Turkey Tricks [FICTION]

“I’m throwing an early Thanksgiving feast for some friends. Please tell me you are free Thursday at six.” My best friend Viv begs.

“Of course,” I accept and then glance back at the open Word document on my screen. “Unless I get too behind on my word count.”

She sighs. “Really? Since when do you pick words over food?”

“Every November since I discovered National Novel Writing Month.”

“Yes, I know. But you have to make time for me. I am your best friend after all.”

“Fine. I will make time for you, but be willing to forgive me when I show up with a pencil and a notepad.”

“Alright. I will see you and my competition on Thursday. Love ya. Bye.”

“Bye. Love ya.”

~

I outdo myself in the art of stringing words together over the next four days and even make time to whip up my coveted caramel pecan pumpkin pie. I gently place it in a pie carrier, grab a notebook and pen small enough to hide in my jacket pocket, and rush over to my best friend’s house. I arrive unfashionably early yet still struggle to find parking on her street. I don’t think much of this phenomenon since Friendsgiving and turkey hats have become all the rage again. I finally find a spot on a parallel street and walk briskly to her house.

As the door opens to my ring, I hold up my contribution. “I knew you would need one more pumpkin pie.”

Her mouth drops open as she peers through the clear lid. “That pecan caramel pumpkin wonder that I am addicted to?”

“None other.”

“I’ll just put this in the kitchen,” she fixes me with an odd look as she gently takes the pie.

I follow her into the house, but soft whispers in the living room draw me away from following her to the kitchen. Instead, I step into the living room. As my shoes click on the hardwood floors, the voices subside, so I enter a silent room to find numerous friends and relations waiting for me. Over the mantle, the word “intervention” adorned in glitter greets me. I stare at the sign for a second before taking a long sniff of the air and another to confirm that the scent of roasted turkey hasn’t permeated the house. Viv appears from the kitchen and joins the others as I finish processing.

“What exactly is going on here? I don’t smell turkey.”

“I’ll make you a turkey sandwich when we are done talking.” Viv assures me.

“But I came for fresh turkey.”

“You are going to get something much better.”

“Criticism?”

“Love, darling,” my mother interjects as she steps forward to wrap an arm around me.

Viv takes my hands and gently extracts me from my mother’s smothering embrace to guide me to the couch. She sits down and I follow.

“Bella, we worry about you every year, so we decided to do something about it this time.”

I raise my eyebrows in silent inquiry.

She pauses a moment before continuing, “Every November, you turn into a different person. We barely see you and when we do, you are typing or scribbling away. I had to promise you a lavish meal to even get you over here to spend time with me.”

“A lavish meal that I am clearly not going to receive.” I mumble.

“You are getting one next week. If you can pull yourself away from your writing long enough to attend.”

“Yes, dear,” my mother smiles, “I picked out the biggest turkey I could find, and Viv will bring her garlic mashed potatoes.”

“You mean her potato mashed garlic.” My mouth fills with saliva at the thought. “That is something else I was promised that I am not getting.”

“I will make you a deal,” Viv continues, “You relax a little with this writing obsession, and I will make you your own batch so you don’t have to share.”

“But I am so far behind.”

“On spending time with your family,” my cousin Betty says.

I sigh. Despite my desire to win all the badges available from the nanowrimo website, they have a point.

“Okay, Viv. I will be more present with you guys than my writing. Maybe that is just the change that will bring my muse around and I will finish early.”

“Maybe.” Viv fixes me with an intense stare and holds out her hand. “As a sign of good faith, hand them over until after dinner.”

“What?” I feign ignorance.

“The pen and paper that I am sure you have hidden in one of your pockets,” her eyes travel suspiciously between my jacket and my pants.

I grunt in annoyance that she knows me so well but hand them over. “So I get dinner after all?”

“I brought a sandwich tray from your favorite deli,” my mother beams at me.

“And you brought pie,” Viv adds.

“Sounds like dinner to me,” I say, wishing I had my notepad because that line would fit perfectly in my novel.

~~Clearly, I have National Novel Writing Month on mind. It helped me prep most of last year’s delightful offerings for you and I hope it gets us happily through 2022. I have so many wishes for 2022, don’t you? Right now, I just wish to stay on track with my word count. And on this the day I decided to present this turkey tale to lead us into a week of turkey obsession, both of my children returned from school with turkey headbands on their cute little heads. Protect those turkeys! Oh wait. That might be the theme of next week's post. I guess you will have to come back to see.

NOTE: Interventions are very serious. It is hard to love someone who is struggling, but it is even harder for them to admit they need help. I would refer you to places that can help, but honestly I have a few friends in recovery who had lead me to believe that it starts with the individual so keep loving them, praying for them, and sending them positive energy. When they are ready (and may it be soon), they will let you know how to help.~~