Turkey Day

Thanksgiving was right around the corner-- the fourth weekend of November. It was a day of giving and Hanna knew that it wasn’t something that was celebrated in the UK, but it would just slip from her mind whenever the fall breeze chilled the air and the ground turned dry. That’s what happened when something became familiar.

After Harry and Hanna got married and permanently found a new home together-- instead of Harry’s bachelor pad, which was nice and spacious, but not theirs-- Hanna had gotten used to how things worked in London, but she couldn’t ignore the empty space in her heart for a slice of home. Sometimes, she missed America more than she ever thought possible. Sure, New York gave her life experience and California let her spend time with her cousin who introduced her to Harry, but nothing represented home like Minnesota did.

She was born there, raised there, went to school there, fell in love there, got her heart broken there, met friends, lost friends. Minnesota would always be a home to Hanna, even when it wasn’t her home.

Harry could tell that whenever important American events rolled around, something was lost in his wife. She would try not to make it obvious, but he knew her better than she knew herself. So, he did what he could do. On the Fourth of July, he’d light fireworks in the backyard and grill some burgers, even though they weren’t his specialty.

Harry also wanted to make sure the girls stayed educated in American culture, because it made up so much of who Hanna was; the bright, bubbly, humble, and sort of awkward girl that he fell in love with, and woman that he married. He knew that she had sacrificed so much of her life for him and his career, it was literally the least he could do.

After scrolling through Pinterest, Hanna found a cute arts and craft project for her daughters to create for Thanksgiving, while also keeping them busy for the afternoon. If neither of them were at school and Ella wasn’t at ballet class, giving them something to do at home for more than ten minutes proved to be a difficult task.

Currently, the five of them were sat around the dining room table. Hanna was sealing the lids on multiple jars of golden glitter and Ella and Brooke were busy tracing the outlines of their small, delicate little hands-- Ella was more focused and moved at a much slower pace so that her hand cut outs were nothing short of perfect, while Brooke scribbled and got distracted way too easily-- and Harry sat on the end with a very alert one year old Grace in his lap, trying his best to keep her satisfied with the bounce of his knee while tracing the outline of her hand. She had just woken up from her nap so she was reeling to go.

Ella leaned over in her seat, her slender six year old body hunching over her little sister to curiously take a peek at her artwork.

“Yours is ugly,” she voiced.

Both Harry and Hanna shot her a scolding look and she shied away. Brooke simply shrugged her shoulders, picking up a purple crayon to color the face of her turkey. This, however, wouldn’t go unnoticed by her sister who payed more than enough attention to detail for the whole family.

“Brooke, turkey’s don’t have purple in them!”

“Mine does.” Brooke stood up on her chair to lean over the table better, but Harry immediately tugged her back down, worried she’d slip and fall.

“Turkey’s should be brown. Right, mumma?” Ella asked, a toothless grin spreading over her face. (She had just lost her fifth tooth a couple of nights ago.)

Hanna ran a hand through her first born daughters chocolate brown hair. “Usually, sweetheart. But if Brooke wants a purple turkey, she can have one.”

Ella pouted, sending another glare at her sister who had been getting on her nerves all day. That morning, Brooke woke her up before the sun was even shining, even though she knew if there was one thing in the world that Ella hated, it was getting woken up. At breakfast, Brooke didn’t wait for Harry to pour their milk in their cereal bowls, so while he quickly used the restroom, she decided to do it herself, claiming she was big and strong like their daddy. This ended in disaster when the gallon was too heavy and fell--open capped-- all over Ella when Brooke struggled to pour it.

When Ella wanted to ride the swing at lunchtime, so did Brooke. When Ella went down the slide, so did Brooke. When Ella wanted her parents’ attention… so did Brooke. She knew that she was the oldest and she tried her best to be a great big sister, but sometimes, it was hard. But Harry and Hanna weren’t oblivious, they could tell when Ella grew frustrated.

“Harry,” Hanna snapped when she looked over and spotted Brooke beginning to draw on the table.

He looked up from helping Grace hold a crayon. “Nah ah ah,” he scolded, pushing Brooke’s hand onto the paper. “We don’t draw on the table.”

She blinked at him. “But I wanna.”

Hanna put a hand over her eyes and sighed while Harry tried his best to suppress a laugh. “Just keep coloring your turkey.”

When Brooke huffed and Ella whined for the scissors, Grace grew a bit fussy watching her sisters do things on their own while she was stuck in her father’s grasp. She let out a cry and a mumble of some sort before attempting to pull herself onto the table.

“Are you getting sick of me already, little one? Is that it?” Harry cooed, pulling her to his chest with his arm placed steadily under her diaper covered butt to hold her up.

“Daaa,” she begged, grabbing onto Harry’s chin and reaching out a little arm towards Brooke and Ella.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Ella perked her head up and giggled. “She can almost say ‘daddy’, daddy!”

“I know it, she’s getting so big.” He placed both of his hands under his youngest daughter’s armpits, lifting her high and facing him, while she smiled at her sister’s voice. “You need to stop growing up, yeah? It’s not fair on me and your mummy.”

Hanna beamed a smile towards her husband, so thankful she had found someone to start a family with and share a love with. He was so good with their babies. She knew he loved them more than he loved himself and she did as well, so much that it hurt, sometimes.

“I’m big, too.” Brooke said, standing up on the chair again and stretching her arms above her head. “See?”

Harry’s bright, green eyes grew wide. “Yeah, B, I can see that.” He reached for her arm but she pulled away and interrupted.

“And when I do this,” she started, jumping up and down. “I can get really big!”

Ella and Grace started giggling at their rambunctious sister, but her parents’ hearts beat out of their chests as she inched closer and closer to the ceiling fan with every leap.

“Yeah, you’re really big, honey!” Harry exclaimed, standing up to wrap his free arm around her waist and pull her down. “But you know what big girls do? They sit down.”

“Brooke, try to sit like me, okay?” Ella instructed, sitting straighter and tucking her legs like a pretzel. “Criss-cross-applesauce!”

Brooke studied her sister’s movement. “Like this?”

Ella looked under the table to check. “Mhmm! Just like that. Good job, sissy.”

Hanna’s heart grew warm and fuzzy from their small exchange, and when she glanced over at Harry, a full-hearted, dimpled smile filled the length of his face as he watched them color. Ella and Brooke didn’t always get along, but when they did, it was the best feeling a parent could ever ask for.

Hanna pushed herself out of her seat and crept over to her husband, bending down to kiss him on the cheek and then softly to his lips. “Thank you, baby. For everything.”

He looked into her Hershey colored eyes that crinkled when she smiled. “Mmm, I love you,” he said against her lips, kissing her again. They turned their heads, admiring Ella help Brooke cut out a turkey feather, before Harry looked back at Hanna. “We’re doing something right, yeah?”

Just then, Grace pushed the box of crayons over to her sisters, and the two of them giggled. “Thanks, Gracie. We needed those.”

Hanna nodded, realizing the importance of Thanksgiving all over again. “Yeah.”