A/N: Hi! It's been awhile but a few recent reviews inspired me to come back here. Plus, I finally have some time on my hands again. Also, I should note that QuinnAbrams helped out with the start of this, several months ago! Anyway, enjoy, and please leave me a review, if you like the story and want more of it.
Thanksgiving fell on November 24th that year. Because of course it did.
He wasn't in a hurry to get out of bed that day, for he knew it wouldn't go unnoticed, not even with a holiday to potentially distract his mother from her memories of the accident. No, his family wouldn't forget what day it was, and neither could he. He was just glad Sam wasn't going to be around to witness the strange mood that would settle over the family that day. Thankfully, he was in Kentucky with his family for the holiday.
Artie had been nine years old the first time they had all mourned what he'd lost that day. It had been a Monday, exactly eight years ago, and a school day. He still remembered it like it was yesterday...
Eight years earlier
After taking the entire spring and summer off to focus on learning how to live this brand new lifestyle, nine-year-old Artie was back in school again. His new third grade teacher was a lot less nervous than his previous one. She'd evidently been hand-picked to be his because she had what it took to handle having a kid in a wheelchair in her class. And what it took was just the right amount of understanding coupled with the ability to refrain from drawing even more attention to her pupil. His teacher was young, he recalled, maybe in only her second or third year of teaching. But she was good to him.
Consequently, he'd stopped dreading school after a few weeks, and now after a few months had passed, Artie greeted the day with the same amount of enthusiasm as any third grader. (It varied from day to day, depending on if he had to sit through watching gym class that day, but for the most part, he was happy at school.)
Today, though, he didn't have gym class, so he found himself in a surprisingly chipper mood for a Monday. Artie had gotten himself up with his own alarm, completed his morning routine in the bathroom, and returned to his bedroom to get dressed in the clothes his mother had set out for him the night before. He relished his newly regained independence, especially after having been without it for so long.
At seven-thirty on the dot, he rolled out of his room and down the hall. He was surprised to find his whole family milling about the kitchen.
"Dad! You're still here?" Artie exclaimed, excited at the sight of his father seated at the kitchen table with a ceramic coffee mug and the day's newspaper in hand. Usually, he headed into the office too early for Artie to see him before he went to school.
"I have a dinner with a client tonight, so I won't be home until late. I wanted to make sure that I got to have breakfast with you today," John Abrams replied as Artie pulled up to his empty designated spot at the kitchen table.
Artie grinned. He didn't often get to spend time with his dad, who was always busy working in order to pay for their lifestyle (and all of the new bills that had come into their lives within the last year). To have his father present this morning was quite the treat.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Nancy Abrams greeted her son, placing his breakfast– eggs, toast, and that cranberry juice that he hated so much– in front of him and kissing him on the forehead for a second longer than usual. Artie noticed her sniffle as she returned back to the kitchen island where she and Amy were packing lunches. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," Artie told his mother, but continued to study her from across the kitchen. "Are you okay?"
"Me? Oh, yes. Just fine. You don't worry about me," Nancy replied, sniffling again and audibly perking up her voice. Her back was to him now, but Artie thought he saw her wipe her eyes. "How are you?"
"Good…" was Artie's suspicious response as he used his fork to move the eggs around on his plate.
Mornings around the Abrams house were usually filled with playful sibling banter between himself and Amy as his mother scrambled on her own to get everything ready so that they could be out the door on time. To have his father here this morning was one thing, but his mom and Amy weren't acting like their usual selves either. Something was definitely up, but Artie couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He ate his breakfast as he chatted with his dad, still closely monitoring his mother out of the corner of his eye.
When he saw Amy leave the room and head towards the stairs in the front entryway, Artie took a big gulp of the bitter fruit juice before pushing off after her and coasting to a stop at the bottom of the staircase.
"Mom's sad, right?" Artie asked in a low voice so as to make sure that his parents wouldn't overhear.
Amy had stopped ascending the stairs when she heard him following her. She turned around and took a seat on the step she was standing on. Hesitantly, she nodded and Artie felt his stomach twist.
"Why?"
"Do you really not realize what day it is?"
Artie shrugged and shook his head.
Amy narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if to see if he was just messing with her. When it became apparent that he wasn't just playing dumb and that he really didn't remember, she sighed and tucked a loose strand of her brown hair behind her ear.
"It's November twenty-fourth, Artie. Your accident happened a year ago today," Amy explained, wearing an expression on her face that showed that it was painful for her to be the one to remind him of this, right when he was beginning to adjust to his new normal. "That's why Dad's here, too. He wanted to make sure you and Mom were both okay before he left."
"Oh," Artie heard himself reply in a small voice. He twisted his mouth to the side and looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "I didn't mean to make everyone sad."
"No, no, that's not it," Amy assured him, scooting down two steps so that she could be closer to him. "You don't make everyone sad, Artie, you make everyone happy. Because we could have lost you, but we didn't. Mom just has a lot of memories from that day. I think she's just remembering how scared she was. But she's okay. We'll be alright, okay, Artie? Don't worry about the rest of us."
Artie forced himself to nod, and Amy squeezed his knee before scampering up the rest of the stairs to finish getting ready for school.
But, of course, he did worry, even as a nine-year-old kid. Because it was in his nature to worry. November twenty-fourth had always been just another day in the Abrams household, but it would never be again.
That's what remained on his mind all day at school. He tried to focus in class, but he just couldn't. Because if last year's calendar had skipped November twenty-fourth and gone straight from the twenty-third to the twenty-fifth, he'd be sitting in a fourth grade classroom right now instead of a third grade one.
What would life be like if the accident hadn't happened?
Would he still be the best player on his soccer team?
Would Finn still call him to come over and play?
Artie had given up on paying attention to their multiplication lesson completely, in favor of making a mental list of "what if" questions. He was only jarred from his reverie by the girl sitting next to him tapping on the armrest of his chair.
"Psst. Hey," she whispered. "Can I borrow a pencil?"
Artie snapped out of his daze and stared wide-eyed back at her. Mackenzie, the quiet girl with messy brown hair who liked to doodle in the margins of her worksheets, rarely talked to him. Despite this, Artie had decided long ago that he liked her. Neither of them had many friends, but– if she ever asked– he'd be her friend, Artie'd decided.
"Well? Can I?"
Artie nodded, realizing he'd never answered her, and got out his pencil box. He handed her a freshly sharpened yellow pencil and she accepted, but not without staring at him curiously.
"Are you okay?"
"I- What?"
"You're just quieter today. And you didn't raise your hand to answer every math problem. You just look all frowny."
Artie couldn't help but note that this was probably the longest conversation the two table buddies had ever shared.
"I'm fine. I think so, anyway. It's…" He began before stopping himself. Mackenzie blinked back at him and tilted her head to the side. He shrugged before picking the sentence up where he left off. "One year ago today I was in a really bad car accident. I guess I'm just distracted."
It surprised Artie, at his tender age of nine, how composed he was able to be while stating that very simple– but life-altering– fact. His heart ached as he said it, but other than that, it felt completely normal to be telling Mackenzie– a girl he barely knew– why today was hard for him.
And to his great relief, she didn't dwell on it.
"Oh. Okay." Mackenzie shrugged before sliding her worksheet across the table towards Artie. "What's the answer to number three?"
Present day
If Mack were alive today, he would have probably called her up to tell her how he remembered this day eight years ago, how she was part of the memory - the good part of it - and how much it actually meant to him that she didn't really give it all a second thought after he told her. How she just went on about her day, because to Mack, these kinds of hardships were just part of life. It brought tears to his eyes, tears that soon streamed down his cheeks and resulted in a red, blotchy face by the time he made it down to breakfast. His family would think he was crying over the anniversary. He was not. Luckily, Thanksgiving dinner/lunch prep kept them all busy, as did preparing for company.
As it turned out, Shelby would be bringing little Beth for the visit that day. Quinn and Shelby had talked it over and decided that Beth would be able to handle seeing Quinn, especially now that Quinn had been able to get out of the restrictive brace much earlier than she'd expected. Thanks to this sudden and unexpected development, Quinn was wearing a newer, smaller brace now. She'd even be able to get out of bed and sit up in chair. This was very exciting and not at all what they had expected, hopefully paving the way for more good news to come.
Amy took care of baby proofing the house, covering the old brick fireplace with pillows and even putting plug covers in all the light sockets. She'd be a good mom herself someday, being that she'd been helping take care of Artie since she was only twelve. He was thinking about this as he watched her stooping to wedge the plastic plug cover into the light socket behind the floor lamp. She caught him staring and cocked her head to the side, eyeing him curiously over her shoulder.
"Artie, I know what day it is and all, but you're being extra quiet and you seem so sad, and... and that's usually Mom's job today," she observed, as both their parents were busy in the kitchen, where Artie ought to have been lending a hand, since that was where he could typically be most helpful.
Artie's thoughts went back to his memory of Mack and how she'd asked why he was being quiet that day in class, all those years ago. He swallowed hard as Amy approached him curiously, leaning down to be on his level. "No, I'm not even really thinking of the accident," he explained. "Not-not exactly. Well, I was, and then that made me think... about Mack."
Artie hadn't so much as spoken her name, not since the memorial, and Amy crouched down by his chair to hug him then. His mother passed by the living room as she did this, and Artie knew she was thinking it would be about the accident and the anniversary, that no one else really remembered he'd lost someone special.
There wasn't time to talk about it because the doorbell rang. Artie rearranged his face and put on a smile for Shelby and Beth. The whole family greeted them and assembled in the living room to sit on couches and make small talk for awhile, with Nancy going back and forth between the living room and kitchen.
Being that Beth was a year-and-a-half now, Amy had been right to baby-proof the house. She toddled around and went straight to the brick fireplace, as Amy rightfully breathed a sigh of relief because she'd thought to baby-proof that too. They had nothing to entertain Beth, but thankfully, Shelby had brought along some toys and snacks in the enormous bag she carried.
"I talked to Quinn this morning," Shelby reported, as she handed Beth some of her baby puff cereal. "Oh- I hope it's okay, I didn't even think to ask if she could eat in the living room..."
"Of course she can," Nancy assured her, on one of her trips back and forth. "What did Quinn say? How's she doing?"
"She sounds really cheerful today," Shelby said, as she kept a watchful eye on her toddler, always multi-tasking now. "They're going to make sure she can sit up to eat her lunch today, and she hasn't really done that yet, not out of bed anyway, so she's excited about that. And about seeing Beth. I'm glad she's ready to see her."
It was good news, because to look at her a few weeks ago, Artie never would have expected she'd be able to sit up in a chair and eat this soon. He exchanged a surprised look with Amy, who must have been thinking the same thing and possibly comparing the timetable of Quinn's recovery with Artie's, which was becoming impossible not to do.
The family hurried to finish packing up the few things Nancy had brought them to eat with Quinn in her room. The cranberry sauce, green beans, slices of turkey, sweet potatoes, and banana pudding, carefully packed up in Tupperware, came along as they loaded up in two cars to caravan to the hospital. When they arrived, Artie loaded containers up on his lap and let Amy push him, never one to say that he couldn't be helpful just because he was seated. Down the hall, in the elevator, up to the third floor, and down another hall to her room - the well-worn path was getting old. Probably in a day or so, some well-meaning nurses would start putting up holly, tinsel, and trees. But no matter how hard they tried, you couldn't make this place less sterile and frigid. Being in a hospital around the holidays wasn't something Artie could ever forget. He'd always recall how the sight of the half-hearted decor only intensified how deeply he'd longed for home. He hadn't made it home for the holidays after his accident. It had been February, so his mother had put up a tree for Valentine's Day that year. Perhaps, if Quinn continued to improve, she would.
They arrived to find her door open and a couple of nurses inside. The bed was empty and the two nurses were instead huddled around a wheelchair, tending to Quinn. Artie realized that they must have just moved her, possibly for the first time, and that they were coming in to witness this happening. For some reason, seeing her in a wheelchair hit him differently than did seeing her in a hospital bed. He swallowed the lump in his throat, however, finding his voice to speak first.
"I didn't realize you were already ready to start racing," Artie heard himself teasing, sounding convincingly light-hearted all the while. "I would have worn my lucky gloves."
"You'll have to get me a pair of those, too," she said, with a soft smile as the nurses parted to reveal her sitting, still very stiffly with a smaller brace on her neck that mostly forced her to look straight ahead and avert her eyes to see anything beside her. Artie couldn't hold the supportive smile any longer as he took in the full view of her. She must have seen his plastered-on grin falter. He could never fool her. Her expression changed, too.
"Food sounds a lot more appealing when you're out of bed," she said, with a nod to the contents of Artie's lap. "And even just in the Tupperware, all that looks amazing. A real Thanksgiving dinner. Or, well, lunch."
Artie still wasn't sure how she was going to manage eating this food, what with sitting so stiffly and with her brace, and he hoped the difficulty of the task, coupled with an audience, wouldn't embarrass her. And now he knew how others felt, when they watched him encounter various challenges. Hmm.
"Beth, look at you, you walk so well now!" She beamed at the toddler, who put her fingers in her mouth and stared wistfully at Quinn, unsure about the whole thing but more curious than scared. "Can't say the same for me, at least not yet."
"Can I ask the dreaded 'how-are-you-feeling question?" That was Amy, who beat Artie to it. And even though he hated that question himself, always had and always would, it was a valid one. At least for Quinn.
"Weird," was Quinn's reply, as Nancy kissed her cheek then and busied herself with getting plates ready, tasking Artie's dad with helping her fix their plates and pass them out. "Feeling... sort of comes and goes, e-especially in my hands. Yesterday, I was having trouble holding onto things. Today, it's a lot better. My legs still feel like they weigh a ton. Is that... I mean, Artie, did you-?"
Quinn stopped herself and blushed, and Artie realized what she was doing. She was comparing their situations, in a sense, trying to make sure that hers was different. Because if hers was different, then maybe she could believe them when they told her that her prognosis was really different than Artie's. Better than Artie's.
"Did I ever feel anything?" he asked. "No. That wasn't ever my experience. Just waking up with the complete absence of any feeling, that's how it went down for me." He paused, then broke the tension with a casual: "Please pass the cranberry sauce."
What followed, however, was more tense silence. Nancy passed the cranberry sauce, after an awkward hesitation.
And then it was Quinn who spoke again next. "Sorry I asked you that today, of all days," she said, and Artie realized that somehow - in the midst of all she was currently dealing with - she'd remembered. He had been forced to tell her about the anniversary of the accident last year, back when she'd still been living with them, and she still remembered.
Artie was careful what he said, with his mother sitting right there. "No, no, not at all," he assured her, as Shelby looked curious then. "It's okay... ask away."
Because if there was anything he could be thankful for today, it was the ability to understand and be able to help. He'd decided, for better or worse, he was going to put aside himself during all of this and see her through it.