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Thanksgiving

Luke:

“So what exactly is Thanksgiving?” Luke asks from the passenger’s seat as you drive to your parents’ house.

“It’s a day when the Pilgrims and the Native Americans finally got along, like two hundred years ago. They got together for a huge dinner and ate together and shit,” you shrug, turning the corner.

“Wow. So you just get together and eat at Thanksgiving?” Luke asks again.

“Yeah. The boys watch football and the girls bitch to each other about some relative they don’t like,” you explain.

“So why’s it called Thanksgiving?” Luke asks.

“Cause the Pilgrims and Native Americans each brought food to share. And they were thankful for the food, therefore, Thanksgiving. I forgot half of the reason for Thanksgiving, Luke, it’s been like ten years,” you sigh.

“Whatever. All I care about is the food,” Luke replies.

“And that’s why you’re my boyfriend.”

Michael:

You wake up in the middle of the night to a suspicious noise coming from downstairs.

You’re still tired after a busy day of Thanksgiving, but you turn to Michael to wake him up to inform him about the noise.

He’s gone.

You sigh and stand up, grabbing the baseball bat from under the bed that Michael stored in case Luke broke in while the two of you were sleeping.

You walk down the stairs and turn into the kitchen, noticing the fridge light shining on red hair.

“Michael?” You whisper.

“Y/N, did I wake you up?” He asks a fork raised halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah. What are you doing?” You set down the bat, walking towards him.

“I woke up craving your Grandma’s pumpkin pie. So I got some,” he motions to the tin container in front of him. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You sigh, going to the utensils drawer.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks.

“Getting a fork. Save some for me.”

 

Ashton:

“I don’t see why we’re doing this,” your seventeen year old son, Ryker, groans.

“It’s an American tradition,” you sigh, placing the mashed potatoes down on the table.

“But we aren’t even American,” your eleven year old son, Collin, points out.

“Your mom was born in America,” Ashton informs the four kids as he walks in with the turkey.

“But she doesn’t live there anymore,” your nine year old son, Drew points out.

“I did at one point so shut up and accept the tradition,” you snap, fed up with the kids’ attitudes.

Your family of six has barely started the dinner when Ashton speaks.

“So, why don’t we go around the table and share one thing we’re thankful for. Do you want to go first, Alana?” Ashton asks your thirteen year old daughter.

“Sure. I’m thankful for Steven Tamron following me on Twitter,” Alana announces.

Everyone at the table groans as she says her favorite band member’s name.

“Will you shut up at him?” Collin asks his sister.

“GAY!” Ryker yells.

“Shut up and eat your broccoli,” you warn him.

“I don’t even like broccoli,” Ryker whines.

“Then grab the corn, but leave your sister alone.”

“It was because she was the same way about me,” Ashton smirks.

You reach over and hit his (firm) bicep, but nod, agreeing.

“And the two of you ended up getting married… am I going to marry Steven?!” Alana gasps, her face lighting up.

Your three sons groan.

“Way to go, dad. Now I’m going to have to scare Steven away from her,” Drew grumbles.

Calum:

“Calum get in here!” You yell for your fiancé in excitement.

He runs into the room. “What? What happened?!”

“Look at Nina!” You cry, laughing.

Calum bursts into laughter after looking at your ten month old daughter.

“Is she a turkey?” Calum asks.

“Nina’s a turkey,” you confirm through your laughter.

“She looks so cute, I could eat her,” Calum grins at the baby who stares at him expressionless.

“Don’t eat the baby, she’s so young!” You gasp in dramatic effect.

“I’ll just eat you instead,” Calum smirks, pulling you into his arms.

“Baby number two?”

“He’ll be a pilgrim.”

Nina's cute little turkey costume is the picture