The Rising (final book of The Call series) ~ TMNT Fanfiction

Chapter 25: To be Grateful

Thanksgiving dinner is always something to be thankful for.

And the people who eat it should be grateful for the one making it. Because it's a lot of work.

Mom and I have propped the door to the kitchen open, and are whisking away. In the past, it's been filled with laughter, warmth and Benjamin barging in, asking when dinner would be ready. This year, all of that will happen except Benjamin. There's a little hole in the atmosphere, with him missing. I never thought I would wish to have him bothering me about the wishbone of the turkey.

Mom has been more of herself lately. She hasn't been as harsh or strict. But there are still moments where the strangest things will make her nervous or start to cry. Sometimes when we're in the lair, and Dad is talking about how he regrets so much, or whenever anyone brings up the Epidemic that happened so many months ago...those things just seem to send something cold down her spine. And sometimes, like times like now, there's something distant in her eyes. She's always thinking hard about something, and although I don't know what it is, I have a feeling it's always the same thing.

"Why did Rose go to the lair? Just to hang out?" I ask, tilting my head. Rose doesn't go to the lair very often, unless she's with me or Noah.

Mom pauses for a split second, and then continues chopping the fruit. She dumps the fruit into a bowl, and then rests her hands on the glass, cupping the bowl gently. She bites her lip, and then glances up at me for a moment.

"She went to get your father," she says, then looks away. "He's coming for Thanksgiving dinner."

"He is?"

"Yes." She pauses. "She asked me the other day, and I..." She tightens her grip on the bowl. "I think it's okay. He's...he's provided us with lots of information that's been helpful and he's still..." She stops, and stares into the bowl.

"He's still part of the family," I finish, drawing a half-smile.

She looks up at me again. "Yes," she says quietly. "He's still part of the family."

Neither of us moves for a few moments, and it isn't an awkward pause. It's like pausing time; just pausing time to think for a little bit. The only reason either of us moves is because the timer on the turkey goes off. I move towards the oven to take it out, but Mom pushes forward first.

"You go ahead and bring the salad and fruit to the table," she says. She smiles a small smile. "Remember what happened last time you tried to remove the turkey from the oven?"

I scoff. "That was three years ago!"

"And you've still got the scar to prove it."

"There weren't any oven mitts!"

"Paper towels weren't a very good substitute, sweetie."

"I was fifteen! Give me a break!" I carry the bowls out into the front room, and onto the table. Since we've had the kitchen door propped open while cooking, the heavenly smell of Thanksgiving has sifted throughout the apartment.

As I'm setting the bowl onto the table, the front door opens, and in walks Dad and Rose. Rose is bundled up in her pink coat and hat, but both of their noses are red from the cold. Seeing it's almost December, it's been getting colder and colder. The beautiful rustic colors of leaves are transforming to dead ones, and snow is becoming more common on the weather channel.

"It's ready," Mom says, coming out of the kitchen. She's carrying the giant plate of turkey.

Dad reaches out to help her, but she's already shaking her head and setting it on the table. He awkwardly hops back into place, and rubs the back of his neck.