Morning, Loves.

I had planned on Thanksgiving being a single chapter, but wouldn't you know it, these two had bit to say about that. So Thanksgiving will be a few chapters now. And anyone wondering about the hedgehog, answers are coming!

All mistakes are on me.


Chapter Thirty-Seven: Bella

November 24, 2022

Cambridge, England

"Fucking Hell!"

I look up from where I'm elbows deep up a turkey's ass and scowl. "What's up?" I pause, waiting to see if I need to extract from my project or if it's a crisis that can pass without my help.

Edward comes storming into the kitchen, his hair every-fucking-where, his laptop swinging from his hands.

"My advisor wants my outline notes today. He told me it wouldn't be until next month, but no, it's today."

I frown, extracting myself from the turkey. "Okay, but aren't you done with a rough outline?"

Edward scowls.

"Not after our last meeting. Remember how I have to redraft the last three chapters?"

I nod. "It's a draft though, right?" I know it's a stupid question. Even if he doesn't have to do it, Edward is a do-your-best-always kind of guy. I'd slide by with a shitty outline just to get me through the deadline, but Edward can't.

"I need to rewrite this," he sighs.

I wipe my hands on my towel. "Okay. You work on that. I'll make the stuffing."

Edward looks up at me from his computer. "Babe," he starts.

I shake my head. "Time's wasting. Go!"

We were supposed to split responsibilities this year. We decided to do a friendsgiving and invite all his nerd friends from his program as well as a few other people we'd gotten to know. We'd promised to deliver the turkey and stuffing, and I'd been working on this fucking turkey all week.

Edward grunts, but then leans over the counter, kissing me before he takes off back into our bedroom. I turn to the kitchen and sigh.

I'm fucking exhausted lately, but I know that Edward has to get this shit done.

So instead of parking myself on the sofa for a nap I'm desperate for, I turn back to the counter, yanking the dry ingredients for stuffing out of the cabinet.

I don't hold it against Edward that he has to work on Thanksgiving. I know it's not his fault, and in the back of his brain he's probably beating himself up over the fact that he can't help me cook. I fully blame this stupid country.

Don't they know we Americans need to pig out today?

Today is the first day we've hosted any sort of anything since we got here, and for some reason, I'm fucking nervous. It's not our first friendsgiving—hell, it's not even the first friendsgiving we've hosted—but for reasons beyond me, this one has so much expectation.

I've never been one to bow to pressure from my peers, so for the life of me, I can't figure out why today is any different.

Frustrated with my feelings, with the situation, and with the fucking heartburn I haven't been able to shake for the past two days, I yank the ciabatta in front of me and start aggressively tearing it into chunks. Who cares about neat little squares?