Not Quite Forever (Not Quite #4)(62)
Author: Catherine Bybee

“You have an Aunt Bea?”

“No. My sister married into Aunt Bea. The woman has serious skills in the kitchen. Most times when she brings me into the kitchen she offers wine and suggests I watch and learn.”

Mary groaned. “We’re screwed.”

“It’s a turkey! And with Aunt Bea’s instructions it can’t go wrong.”

Dakota flat-out laughed. “We’re screwed.”

Monica shook her head. “Have faith, ladies. Mary,” she instructed, “start shredding the bread, Dakota, cook up the sausage, and I’ll get this bird ready.”

While Monica pulled crap from inside the bird, Dakota cooked a good pound of sausage.

“Who is this Aunt Bea and how is she going to help us?”

Monica shoved the turkey under the flow of water in the sink as she explained. “Aunt Bea is Beatrice Morrison, sister of Gaylord Morrison. That would be Jack’s dad . . . Jack is Jessie, my sister’s, husband.”

Dakota was certain something inside her brain short-circuited.

Monica paused and tried again. “My sister’s aunt through marriage.”

Dakota met Mary’s gaze. They nodded. “Aunt Bea is the cook in the family?”

“She’s amazing . . . makes it look easy.” Monica patted down the turkey and started rubbing spices over the outside. “Thanksgiving always meant burnt or undercooked turkey in my childhood home.”

Mary moved from shredding bread to chopping celery. “I had a slew of foster homes growing up. Depending on the ethnicity, Thanksgiving changed every couple of years.”

Monica paused, looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Dakota had heard parts of Mary’s story over the years and knew what was coming. “Yep. There was the Von Goosens, I don’t remember much of them. Thanksgiving wasn’t a part of their culture, I know that. Then there were the Beckers, they tried the whole turkey thing but spent most of the time drinking and we would end up with grilled cheese.” Mary sighed, moved on to the onions. “The Mendez family, they celebrated with traditional Mexican flair.”

As much as Mary tried to hide her childhood pain, Dakota saw through it.

“Suddenly my mother and all her posse of boyfriends feel much more stable,” Monica said.

Mary shrugged. “Friends are often more important than family. I’m not sure if my real parents were just kids, dead, or not willing to take on another liability.” She looked at the both of them and offered a smile. “Stop looking at me like that. We all have a past.”

Dakota moved the pan of cooking sausage off the flame and hugged her friend. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“We can all ruin Thanksgiving together. Now that’s love.”

They moved through the kitchen at that point, chopping, seasoning . . . and following Aunt Bea’s recipes as if they knew what they were doing.

When everything was cooking, or at least at a standstill, Dakota found her way to the den, where Walt and Trent were watching a football game.

With the silly apron still wrapped around her protruding waist, she sat next to Walt and kicked her feet up on the coffee table.

“It smells good in there.”

“I have no idea if anything will turn out. It’s the blind leading the blind in there.”

Walt pulled her in and kissed her forehead. “I have faith.”

“I’m a writer, not a homemaker.”

A tired writer who wanted a nap and it wasn’t even noon.

Walt ran his hand along her and rested it over her belly. “I’ll take ya anyway.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Good thing.”

Sure enough, the butterflies in her belly were becoming more frequent, she felt them now and placed her hand over Walt’s.

“Feel that?” she asked.

He shook his head but kept his palm flat.

The game continued, not that Dakota was paying attention, and then Walt stiffened by her side.

“Oh . . . shit. Did you feel that?”

“What?” Trent asked as he sipped from a beer.

Walt flattened his hand, paused. Their child moved and Walt beamed. “Was that . . . ?”

She nodded. “Looks like Junior is wishing you a happy Thanksgiving.”

Walt sucked in his lower lip, smiled when their baby moved again. “Wow.”

Dakota squeezed his hand. “So here’s the deal, Baby Daddy. I get the first nine months of carrying little Junior, and you get the next. Deal?”

Walt couldn’t look more like a kid with a giant lollypop. “Deal.”

Trent cleared his throat. “Do I need to leave the room?”

Smiling, Walt twisted toward his friend. “I can feel the baby moving.”

Trent’s eyes moved to their joined hands.

Walt waved his friend over. “C’mere.”

Before Dakota knew it, Trent was placing his hand on her stomach and waiting. When he felt it, he jumped. “Holy crap.”

After that Mary and Monica made their way into the den and Dakota’s body was no longer her own.

Somewhere between halftime and turkey time, there was toss the ball time. Walt stood in Trent’s front yard with Glen and Jason, Trent’s oldest brother, and the four of them paired off for a friendly game of football. The temperature outside was just above freezing but that didn’t stop them from pretending to be younger than they were.

Walt passed the ball to Trent and watched as the older brother took out the younger. Another pass around and Walt felt the hard edge of the earth meet his shoulder. If the men didn’t push each other to the ground, Trent’s dogs, Ginger and Gilligan, were all too happy to trip and tackle the players.

Jason and Glen were strutting, up by seven points. But when Walt tackled Glen, some of that strut turned into groans. Walt wasn’t sure what hurt more, tackling or being tackled.

“Next point wins,” Trent offered, rubbing his shoulder.

“I can go with that.” Glen ran a hand over his ass.

“There’s a reason alcohol is a favorite food group during the holidays,” Jason said.

Trent and Walt had possession and made a run for the goal.

Trent hit the ground as Jason made an attempt to capture him before the ball went over the invisible line. They came up grinning with two Irish setters licking their faces.

“It’s actually a tie,” Glen said, helping his brother up to his feet.

“Fine, a tie. Call it what you want. One more knock to the ground and I’m going to need Walt’s services.”