November 28, 2013
The BlackBerry in her coat pocket vibrates as the personalized ringtone for her new employer plays over and over again. She fumbles for the phone, stops walking as she digs into her coat pocket. She doesn't need to look at the caller ID to know who is phoning her yet old habits die hard and she confirms the name with what she is hearing.
"Don't you dare answer that BlackBerry, Dorota!"
"But Miss Blair," Dorota retorts in an attempt to reason with the woman walking two paces in front of her. Her argument is silenced when Blair whirls on her heels and snaps at the maid.
"If you value your green card, you won't answer that phone!"
Blair turns around, continues walking down the sidewalk with her purse swinging from the crook of her arm. Dorota scurries after Blair, clutching the ringing phone in her hand whilst muttering under her breath about being a citizen of this county.
"It's Thanksgiving," Dorota reminds her gently.
"And we have nothing to be thankful for!" Blair yells as she stomps angrily around the corner. "This is the worst Thanksgiving of all time, and if we have to wander the Upper East Side like outcasts in a Jane Austen novel so be it!"
"It's cold out, Miss Blair," Dorota says gently as she hurries to catch up with her employer. She cuts her off by pushing the pram directly in front of Blair's path. "Mister Henry not prepared to be outcast in Austen novel."
Blair features morph from anger as she wavers in her plan. She lifts the corner of the cashmere blanket draped over the visor of the pram, leans in hesitantly to gaze at the sleeping baby tucked inside. Henry is layered against the cold in a white onesie, a soft red sweater, a pair of brown pants, a coat, and two blankets with a hat on his tiny head and mittens on his little hands.
His mother runs the back of her finger across his plump cheek. He looks quite warm to her; maybe too warm based on the flush across his cheeks. She glances up from the baby to the maid, hardens her softened feature into a glare.
"Don't try to use my maternal instincts against me," she snaps at the maid. She stands and pulls the blanket back over the pram making sure to completely ward off the November chill as her eyes sweep down the street. Dorota spots a coffee shop still open down the street and points the place out to Miss Blair as a compromise for her concern over Henry's well-being.
"Fine. I am not a monster. We will take Henry inside for a moment," she informs the maid with a pause before flouncing off. "But if I think for one minute you are enjoying your scone, we're leaving."
The frustration is evident across Dorota's face as she pushes the pram after her employer, and she mutters under her breath in Polish as she hurries to catch up with Miss Blair. She falls into step after a moment, walks in silence alongside her for a moment before moving in front as Blair halts in the middle of the sidewalk.
Dorota turns to look back over her shoulder and watch as Blair's features soften in surprise and then harden in determination again at the sight in front of her. The maid turns her head again at the sound beside her, turns her head again to see Mister Chuck's limo slowing to a stop on the curb beside them. The door is wrenched open without waiting for Arthur, and Dorota watches curiously as Chuck strides towards them.
"Blair," he begins, but Blair scoffs in reply and turns to walk away.
"Dorota!" Blair calls after her, and the maid glances from Blair to Chuck as she tries to figure out what to do. With a sigh, she turns the pram and starts to follow Blair back in the direction from which they came because she works for Miss Blair – she has always worked for Miss Blair – and she will wander the Upper East Side like outcast in a Jane Austen novel if that is what Miss Blair wants. But Chuck stops her, stops the pram by stepping in front of it.
"Dorota, you can follow Blair all over Manhattan, but I'm taking Henry home," he calmly informs the maid. Dorota's hands tighten reflexively, defensively against the handle of the pram, and she wavers in her protectiveness as Chuck pulls his coat tighter against the chill of the November air. "It's too cold outside for him."
He moves the blanket aside and reaches in to scoop up the baby. Large, strong hands cradle the infant's head as Chuck lays him against his chest, and he snatches one of the blankets to wrap around Henry as he soothingly rubs the baby's back.
"What are you doing?" Blair hisses as she moves up the street, moves to his side.
"I'm taking Henry back—"
"To the office?" She interjects. Chuck sighs in frustration, sweeps his eyes down to his son before looking back up at his wife.
"Come home, Blair. Everything is set up for dinner and dessert," he suggests before dropping his voice into a low and suggestive tone. "And you know how much I enjoy your pie."
Blair's eyes narrow at his suggestion, and she is just about to tell him to give her back her baby when he reaches out and touches her chin. His thumb traces the line of her jaw, traces the bone of her cheek softly in the hopes of cracking her icy exterior.
"It's Thanksgiving, Blair," her husband reminds her.
"And you went to the office and Daddy, Roman and Mother and Cyrus stayed in France. Serena is busy in Brooklyn with Dan, and—"
"And I'm sorry," he apologizes softly. "I had something I needed to finish, and I thought I'd be back before you and Henry finished watching the parade together. But this is our first Thanksgiving as Mister and Mrs. Bass and Henry's first ever. I want it to be good for both of you. So come home and celebrate with me today. You can punish me tomorrow."
She wavers with his words, wavers further as his thumb traces her jaw, and changes her mind completely when Henry stirs against his father's chest as the cold wind nips at his exposed cheeks. She nods her head, stalks towards the limo, and calls for Dorota to hurry up as Chuck opens the back door of the limo for her. Henry is passed into her arms and she places him into the waiting carseat whilst Chuck assists Dorota in putting the pram in the trunk of the car.
"I'm still mad at you," she informs Chuck as he takes his seat beside her.
"I know," he replies softly as the car pulls away from the curb.
He laces his fingers with hers, brings them up to his lips to kiss and mask his knowing smirk. She pulls her fingers from his and turns her attention away from him towards the baby seated next to her. Henry's eyes flutter open and close as the movement of the limo lulls him back to sleep, and she strokes his cheek softly in affection.
The ride to their townhouse is shorter than the looping walk she and Dorota originally went on, and the limo pulls up to the curb in front in no time. Arthur is left to fumble with the pram as Dorota rushes head to open the front door of the townhouse. Blair carries Henry, allows Chuck to press his hand against the small of her back and guide her through the front door and up the first set of stairs to the second floor.
The sound of soft voices and laughter causes her to pause, causes her to freeze at the top of the stairs and stare out in amazement at the collection of people assembled in their living room. She sweeps her eyes towards her husband and watches as a smile spread across his features over her surprise.
"Blair Bear!" Harold greets when he notices her and Chuck standing at the top of the stairs. He sets his glass of champagne down onto one of the side tables and pulls everyone else's attention towards the host and hostess of the evening as he moves towards them.
"Daddy," Blair says softly as her father hugs her. Harold grins against her cheek as he places a soft peck against him, and his smile widens as he gazes at the infant laying against Blair's shoulder.
"Oh, Blair, he's so much bigger than the last time we saw him. And so handsome," Harold gushes as he tenderly strokes the Henry's back. "Must be the Waldorf nose. Roman, didn't I tell you that Henry had my nose?"
Roman nods in agreement, greets Blair excitedly once Harold has slipped the baby out of Blair's arms and carried him off to be cooed over by his grandparents. He murmurs in her ear about a pie brought all the way from Paris left in the kitchen before moving away to join the crowd of people admiring the littlest member of their family.
Chuck murmurs about needing a drink as other members of the party approach him and his wife, and he disappears to find the bar set up in his absence. He orders himself a scotch, stands near the bar beside Nate and Nate's father, and sips it slowly as he watches Henry be passed from grandparent to grandparent, all of whom admire his delicate features and his smart little clothes. Minor squabbles over which grandparent he looks like the most are pushed aside when Henry opens his eyes and basks in their praise just as his mother so often did as a child.
"Happy Thanksgiving, B," Serena says as she pulls her friend into a hug. "Rufus and Dan are in the kitchen. They wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner together this year and when Chuck called – well, I had to find a compromise."
And for once Blair doesn't mind that Rufus and Dan are in her kitchen, that the Humphreys are more than likely making a mess as they attempt to use kitchen gadgets they cannot afford because she is far too focused on the other aspects of Serena's sentence to care. Everyone she loves is assembled in her living room; everyone she loves is here to celebrate her favorite holiday with her after they all cancelled or declined to come.
"Chuck called you?" Blair questions her best friend. Serena nods, begins to answer when another feminine voice interrupts them as she breezes towards them and joins their conversation.
"Yes, Charles sent the jet and called repeatedly to make sure we were all on the plane from Paris in time," Eleanor replies. "He took us all to task for forgetting that everyone should be where they belong on Thanksgiving – with their families."
"He sent the limo to pick up Dan and I in Brooklyn," Serena fills in. "And he told my mother she couldn't go to Saint Bart's until tomorrow. He loves you, B, and he—"
"Just wants me to be happy," Blair fills in softly. She excuses herself, moves across the room to grab Chuck's hand, and pull him away from the party towards the staircase leading to the other floors of their home.
"Chuck," Nate calls after him. "Any interest in watching the game with my dad and I?"
"When I get back," Chuck offers as a compromise.
"If he gets back," Blair corrects as she tugs him up the staircase. They stop at the third floor, and she pushes his back against the wall, presses her body against his, and cups his face between her hands. She strokes his cheek, slides her hands down to touch the nape of his neck. "You are a wonderful husband and father and man, and you make me the happiest I have ever been."
Any vague idea Chuck has of a single, short kiss disappears, drowns beneath the tide of passion her lips pressed against his evokes. She angles her lips against his, confidently taking possession of his soft mouth with a slow, plundering relentlessness that leaves him breathes when she finally lets go. His head falls back against the wall with a groan, and he eyes her through hooded lids as she continues to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Thank you for doing this. Thank you for always trying to make me happy. And you – you and Henry," she amends, "are what I am most thankful for this year. Happy Thanksgiving, Chuck."
