Page 118 of How to Prevent a Fumble
A second later, Leo pulls me into a hug, and I hate the way he smells like home, even a sweaty mess.
“Thank you,” he whispers onto the top of my head.
35
LEO
My sister answers her door on the twentieth knock.
“What do you want?” she asks bleary eyed.
“You’re making the pies like usual, right?”
She rolls her eyes, gesturing behind her to the kitchen. “I have like fifty pounds of flour in my kitchen. Yes, I’m making the pies for you like usual.”
“Okay, thank god,” I mutter as I head back to my apartment without another word.
Slamming my door, I make my way back to my kitchen, immediately pulling up all the recipes I’ve been looking at for the last few days.
“You okay?” Briar’s voice filters into the room from the hallway, and I nearly pull something as I straighten as if caught doing something I shouldn’t be.
“Uh, yeah, everything is fine. Just, you know, going through everything I need to get done for this Thanksgiving dinner for the team tomorrow.”
Since I started with the Cobras, I’ve been throwing a Thanksgiving feast for everyone who can’t go home. Since we’re waist deep in the football season, most of us can’t go home to our extended families, and especially after myparents moved overseas, I just wanted to give my chosen football family something to look forward to during the holidays.
It’s become a tradition, with everyone looking forward to it.
Each year, I like to do something different with the turkey. Whether it be the year I deep fried it with the help from the local firehouse, or baking it in weird ways, I love experimenting with the multiple turkeys we serve the dozens of people who come through.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I watch as she walks further into the kitchen, her short shorts leaving my mouth feeling dry.
“Uh, well, I guess you’re putting together a cookbook, so you can help me make some decisions.”
She nods, sitting down at the counter and folding her hands in front of her like this is some kind of fucking business meeting.
“Which idea do you think is best? A turducken, a bacon-wrapped turkey, or a turkey deep fried in lard?”
She thinks for a second, her face twisted in confusion. “Why would you do any of those?”
I slap a hand to my face. “Briar. There are some traditions you just can’t change.”
“And your traditions include absolutely insane ways to cook a turkey?”
I rear back. “Yes? Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, I was just checking.”
“Okay then help me.”
She thinks for another moment before propping her chin on her hands. “Well, how many turkeys are you going to need?”
“Probably five.”
“Five?”
“Yeah. That’s on the low end. Maybe more.”
“Okay, well then it depends on whether you want to wrap five plus turkeys in bacon. Because I don’t think deep frying five or more turkeys is a smart idea, and I forget what kind of monstrosity a turducken is but frankly, the name scares me.”
