Day 8 (day 7 posted a few hours ago in case you missed it)
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For some reason the screen Bella used to enter her lunch and dinner order was flashing 'Meal Selected'. At this point, meals were one of the highlights of her day and she was not going to miss out. Her fingers automatically went to pinch her belly fat, which for the moment was practically non-existent. She figured she sweated off five pounds every day she wore that hazmat suit. She could use a little fattening up.
The nasal sounding woman at the other end of the phone laughed. "Dr. Swan, it's Thanksgiving Day. Some fancy restaurant" (she pronounced it rest o rount) "is sending ya'll over a regular feast. You ain't one of those veg-i-tarians, are ya?"
The way she emphasized vegetarian made it sound worse than Ebola.
"Oh no. Turkey will be great." She felt like an idiot. How did she forget it was Thanksgiving Day? Jet lag and exhaustion as excuses would only work for so long. She'd talked to her mother yesterday but she didn't say anything. She wondered what her parents were doing for dinner without her. Her mother wasn't a great cook, but she was devoted to making concentric rings of baby marshmallows over the canned yams baked in the same round casserole dish her grandmother had used. You could always count on canned green beans mixed with canned cream of mushroom soup topped with those crunchy, canned, onion things. Bella realized she was missing the way her mother mixed two different flavored boxes of Stove-Top stuffing together—it wasn't the best food but it was their tradition. It was what she'd eaten every year on Thanksgiving, except of course for the year she and Emmett went to a restaurant with his parents. It had been packed, the servers were overwhelmed, the food underwhelming. Emmett's father had drilled her on her student loans and what her practice was paying her, while his mother got hammered on Wild Turkey over ice. She didn't care to repeat that experience.
Her nurse was in early for vitals. She'd barely left when someone knocked on her door, in that 'shave and a haircut; two bits' rhythm. It had to be Edward, but she hadn't requested him yet.
"Come in."
Edward was carrying an express mail box, stamped on the side in bold red letters 'cleared'. "I was just telling Ben that your request must not have gone through." He winked at her. "We made plans to watch the parade, right?"
"Oh yeah. The parade." Bella bobbed her head while Ben rolled his eyes and closed the door.
Cocking her head at Edward, she said, "What parade?"
"Woman, you wound me. The only parade." He took her TV remote and clicked. "The Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC, of course. It's already started, hurry up!" He pointed to her bed. "Have a seat."
-21 days—Day 8-
Alice had come through, big time. Everything he needed was in the box. After giving Ben the story, how he'd watched the parade every year of his life with his sister, and that Bella agreed to substitute this year, they were on their way to the lovely Dr. Swan's room.
He knew Ben knew he was full of it, but he guessed standing around outside a room twelve hours a day was boring enough that Ben would take the slight risk that Edward wasn't wanted in Bella's room. Luckily, she played along. He joined Bella, sitting cross-legged on her bed and picked through the box in his lap.
"First, Froot-Loops or Cap'n Crunch?" He held both boxes of cereal up, but he really wanted the Froot Loops. Luckily she choose the Captain.
"Where are the bowls?"
"Silly Bella…my mom wouldn't let us eat cereal with milk on the couch."
Bella smiled as a giant balloon Snoopy and Woodstock floated across the screen. "I used to watch this when I was a kid. It's been years."
"That's just wrong." He shook his head as a float with some Country music duo started across the screen. "Wait!"
He grabbed the cereal box out of Bella's hand and replaced it with a Nerf gun, loaded with orange foam darts, then grabbed his own, loaded with blue darts. "When you see a singer lip-synching, shoot them. The first one to stick to the screen wins."
"But they all lip-synch for the parade."
"That's what makes it so much fun!" The singer started coughing while his song kept going. Edward aimed and missed.
Bella raised her gun; the foam dart stuck. "I got him!"
She raised her weapon to shoot again, but Edward pushed her hand down. "What are we, savages? You already shot the dude, give him a chance. Here." He handed back her cereal. "Eat up."
Around a mouthful of over-sweetened corn puffs, she asked. "What are we doing?"
"Having fun." He sat back, leaning towards her. "My mother used to set us up with stuff to stay out of her hair while she set the table for Thanksgiving dinner. Me and crystal glasses don't go together."
Bella snorted. "I bet."
He remembered the year he was too sick to do anything else on Thanksgiving. Those silly games got him through a lot. But he wasn't ready to bring up anything sad with Bella, he'd just got her smiling.
When the screen switched to a commercial, Bella hopped up. "I never called my parents for Thanksgiving. I completely forgot it was today."
He sat back as she lowered the volume and called. He looked at the muted screen while she talked, giving the illusion of privacy. He wanted her to say his name, no matter how irrational it was. He wanted to know she was sharing his existence with the people that were important to her. Between 'I miss you' and 'don't burn the turkey' he heard, 'don't worry, I'm having dinner with a friend.' It was enough for him.
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AN: Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate, and Happy Regular day, to those who don't.