Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, minor others

Chapter 5: Finishing with Freeride

Eric takes in the sight before him, eyes flickering to everything from my oversized grin to my shorter than usual skirt to my high heels and perfectly fluffed hair before finally coming to rest on the beer in my hand. I'm no idiot. I know I make quite the picture in the late morning sun. It's all part of the plan I've crafted over the last three hours. Phase One includes making him drool like a dog. Then comes Phase Two, where I crush him like a bug.

Yes, I have a plan.

"Uhh, thanks," he says in acceptance of the proffered beer. He's looking sort of pale and more than a little scared. Eyeing the bottle like it might bite him, he juggles the items currently in his arms and grabs the beer. It's only then that I realize what he's holding.

My ex-boyfriend is weighted down by an assortment of baby-related paraphernalia sure to impress even the most neurotic of mothers. There's the pale yellow diaper bag the approximate size of a school bus slung over his shoulder, the pink blanket clutched under his arm, the stuffed kitten in his hand, and, as a finishing touch, the green spit-up rag tossed around his neck.

This is unexpected.

As he brushes by me on his way into the house, I'm forced to do a quick sidestep to avoid being flattened by the diaper bag. I move forward again and find myself face to face with Suzanne. The phony smile on her face perfectly matches the one on mine and her overly exuberant cry of, "Donna! Darling!" illustrates perfectly why that acting career of hers never took off.

"You know Eric of course. Isn't he just a doll! Course I don't have to tell you that, now do I? You must just be kicking yourself for letting him get away! But, then, what could you do? He has such a sense of class…it really wasn't your fault you couldn't keep up!"

I hate her. I really do.

Before I have a chance to respond, I find myself holding a screaming, wriggling, red-faced bundle in a blanket I assume is Layla. Suzanne herself whisks away into the dining room leaving only me, her daughter, and a cloud of perfume behind.

Okay, then. Phase One didn't exactly go according to plan, but I can adapt. I shift Layla to my right side and pull the front door closed behind me. The rest of my family is congregating in the dining room drinking wine and picking at appetizers, leaving me alone with Layla in the hallway.

After a few minutes, her crying stops and I get my first good look at the baby in my arms. She has her mother's blue eyes and dark hair. Following a quick scan (just to double check) I realize there are no features even remotely resembling those of Eric's.

Thank God.

I may not be fond of Suzanne, but even I have to admit that her daughter is gorgeous. As I pace and sway in the empty hall, her cries turn in to tiny gurgles of happiness and I swear she's smiling at me. I like this. There's something calming about it. Once again I feel a twinge…I don't have this in my life.

Poking my head into the dining room, I notice that Suzanne has garnered her usual spot as the center of attention. She's busy holding court over the assembly of relatives and family friends already seated at the dining room table. Eric sits adoringly beside her as she expounds on the virtues of her brand new convertible. So animated is her story that it's a full minute before she acknowledges the arrival of her daughter, who is by now cooing quietly in my arms.

"Layla! There you are! Honestly, Donna. Are you trying to keep this little sweet pea away from me?" Never mind that it was she who dropped the inconvenience of a crying child in my lap. "Say hi, Layla! All these people want to meet you!" Turning her attention to me once again, she informs me that, "Layla's carrier is in the car. Would you be a dear and go get it?"

She's kidding, right?

Before I have a chance to make an escape or an attack, I notice that Layla, confused and no doubt terrified at the prospect of being kissed by fifteen women over the age of seventy, has started to fuss. Suzanne, as I expected, wants no part in this action. She makes a move to turn Layla away from her designer jacket and hand the increasingly upset child off to Eric, still sitting patiently at her side. Unfortunately for him, Suzanne pauses for a moment mid-transfer. Layla looms above his head for an instant before taking the opportunity to spit up…in his face.

I knew I liked that kid.

Following the recovery of a Sesame Street themed carrier from the backseat of Eric's car and the fetching of a glass of wine for her royal pain-in-the-ass, it's time for Phase Two. Originally this was the most difficult part of the plan. I have questions I want answered and apologies I want made, but I'd rather not do all that in front of my entire family. The only problem is that in this house, on holidays, privacy is hard to come by.

Luckily for me, Layla took care of that situation. Eric has headed upstairs to wipe himself down before dinner and I have a chance to strike. I post Terri on lookout at the bottom of the stairs and set off to have a little chat with Dr. Freeride. When I find him, he's walking out of the bathroom re-tying his tie. He spots me and starts looking for an escape route, eyeing the distance to the stairs. Unfortunately for him, the only way he's going down them right now is if I throw him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I'd actually planned a more eloquent opening, but this will work.

"Uhh…What…I mean…I…uhh…" The dying deer look returns. Perhaps I need to clarify.

"I'm sorry. Did I not make myself clear? What are you doing with her? What are you doing with her when you asked me out last night?"

"I didn't…she was…I…" He's still fidgeting with his tie. If he doesn't start to speak pretty soon I'll be strangling him with it. I take a step toward him and watch with more than a little amusement as he takes three steps back. He's scared of me. Well, that's a start.

"Donna…Donna, you've got it all wrong." A complete sentence. I'm impressed.

"Oh, really? Which part?"

"Everything… I mean, not everything, but…" He trails off as I take another step forward. His back is now literally against the wall. Should my typing skills ever fail me I could have a great career with the Secret Service.

"Look, Donna, I love Suzanne. I know you might find that hard to believe but we're good together. I want to marry her. I want a family. I'm a totally different person than I was five years ago. I-"

"Totally different? How? I seem to recall you asking me out oh, maybe twelve hours ago!"

"Donna, you have the wrong idea. I just wanted to talk to you about this so maybe today wouldn't be so…awkward." He shrinks against a closet door. "Or hostile."

"Well, I'd say you need to work on your approach! Or is that what happened when you were with that nurse? Just trying to have a little discussion? Maybe confer about a patient? Is that it?"

"Donna, that was a long time ago. I know…I know I screwed up. I'm sorry for that. But you were the one who just…left. You never even gave me a reason!"

"I never gave you a reason?" In the past several minutes the volume has steadily increased. I take a deep breath and look Eric straight in the eye before continuing. This time, instead of yelling, my voice comes out in a harsh whisper. "I never gave you a reason. Well. Maybe that's because you supplied them all by yourself. The women, the bills, the promises, the insults. You gave me plenty of reasons to leave. But they aren't why I left."

I turn on my heel and prepare to head back downstairs, but before I get very far I hear his confused voice behind me.

"Why?"

Stopping at the top of the stairs, I turn to face him. "You stopped for a beer. I was hurt and you stopped for a beer. You shouldn't have stopped for anything."

With that, I realize the truth. I didn't leave Eric for any of his numerous transgressions against me. I didn't leave for him.

I left for me.

It's time for dinner, and I turn and head back down to the dining room. Terri gives me a wide-eyed glance in the hallway, but is silent as I make my way to my seat at the table. Eric follows close behind. I hold my head high as I pour myself a drink and pull out my chair.

Ten years after we met.

Five years after I left.

I'm finished with Dr. Freeride.

Too bad Suzanne is unaware of that fact.

It isn't long before she's fawning all over him; straightening his now-mangled tie, ordering Terri to get him some wine, scooting her chair so close to his she might as well be sitting in his lap. Finally, she kisses him full on the lips and turns to smile smugly at me.

I fight the urge to kick her under the table.

I may be finished with Freeride, but I am in no way finished with her.

When everyone has been seated, we begin the time-honored tradition of listing the things we are thankful for. When we were little, my brother, sister, and I spent days making lists of all the pets, friends, and toys we wanted to mention. My father would always begin and we would circle around the table until everyone had a turn. I'm not feeling particularly grateful for anything today, but when my turn comes I manage to string together a few sentences about my job and my family.

Some of my family, anyway.

The thanks and the prayers go on and on while I try to ignore the spectacle across the table. It's pretty obvious Suzanne likes showing off her latest trophy and I'm directly across from the glass case. By the time it's Eric's turn to talk, I'm only half listening. I'm beyond ready for this dinner and this day to be done.

"…for bringing Suzanne into my life. She's such an amazing, caring, considerate…" Are you kidding me? What planet is he on?

"…felt this passionately about any…" Please make this stop. I'm starting to feel sick. Three things you're thankful for. How hard would that be?

"…the rest of my life…" What is he doing with that little box?

"…Suzanne Marie Thomas…" Why is he on the floor like that?

"…marry me?"

There's silence at the table and ringing in my ears.

You've got to be kidding me.