Thanksgiving

For the first time in your life you were going to cook an actual Thanksgiving dinner. You had it all planned out so nicely with recipes you had gotten from a friend’s grandmother and now all the ingredients were laid out in front of you. You tried not to feel overwhelmed by all the work you had ahead of you. You repeatedly told yourself ‘how hard can it be?’ like a mantra. You just had to follow the recipes, right? It would be a piece of cake if you only put your mind to it.

It wasn’t a piece of cake. You came to terms with that just a few minutes in when you managed to drop the damn turkey on the floor. You groaned and rinsed it off to the best of your ability, but still tried to stay brave throughout the process of preparing the meal. Nothing went right from there. The stuffing took ages to make and you nearly chopped your finger off while chopping the vegetables. The knife luckily just cut through your fingernail and a little bit into your fingertip, but it bled a lot before you managed to get it cleaned and put a bandaid on it. When it was finally time to stuff the turkey, the damn cadaver ended up on the floor for the second time. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down as you felt the rage build up inside of you.

You rinsed the turkey off for the second time and rather unmildly forced the stuffing into the hole with a gloved hand. You soundly slapped the turkey before finally putting it in the oven. You had four hours of preparing the other foods before you had to take the turkey out.

You went ahead to start with the gravy, which apparently also had a very long cooking time. You sighed repeatedly as you chopped yet another onion, your eyes watering up so much that you could hardly see the knife in your hand. Determined not to cut yourself again, you were extra careful, which made it take longer before you were done chopping. The extra time caused even more frustration as you looked on the clock. When it was time to put some garlic into the gravy, you nearly dropped it on the floor, but you managed to catch it midair at the expense of your head which slammed into the kitchen worktop. You gasped in pain and grabbed a package of frozen peas to ease the throbbing ache in your forehead.

That’s when things went downhill, even more so than before. You felt the smell of something burnt. It was the God forsaken turkey. You had accidentally put the oven on maximum effect you realised once you glanced in that direction and saw the smoke. You instinctively opened the oven and took the baking sheet out with an oven mitt. But the sheet got too hot anyway, so you dropped the entire thing on the floor. On top of it all, the smoke alarm went off, and you could see from the corner of your eye that the gravy was boiling over.

“Fucking hell! I hate you!” you shouted at the darkened piece of turkey lying on the floor. It truly had defeated you. You didn’t even want to try to save it anymore, just destroy it like it had destroyed you. You removed the saucepan from the stove, before deciding to deal with the beeping smoke alarm. You angrily grabbed a broom and hit it several times before it finally fell to the floor and grew silent. You proceeded to hit the turkey with the broom as you shouted in despair at how it had ruined your entire Thanksgiving.

You were interrupted in your combat against the dead piece of meat on the floor by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Biting your lip in embarrassment at your own childish behaviour, you dropped the broomstick and proceeded to answer the door. You couldn’t exactly ignore the doorbell after all the noise you had just produced.

Before you stood a tall handsome man with his brown curly hair brushed back. His blue eyes were filled with concern as he looked at you. Your heart nearly stopped as your brain processed who it was. You knew this man! Or rather, you knew of him.

“Are you alright?” he asked concernedly and you felt your eyes watering up. It was really him, Tom Hiddleston himself, standing there asking if you were alright.

“No, I’m not,” you told him truthfully.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked and you couldn’t help but nod in response. Someone had hurt you, emotionally.

“Who? Is he still here?” Tom asked and glanced over your shoulder, into the apartment.

“I’m not sure if it’s a he or a she,” you respond honestly. “But he or she is on the floor in the kitchen.”

“Is the person unconscious?” he wondered as he pulled out his phone, presumably to call the police.

“It’s dead,” you replied and put your hands on top of his hands to stop him from calling the police.

“Dead?!” he questioned, his mouth falling open with surprise. “You killed someone in self-defense?”

“It was already dead when it got here,” you assured him, stepping aside to let him in.

“It?” he asked confusedly. “I’m sorry Miss, but you’re not making any sense. Perhaps you’re in shock. You should probably sit down.”

“I should probably just show you,” you said, feeling a bit bad for letting him think there was a dead human body inside your apartment. You entered the kitchen together and he frowned at the mess in there.

“Is this where you were fighting?” he asked and you nodded in response.

“This is where it went down,” you replied solemnly.

“And where is the body?” Tom asked seriously.

“Right there,” you said and pointed to what was left of the turkey on the floor. “Like I said, it was dead when it got here.”

“I don’t quite understand what happened here. Who hit you?” Tom asked confusedly.

“Oh no, nobody hit me. I’m so sorry for giving you that impression,” you apologised, your eyes watering up again, but this time not from cutting onions. What had you been thinking, letting him think you had actually gone through a physical fight with someone?

“Then what happened here?” he wondered, biting his lip slightly to suppress a smile.

“I’m never, ever cooking a Thanksgiving meal ever again, that’s for sure,” you told him.

“But why are you hurt if you didn’t fight anyone?” Tom asked inquiringly, seemingly trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m hurt?” you asked confusedly.

“You should probably take a look in the mirror,” Tom suggested.

You went to look in the mirror and grimaced at the sight of yourself. Your face was a mess. You had managed to get some soot underneath your eye, making it look like you had a black eye. In your forehead there was a swelling and a bruise from when you hit your head on the worktop.

“Oh,” you uttered at the sight of yourself and suddenly felt mortified for letting Tom see you like this. “I really need to wash up,” you said, all of a sudden feeling very emotional as you looked at the mess in your kitchen.

“I will help you clean up,” Tom offered kindly.

“Really?” you asked incredulously.

“Of course, I’ll be happy to. It’s not everyday you meet a woman so beaten down by a Thanksgiving dinner. I figure you could use a helping hand,” he told you. You laughed and cried at the same time at his words. You truly had been beaten down by the Thanksgiving dinner you had been so dead set on making.

“Thank you so much,” you cried. “Sorry for crying.”

“Come here,” Tom offered and embraced you. You hugged him back, thinking briefly about how you were probably messing up his nice shirt with soot from your face. Then you smiled. Tom had with his mere presence managed to turn this into the best Thanksgiving ever.