I just had a snow day myself last week, and this chapter just makes me happy.
Chapter 6: Hot Chocolate
"As you both know, Thanksgiving is coming up," Mr. Jones said to Peter and Ned, sitting side by side on Ned's bed reading one of Peter's Star Wars books. They sensed the beginning of an important conversation so Peter dog-eared the page and set the book aside. "I don't know how you're used to celebrating, but here it's a pretty quiet holiday. There's not going to be a hoard of extended family stampeding in here. We're just going to have dinner and maybe watch the football game on TV, sound good?"
Peter and Ned both nodded. He hadn't even thought about the approaching holiday until Mr. Jones brought it up. Last Thanksgiving had been the first one without Uncle Ben, so he and May hadn't really been in the celebrating mood. They ate some of the traditional foods, but neither could really find it in their hearts to be thankful for much when the sorrow was so fresh. At the time, Peter was thankful he still had May, and that was about it. Now he didn't even have that.
"I came in here to ask if you had any favorite Thanksgiving foods that you wanted me and Mrs. Jones to make."
The request didn't surprise Peter. Mrs. Jones often asked what he wanted for dinner, but he'd always answered with an insistence that he didn't care. Whatever she made Peter didn't really eat anyway; everything carried the potential to hurt him. The only things he'd been brave enough to even try at dinner since May were white rice, plain pasta, and a few types of cooked vegetables. He'd gotten very good at hiding food in napkins so his foster parents didn't grow suspicious of his continued lack of appetite. If they noticed, it was only a matter of time before they discovered how messed up Peter really was, and he didn't want to see what would happen if they discovered that. Plus, they were probably legally obliged to report that sort of thing to his case worker, and he didn't want that to happen either.
But now he was expected to make a request for Thanksgiving, and he couldn't say nothing. And they would definitely make sure he ate some of the dish he'd specifically asked for. He had to think of something safe enough he could make himself eat enough of it to please them. Peter thought for a few moments, and a memory of Thanksgivings long ago resurfaced. Back when his parents were alive, they hosted the holiday. Aunt May and Uncle Ben brought cranberry sauce because it was one of the only things May could make without drastically over or undercooking. And his mother always baked these homemade rolls. When she baked them the heavenly aroma of baking bread spread throughout the entire apartment, and Peter would sneak a peek in the oven every so often to watch them turn golden brown.
"My mom used to bake homemade rolls. Could…could you do that?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if he was asking too much.
"Yeah, of course. That sounds fantastic. What about you, Ned?"
"I've never celebrated Thanksgiving before," he admitted almost inaudibly, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"That's okay. Is there any particular food you want on a special day? It doesn't have to be traditionally for Thanksgiving."
"Mashed potatoes."
"You're in luck, because mashed potatoes are a Jones Thanksgiving staple. I've gotten pretty good at mashing potatoes since Rebecca put me in charge of them the year after Michelle was born."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You can even help make them if you want."
"Okay."
"You too, Peter."
The thought terrified him. A busy kitchen was sure to set him off somehow. He'd avoided another incident like that first one since arriving here and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. Peter decided to go for the same escape he'd used when May made dinner. "Can I just set the table instead? Cooking isn't really my thing."
"Sure. You and Michelle can set the table while the three of us cook."
"Okay."
Thanksgiving Day proceeded without a hitch, much to Peter's relief. He found the football game rather boring, but Mrs. Jones refused to let anyone change the channel. The three kids just played card games in the family room so they could all be together but not bored out of their minds. Setting the table kept Peter's attention away from the open kitchen cabinets and he avoided freaking out over anything. The scent of the rolls baking made him happier than airborne molecules had any right to, but he loved it. When they all sat down together, he quietly refused to touch turkey or the buttery mashed potatoes, but he managed some green beans and two rolls. It wasn't a feast by any stretch of the imagination, but more than Peter had eaten at one sitting in quite a while. All things considered, it was definitely a good day.
~0~
Peter thought their first snow day of the year would also be a good day, and it was—for the most part. In the city where Peter grew up, pristine snow lasted maybe twelve hours before relentless traffic soiled it and turned white fluff to brown sludge. But here, much farther from the constant hustle and bustle of the city, it remained beautiful for much longer. The first footsteps to disturb the snowfall outside the Jones' house were Michelle, Ned, and Peter's. School was canceled, so they set aside the whole day for winter wonderland fun instead.
The cold tore into him, but the effort of running around through a thick blanket of snow quickly warmed him up. Michelle made snow angels in the driveway while Peter and Ned set about building a snow-Tauntaun. Neither of them was the greatest of sculptors, so it came out looking more like a sorry excuse for a t-rex, but they both laughed about their complete lack of artistic skill and made snowballs to throw at Michelle out of the Tauntaun until it was nothing more than a small pile of disturbed snow. They stockpiled about twenty snowballs and started moving snow to shore up a defensive barricade. Michelle, ever observant, immediately caught on and retreated to the opposite side of the driveway to build up her own arsenal and defense. It was two against one, but Michelle worked efficiently and skillfully. By the time Ned lobbed the first snowball at her, she'd constructed a snow wall with literal battlements.
Michelle fought them solo, but she threw with more accuracy than either Peter or Ned possessed. Peter took a hit to the shoulder, then to the back, a glancing blow to the ear, and finally Michelle nailed him right in the face. She and Ned both started laughing, until Peter retaliated and managed to hit Michelle's shoulder.
"I declare a ceasefire!" Mr. Jones announced as he trundled outside all bundled up. "Whoever shovels the most gets me on their team for snowball fight round two." All three of them scrambled to clear the driveway. Peter had never shoveled snow before, having lived in apartments all his life, and it was much more difficult than he ever imagined. The snow was wet and heavy, and moving it around on the end of a shovel taxed Peter's whole body. By the time he cleared a section the size of an area rug, he was nauseous and shaky, but he felt obligated to contribute to all household chores for the family kind enough to take him in, and this certainly counted.
Peter gathered another shovelful and teetered as he picked it up to toss it aside. The edges of his vision turned black, and suddenly he awoke staring up at the snow-bright sky. "Peter!" Michelle called, racing over to his side. "Are you okay?"
"'M fine," he mumbled, squirming to a sitting position in the thick snow. He moved to stand, but decided against it when the blackness threatened to return.
"What's going on?" Mr. Jones asked as he made his way over.
"I don't know, I just saw him fall," Michelle explained. "Did you faint?"
"I don't know," Peter admitted. That was probably it, but fainting was a big deal and Peter didn't want to make a big deal of nothing. He'd fallen into soft snow, so he hadn't even hurt himself. It was nothing. The shakiness remained, but he probably just needed to rehydrate.
"Let's get you inside," Mr. Jones said. He helped Peter to his feet—they were unsteady, but not incapable of holding him up—and led him back into the house.
"I'm okay," Peter insisted. "Prob'ly just need to drink some water and warm up a bit."
"How about some hot chocolate?" Mr. Jones suggested. Peter hoped he hadn't noticeably paled at the suggestion. How could he finagle his way out of this? Mr. Jones would definitely notice if Peter didn't drink any of something he'd prepared exclusively for him. When no escape presented itself, Peter tried a different tactic: turning hot cocoa into a safe food by whatever means possible.
"Um, okay. But no marshmallows, please. And, can you leave the stirring spoon in the mug?"
"If that's how you like it, then alright."
Peter sighed in relief. That was how May always prepared his chocolate milk on the weekends, one of Peter's favorite traditions, and one of the only good things in his life post-Ben. If he focused on that, maybe he could bring himself to drink some of Mr. Jones' cocoa. Ned and Michelle, having finished clearing the driveway, came inside just in time to request their own cocoa.
"Sure thing," Mr. Jones said. He passed Peter his mug, spoon still inside, and got to work on two more. Peter closed his eyes, imagined he sat at his old kitchen table with May, and took a cautious sip. The warmth filled him from toe to top, the chocolate taste coating the inside of his mouth. Mr. Jones must have taken note of his expression of bliss, because he asked with a smile, "Is it good?"
Peter nodded after he swallowed. Pacing himself to make the pleasant memory last longer, he downed the whole mug while Ned dug for marshmallows with his spoon and Michelle sipped at hers with the authority of a professor drinking black coffee.
As afternoon turned to evening, Mr. Jones got the fireplace going and all five of them curled up in front of it to play board games. Catan only suited four players, so Peter and Ned offered to play as a team. Michelle won handedly, as she often did, but Peter and Ned's combined strategy earned them a solid second place.
"Today was a good day," Ned sighed as they crawled into bed long after their bedtime, betting on school being canceled again the next day.
"Yeah, today was a good day," Peter agreed.
"But every day since I got here has been a good day compared to before."
Ned had never told him exactly what his life before foster care was like, and Peter never asked. From the clues he gave, Peter surmised it was a whole lot worse than any living situation Peter had ever found himself in. He was glad Ned got out, and even more glad that the two of them had been assigned to the same foster home. Ned was the first person Peter could call a friend since before Uncle Ben died. Maybe Peter was that same thing to Ned.
~0~
Last Christmas had been the first one without Uncle Ben. Peter and May had tried their best to bring some Christmas cheer to the hollow apartment, picking out a live tree that made the whole place smell like pine and dropped needles all over the floor, keeping the twenty four hour marathon of a Christmas Story on to prevent any grief-filled silences, and giving each other modest but meaningful presents. May had given Peter one of Ben's old hoodies, the one Peter had stowed in the bottom drawer of his dresser here at the Jones, and Peter had gifted her a cookbook. It was half gag gift to make fun of her notoriously mediocre cooking and half "please use this often because I can really only bring myself to eat when you make food."
This Christmas was the first one without Aunt May. The Jones tried their best to bring some Christmas cheer to the house, dragging their artificial tree down from the attic and summoning all three kids to help decorate it. Peter tried his best to find joy, but every ornament he placed, every souvenir from a family trip, every arts and crafts project from a preschool-aged Michelle, every fragile crystal passed down from grandparents, reminded him of the family he didn't have any more.
Ned, on the other hand, was having a blast. By looking at him, one would think he'd never experienced Christmas before. Actually, given what he'd deduced about the kid's past, it was very possible that he hadn't. At least, not like this, with the family together, the house smelling vaguely of peppermint, and a classic Christmas playlist on in the background. Peter held himself together until he found a locket-shaped ornament with family pictures of the Jones inside. As soon as he laid eyes on that, his hand flew to his own locket around his neck and his eyes flooded with tears.
"Peter, can we help?" Mrs. Jones asked sincerely. He appreciated that she didn't say something stupid like "What's wrong," instead opting to ask a more pertinent question. Unfortunately, Peter doubted that anything they could do would assuage this feeling. He shook his head and dashed off to his room, wanting nothing more than to be alone. His grief shouldn't detract from the rest of them having a merry Christmas.
Peter lost track of time, and the next thing he knew Mrs. Jones was asking him if he wanted to come to dinner. "I'm not hungry," he confessed, and she let it slide. By the next morning he was mostly back to himself, sitting with Ned as they watched Michelle open the compartment of the advent calendar for the day. Christmas Eve was almost as rough as tree-decorating day for Peter, the day dredging up memories of every Christmas Eve in the peaceful interlude between his parents' and his aunt and uncle's deaths. Mr. and Mrs. Jones prepared a wonderful dinner, and they seemed to remember Peter requesting rolls at Thanksgiving because they prepared the same ones that night. He managed to eat one of them, but stopped there because when memories of May were close to the surface, memories of her death were right there too. The Jones go-to movie was Elf, a film cheerful enough to elicit smiles from even Peter. He did cry himself to sleep, but he dreamed of a Christmas with May, Ben, and his parents. When he awoke on Christmas morning, he wasn't sure if it was a long-buried memory from before the car accident or a desperate longing for a future that could never be.
Michelle knocked on their door at eight o'clock sharp to alert them to the commencement of the festivities. Ned bounded out of bed, still in his pajamas, and raced out the door. Peter took a little longer, still in a bit of a haze, and earned himself a concerned glance from Michelle. He forced a smile for her and followed her out to the living room. The presents had been sitting under the tree for weeks now, but a new one had been added. A big one, addressed to Peter and Ned.
"Stockings first," Mr. Jones insisted when he saw the boys eyeing the big box. Michelle's had her name embroidered in it, but Peter and Ned had each claimed a generic one, Peter's with a reindeer and Ned's with a snowman on it. Inside were the usual stocking stuffers: chocolates, candies, socks, and the like. Peter surreptitiously slid his into Ned's pile. If the boy noticed he didn't mention it. He thought seeing the wrapped sweets would trigger a panic attack, but fortunately they looked different enough from stocked grocery store shelves that he only felt his heart pound slightly.
Ned locked eyes with Peter and they simultaneously turned their heads to the big box. "Go ahead," Mrs. Jones prompted. He should've guessed based on the style of wrapping paper—Darth Vaders with candy canes and Stormtroopers with mistletoe—that the gift had something to do with the passion he and Ned shared for Star Wars, but even if he had guessed that much he never would've gotten the whole thing. Growing up, Peter's aunt and uncle never had the money to spare for extravagant gifts like this. Ned tore a strip of paper off and revealed enough of the box for Peter to identify it: a LEGO Death Star.
"No way," Ned exclaimed.
"This is too much," Peter continued.
"Merry Christmas," Mr. Jones said. "I hope you don't mind that you'll have to share it."
"Not at all!" they assured. Half the fun would be building it together. Peter didn't know what to say. Thank you definitely wouldn't cover his feelings towards this. The last month had been difficult for him, with all the family-centric holidays reminding him of what he'd lost, but this demonstrated just how much Mr. and Mrs. Jones paid attention and cared about him and Ned. They may not be related by blood, but Peter was beyond grateful to consider them family.
Peter and Ned helped clean up discarded wrapping paper before tearing into their new toy. Michelle rolled her eyes at their juvenile enthusiasm, but she sat nearby where they were building with one of the books she'd gotten that morning. "On a scale of one to ten how good are you at finding pieces in the big pile?" Peter asked.
"Maybe a six or seven," Ned answered.
"That's better than me." With the size of the LEGO set, Peter estimated it would take them at least a week to finish if they worked an hour or two each day. Knowing them, they'd probably get it done sooner.
