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A wave of melancholy washed over Blake as she stared out the window. It was Thanksgiving, a day typically overflowing with family, food, and festive cheer. This year, however, the cheer seemed to be in short supply.
Sure, it was supposed to be different. Her friends had become a makeshift family. But the joy felt hollow this year, overshadowed by the absence of Ethan.
He hadn't even bothered to invite her to celebrate with his own family. A pang of hurt lanced through her. Was this what "sort-of" dating entailed? When she was with Ethan she wanted to be with her friends, when she was with her friends she wanted to be with Ethan. This was a totally new realm for her.
With a sigh, Blake pushed herself out of bed and headed downstairs. The sounds of clattering pots and muttered curses drew her to the kitchen. There, Izzie stood with a mountain of cookbooks on the counter, her brow furrowed in concentration as she wrestled with a frozen turkey.
"Blake! I am so glad that you're up," Izzie exclaimed, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Can you cook?"
Before Blake could answer, Izzie's attention was snatched away by a movement at the door. She dashed out, leaving Blake standing awkwardly in the kitchen.
"What do you think you're doing?" Izzie demanded, holding a recipe book.
"I am—" Meredith stammered, her escape route cut off.
The doorbell chimed, further disrupting the domestic chaos. Blake headed toward the door with a heavy sigh, expecting another delivery or maybe Cristina arriving early.
"Answering the door," Meredith used as an excuse.
Looking at the blonde's bag, Izzie realized, "You're going to the hospital? Meredith, everyone is supposed to be in the kitchen by 9 am to help me make dinner. It's Thanksgiving!" She complained.
