I guess you could say I have a lot to be thankful for this year. After all, a lot has happened. I’m thankful that I didn’t get killed by drug dealers in Boston, thankful for living in London for a short while, and I’m thankful that Justin is back in my life even though sometimes I wish that weren’t the case. Oh and a big one – I’m thankful to the pilgrims, Indians, and the little baby Jesus that I’m no longer his personal assistant.

I am not thankful, however for Trace. Who at the moment is pelting me with turkey innards and trying to get me to swear at him. My mouth has been purged clean of any profanity since being in Justin’s house save for the late night surprise Justin’s mom gave me. I refuse to drop F-bombs around his grandmother and brothers.

“Just let something slip,” he whines and I shake my head as I continue to knead the stuffing in the mixing bowl. I’ve been up since the very early morning helping the Timberlake clan prepare a Thanksgiving dinner that could feed the whole country of Lebanon. In a minute I’m about to take a break to watch the Macy’s Day Parade with the rest of the family – apparently a tradition. Something wet and slimy hits me on the cheek and I look down on the floor to see what looks to be a turkey liver limp on the ground.

“Don’t you have your own family to harass?” I question him. I already know the answer but it helps to pose a rhetorical question every now and then. Trace’s family has gone to visit his sister in Prague. She’s there on business and the majority of the Ayala family made the trek – except for Trace.

“Lo-ho you have to do it. I refuse to leave you alone until you say it,” Trace explains. He reaches into the garbage and I see he’s lugged the heart out and is ready to pelt it across the room.

“Say what?” I look up from my kneading and see Justin walk in. He makes a beeline for my direction and he kisses me soundly on the head. I give him a gratifying smile and he raises an eyebrow when he notices that there’s still slime on my cheek. “What is that?”

“Trace has been practicing his aim with turkey parts,” I explain with a dramatic sigh before I finish with the stuffing. I reach over and grab the hollow bird by the legs. It’s time to lock and load.

“Why is he doing that?”

“Because she won’t swear! She hasn’t sworn at all since we’ve been here and my world has gone into a tailspin,” Trace exalts and I hold my laughter as Justin and I roll our eyes at the exact same time.

“That’s a lie,” Justin points out, “She’s sworn since we’ve been here.”

“What? No she hasn’t!” Trace cries indignantly. I throw Justin a cautionary glance. If Trace got even the slightest word of what we did last night I’d never hear the end of it. He’d have new material to goad me with from now until the end of time. I pick up a handful of stuffing and start to shove it into the bird. Last year I was at Neal’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving…how things change.

“You’re right, she hasn’t,” Justin backtracks, “Care to fix that, dear?” He leans forward and I casually whisper a few choice words in his ear. With a shrug he looks back towards Trace, “There you go. She did it in my house.”

“That isn’t fair, I didn’t hear it!”

I respond to his offended cries by chucking a well-aimed handful of stuffing in his direction. The food hits him directly in the face and I can’t hear what he has to say because Justin and I are holding onto each other, laughing hysterically as Trace wipes the concoction from his face. He throws us a dirty look before he rushes off to no doubt clean up.

“Help me stuff the rest of this thing so we can go watch the parade,” I request and Justin doesn’t have a problem with shoving his hands into the bowl and getting them dirty. The work is done in half the time and once we’ve cleaned off our hands and placed the turkey in the oven, we find a prime spot in the family room to watch the start of the parade.

About halfway through the spectacle, Grandma Sadie, Lisa, Lynn, and a few aunts excuse themselves and rush into the kitchen to start getting the rest of our dinner started. I try to go with them, but I’m met with a huge wave of protests that guests don’t do work and I’ve been enough help for the time being.

So I snuggle into Justin’s arms and we continue to watch the parade with the majority of the men in Justin’s family and a few female cousins. It’s a strange feeling being integrated into a huge family. Mine isn’t that big to begin with and the thought of being accepted into Justin’s family without question is a heartwarming and sweet experience. For all I know my parents are somewhere in Barbados or Antarctica eating a dinner that’s indigenous to the area. My parents aren’t really normal to say the least.

All too soon the parade ends and the hours of football begins. Thankfully my sanity is saved from over levels of testosterone because dinner is announced at the start of halftime. The family takes their seats at the huge table in the dining room and the whole place is laid out in abundance.

I take a seat in between Justin and Trace. Directly across from me is Justin’s eight-year-old half-brother Stephen and Jonathan is to his right. Both their parents are flanking their sons’ sides and Lynn and Paul are situated at each end of the table. Grace is said and soon everyone is digging into their respective plates. Everything is going great, everything is fine, and everyone is talking and carrying on good conversation. That is until Stephen tilts his head back and starts to moan softly.

The conversation wavers and everyone starts to look at Stephen with a quizzical glance. I look over at Justin for a split second but I turn to stare at his brother who is moaning again. It isn’t in pain…but, it can’t be pleasure can it?

“Stephen, honey, are you alright?” Lisa questions and he nods before he squirms in his seat and offers the guttural moan again. “Stephen?”

The kid seems to come out of his reverie but not before he utters a tiny whimper that is borderline erotic. Justin never told me his youngest half brother was a freak. “Why are you making all that noise?

The little boy shrugs, “Those were the sounds coming from Justin’s room last night, I thought they were fun.”

My heart has stopped beating and I can feel the color drain from my face. Justin was putting a forkful of turkey, stuffing, and potatoes to his mouth but they have ceremoniously fallen onto his plate, and his fork clatters onto the table.

His words have an immediate effect on the rest of the family. Jonathan turns as red as the cranberry, Grandma Sadie and Grandpa William look highly scandalized, and Justin’s parents look absolutely speechless.

The only person who seems to have anything to say is Trace because he turns towards Justin with eyebrows raised, “Dude are you serious? Score!” Justin shoots him a scathing look and I begin to sink lower and lower into my seat.

‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,’ I think to myself over and over again. This cannot be happening. Haven’t his parents given him the talk about the birds and the bees yet?

“And Justin kept asking if she liked it like that…” Stephen adds and I can feel the turkey in my stomach churn tumultuously around and around. I have a feeling I’m going to vomit. This has got to be the worst moment of my entire life. I can’t look at anything except for what’s on my plate. It isn’t looking too appealing and I don’t dare look at Justin or Trace. I have to say something but I have no idea what to say. I’m sure his parents wouldn’t enjoy it if I explained the whole process to him and I don’t want to give Justin’s grandparents a heart attack.

“Uh…” heads whip in my direction to see what I have to say. I pick up my head and look at Stephen who looks confused as to why everyone is so put off by his questions, “I had a really bad stomach ache last night,” I explain. “Your brother was pressing on my stomach to see if it would make it feel better.” It is the worst lie I have ever told, but I’m hoping that the kid buys it. Everyone waits with bated breath and all I want to do is run away.

“Do you feel better now?” Stephen asks casually. I nod vigorously and take a long sip of my water. The kid smiles and starts back into his dinner, “That’s good, I’m glad,” he states. I can almost hear everyone at the table heave a sigh of relief before the majority of the table starts to dig back into their Thanksgiving dinner.

I poke my turkey with a fork and I shake my head as I try my best to down the rest of my food. I turn to look towards Justin when his hand finds mine underneath the table and gives it a reassuring squeeze. At least I know he’s standing by me right now and not ready to proclaim that I am a dirty ho who talked him into it. Last time I checked it wasn’t my idea.

Trace kicks my leg underneath the table and I look away from Justin to stare at him. He tries his best to give me an inconspicuous thumb up and I roll my eyes before I go back to my dinner. I’ll have to kill him later.

*~*~*

Thankfully dinner ends about forty minutes later and the kitchen is busy with people trying to clean up the table and head towards the family room again to watch more football and a recap of the parade on the evening news.

I’m drying the dishes that Lynn is passing off to me and Justin is putting them away. It’s a little assembly line of cleanliness and I’m glad that everyone has ignored Stephen’s outing of Justin and I this far. Everyone seems really cool about it and I hope that the kid can hold off learning about the birds and the bees for another year or two.

The general conversation is turned towards Justin and his upcoming tour. Knowing that I won’t be going with him this time around is a blessing and a curse all at the same time. Our visits will be limited since I’ll practically be living at the Beverly Hilton and he’ll be off gallivanting around the country. Work is going to get in the way and I know I could just throw away the job and stay with him, but we’d end up killing each other; I know it.

For some odd reason he can pick up on my distress and when the topics change to how wonderful the dinner was (sans Stephen’s outbursts), he grabs onto my upper arm and leans in towards my ear, “Meet me out by the car when everyone goes into the other room.”

I turn around to tell him that I will not partake in any after Thanksgiving Dinner nookie because the last time that happened his eight-year-old brother heard us, but he’s already halfway out the door.

“Football game is starting soon,” Paul announces and everyone finishes what they’ve started before they saunter towards the family room. I hang back a moment before I walk out the door Justin just ran out of. I find my way out to the front yard and Justin’s standing by the rental car with Trace standing by the passenger door and Rachel leaning against the back door. They have idiotic grins on their faces and if I were smart I would turn right around and deal with the stares from his family. But before I can put my exit strategy into effect, Justin grabs my arm and all but throws me into the back with his cousin. Laughing, he speeds off into the night.

“What the hell?” I yell loudly as I sit up and immediately put my seatbelt on. The bastard is driving like a mad man and everyone else is laughing hysterically. He’s going to get us all killed…I hate it when he drives.

“Relax Lo-ho,” Trace exclaims from the front seat. He pulls down the window and immediately lights up a cigarette. I make a face and look over towards Rachel – she’s followed Trace’s example and the entire right side of the car is engulfed with smoke. I swear to God if Justin…

“What are you doing?” I ask him as he pulls a cigarette from Trace’s pack and immediately lights up.

“I’m just having one, calm down,” he states before he takes a long drag and exhales the smoke out the window. “Here, have one,” he states before Trace shoves the pack under my nose. I push his arm away and give him a nasty look.

“I’d rather keep my lungs as black free as possible,” I state icily. I see Justin roll his eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

“C’mon Lauren, join the club,” Trace whines. You’re apart of the Millington Mob now.”

“The what?” Did I miss something – an episode of The Sopranos, a new Godfather movie? 

“The Millington Mob,” Trace repeats.

“If you’re in this car you are a part of the M. Mob. We all have nicknames too. I’m Thrustin’ Justin, as you well know…” I lean forward and smack him upside the head before he laughs hysterically, “He’s Mace Trace, Rugged Rachel, since nothing rhymes with her fucking name, and you…” his voice fades away and the car is enveloped in thoughtful silence broken only by the sound of the three exhaling their cigarette smoke. Ugh, my clothes are going to reek.

“Moanin’ Lauren,” Trace quips and the entire car erupts into uproarious laughter. I can feel my cheeks burning red and I know my temper is wearing thin.

“Perfect,” Rugged Rachel exclaims and I want to lean over and poke her eyes out with that stupid cigarette.

“And the first thing Moanin’ Lauren has to do as a member of the M. Mob is to take a nice long drag of a cigarette,” Mace Trace explicates and I shake my head as the cigarette is offered to me once more. “Have it your way,” Trace says with a shrug before he grabs the wheel from Justin’s hand and eases it over on the wrong side of the road.

“What are you doing?” I shriek. We’re still on a residential street and everyone is still in their houses enjoying Thanksgiving like normal people and not joyriding at six o’clock like a couple of idiots. But it’s only a matter of time until some car turns the corner and runs into us head on.

“I’m not moving the car back over until you take a cigarette,” Trace explains calmly. I make eye contact with Justin through the mirror and his eyes are laughing. Is this the punishment I’m getting for making noise during sex because having Grandma Sadie throwing me disheartened looks during kitchen cleanup wasn’t enough?

As if to prove his point, Trace swerves the car back and forth and my heart quickens as Justin steps on the gas. I’m going to kill both of them. I close my eyes and grip the door as tightly as possible. If I don’t say anything maybe they’ll leave me alone and stop acting like complete morons.

“Damn Justin, nearly pushing fifty?” I hear Trace’s voice, “Do I see headlights in the distance?” My eyes fly open and I see at the end of the street a pair of headlights driving straight towards us. Trace isn’t moving the car over and my heart is pounding in my chest. The three of them are watching me and Rachel offers me the pack of cigarettes. I am going to keep my head high. I will not give in and Trace is going to move the car over because he will not let us all get killed – especially not Justin.

“Tick tock, tick tock!” Justin steps on the gas and I lean forward to look at the speedometer. He’s pushing seventy-five and the car is getting closer.

“Would you stop fucking around you guys? Your little white trash jokes aren’t funny!” The car is probably a hundred yards away and we’re getting closer with each passing second. They’re not listening to me and I can feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes.

“Trace let go,” Justin says upon immediately spotting that I’m exceedingly upset. Trace shrugs with indifference and keeps his hold on the wheel. Rachel stays silent, her hand still offering the packet of cigarettes. “We’re done man, let go.”

His voice is firm but I can hear the grave calm that shows he means business. Fifty feet away. Shit, we’re going to die.

“Fine! Fine,” I shout as I snatch the box away from Rachel, “I’ll have one of your god damn fucking cigarettes you stupid ass munching troll, you happy?” Trace pulls his hands off the wheel and Justin swerves the car out of the way without a moment to spare. Justin turns down another street and slows the car to a stop. I open the car door, not waiting for the vehicle to stop. 

In a few clumsy movements I pull out a cigarette, get out of the car, and light up. I don’t have time to put up with this bullshit and I definitely don’t have time for my boyfriend to be one of the conspirators behind said bullshit being done. I take a deep drag from the cigarette and walk away from the car.

“Lauren, wait up!” he calls me back and I turn around and wait for Justin to catch up to me. “I’m sorry I scared you like that. Would you get back in the car?” I shake my head.

“There are reasons why,” I pause as I take another hit, “I don’t let you get behind the wheel of a car while I’m in it. What just happened is one of those reasons. Do you enjoy peer pressuring people into doing your white trash shit? Do you enjoy scaring the shit out of me? This is what I’d expect from an asshole boss who likes to harass his employees, not my boyfriend.” I’m being rude and I hate the look on his face while I’m giving him a piece of my mind but I need to get this off my chest or I’ll be mad at him for the rest of the trip

 I’m sucking on the damn cigarette so much that it’s almost a tiny little stub. I let it drop from my mouth and I step on it, sending ash all over the ground. Before I can stop myself, I’m digging into the pack again and shoving another cigarette in my mouth.

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke,” Justin says after I’m halfway done with my second one. I shrug as if its no big deal and I hold out the pack. He takes one out and I light it for him. “Wait a second,” he asks. I watch as he turns around and heads back to the car. He says something to Trace and I watch as his friend gets out of the passenger seat and moves towards the driver’s side. Justin walks towards me and I watch with confusion as Trace peels off into the night.

“Where’s he going?”

“He’s meeting some of our old friends at a bar. I don’t really want to go so we can walk home. It’s nice out, not too cold.” He starts off down the road and I follow suit. Soon it’s just the two of us walking and smoking in complete silence. After a few more minutes of quiet he looks back over towards me, “So you do smoke?”

“No. But when you pull antics like that and nearly scare me to death I feel like I should help myself get that one step closer to dying,” I explain before I hold up my nearly spent cigarette. “And there wasn’t a lot to do in Worden when I was younger.” I’m wondering if I should tell Justin that the first time I smoked was when Gretchen and I stole a pack of my dad’s cigarettes when we were nine years old. I was coughing for a week after that.

“Well, there’s never a dull moment around here,” Justin adds, “I’m sorry,” he mentions as an after thought.

“I hope you know that I’m driving the four of us back to the airport tomorrow. You and Lace Trace or whatever the fuck his nickname is, aren’t going to be driving for a while.”

“Whatever you say, Moanin’ Lauren,” he quips as we turn onto his street. He reaches out and grabs onto my hand as we head down the home stretch.

“And I am not Moanin’ Lauren. I swear if you start calling me that you aren’t going to be hearing much of that for a very long time, Mister.” He shuts up immediately and wraps his arm around my shoulders in an attempt to cozy up to me.

Yup, in the event of making boyfriend grovel – threaten to take away the sexy time. Works like a charm.