of turkey gravy to help wash everything down. For a few lighter choices, my mother also included a turkey orzo soup, pumpkin and mushroom risotto, and roasted butternut squash/kale/and lemon soup. I already know what Steph will be having for lunch tomorrow ... and for an entire week afterwards.

My wife and I felt eyes on us the entire evening and over the course of dinner. The tension had built up to palpable by the time the table started to be cleared. We were expecting them to be expecting a surprise or an announcement of some kind, so neither Steph nor I said anything until the dishes were already washing in the dishwasher, the platters and pots were cleaned and put away, and all the grandparents were getting their bags of leftovers packed up. That's when we decided to have a little fun informing them of another change in our lives. Hearing my voice stopped the progress my parents were making to reach the closet in order to get our coats for us.

"Since Stephanie and I want to stick close to home when the boys are born," I started to say, feeling Steph lean into me. I put my arms around my little family as I addressed the much larger one again. "We'll be staying full-time in our house here for the first few weeks of their lives. And in-between feedings, diaper changes, and visits from all of you and our Rangeman family, Steph and I will be discussing and overseeing renovations on that old industrial building on Sussex Ave."

"We've talked about this a lot lately," Steph interrupted, "that if our kids are going to be living here half of the time, we need to make sure Newark is as safe for them as Trenton is. Since it's not Christmas yet, I get to say ... instead of Santa ... a Rangeman building is coming to town."