The Third Thanksgiving 🦃

To understand why Dillon and Blaire were fighting the Eve of Thanksgiving, you would need to understand the climate of the two prior Turkey Days.

You would need to understand Dillon and Blaire had made a pact. Neither would commit to any Thanksgiving plans without both explicitly agreeing. 

To understand why this pact was essential in the first place… 

You would need to understand the trail of devastation left over the course of two years by Dillon’s sister, Shelly.

But we’ll skip the nitty-gritty history here (Unless the nuances matter? You tell me, reader) and just leave it as…there was already a lot of built up pain when Blaire walked through the door after work.

•

“We’re going to my sister’s for Thanksgiving tomorrow.” 

“Wait. You’re kidding right?”

His face says he is definitely not kidding.

“Plans changed. It’s where my dad and everyone else is going.”

I don’t give a fuck if the Pope himself is going!

“I’m not going to Thanksgiving at Shelly’s to leave in tears for the third year in a row. Zero shot.” 

“What did you want me to say to them?” Dillon asked as if we hadn’t been over this 25 times in marriage counseling, or otherwise.

“I wanted you to say ‘Okay thank you for letting me know plans changed. Let me talk to Blaire tonight and get back to you’. Like we agreed on!”

Dillon stared at me while tears collected on my waterline, begging to fall.

“Say something!” I croaked.

Dillon said nothing.

I stormed off and drew a bath - both to sooth myself and drown out the sound of my sobs for the kids.

That night I silently cried myself to sleep on the couch.

•

“Please don’t cause a scene today...” Dillon nudged my side as we approached Shelly and Diego’s.

When have I ever actually caused a scene?

“I wont, I promise.”

We entered the house, Dillon’s hand on the small of my back and fake smiles plastered across our faces.

“Why don’t you go get a drink?” Dillon said, his demeanor suddenly shifting to compassion as if he cared about my comfort.

Yeah let’s mix “Don’t cause a scene” and “Why don’t you go get a drink?” Real smart D.

I measured (with my heart) tequila, club soda and lime over ice just in time to see Diego and Renee sneaking off to the garage.

Perfect, that’s my cue.

I chugged my mason jar cocktail and followed them to “partake”.

The door creaked and Diego spun around in panic. Renee, his sister, kept her back to me still fumbling with something at the tool box.

“Relax, it’s just me here for the devils lettuce.”

“Oh.. yeah, yeah. Let’s smoke.”

Despite my neurodivergence, I can read a room and I obviously just crashed what was supposed to be a party for two…

“That’s what you guys are out here for, right? To smoke weed?”

That is definitely not what they are out here for…

“Or are we…doing something a little harder than Mary Jane?” I continued, trying to fill the silence.

“Well…” Diego finally responded. “Have you heard that sometimes it snows in Arizona?”

“Sometimes it snows…wait, oh my god, are you guys doing cocaine?!”

“Shhhhhh!” they hissed in unison.

Do I tell them I’ve never done cocaine? That the only reason I caught the snow reference was because I had just watched the movie Blow - ya know the one from 2001 where Johnny Depp plays a character based on a real-life drug trafficker and his connections to Pablo Escobar, king of narcotics?

“You cannot tell Shelly!” Diego pleaded frantically.

“I won’t tell Shelly but…”

“Or Dillon.” Renee cut me off, her tone just serious enough to make me nervous.

“Your secret is safe with me but…”

“But nothing! You tell no one.” Renee barked before exiting the garage.

It was just Diego and I now.

“You sure you don’t want some?” he asked handing me a pre-roll and lighter.

“Oh I definitely want some of this.”

“No I mean of that.” Diego nodded toward a red ceramic plate. “It will help you drink more and I know you need that around Shelly.”

Oh he’s fishing for commentary on my arch nemesis…his wife? DENIED. Wtf was that Diego?

I ignored the statement about Shelly and asked “What do you mean it will help me drink more?”

“Cocaine kind of…sobers you up. So you can keep drinking when you’d normally tap out. It will help you keep up around here.”

I, Blaire, might be a lot of things. Including a decade long, daily using weed-head. But a drinker? I am not. This family though? Drinkers they are. So while skeptical about the validity of this new knowledge…I must admit it is an enticing offer.

Diego didn’t wait for an answer before laying out two perfect white lines.

“I’ll tell you what” he said reaching for his wallet. “Since it’s your first time skiing we’ll do it with something special.”

Note to future self - my lack of narcotics history is obvious without words.

He pulled out a $100 bill.

Wait, he can’t be for real?

Diego rolled it with precision, inhaled the top line and handed me the Benny.

Oh shit he’s for real. Like for real, for real.

“No peer pressure now that my sister is gone…” he grinned, sliding the plate my direction.

“No peer pressure.” I scoffed.

Our eyes met and lingered maybe just a little longer than they should have.

Come on Blaire. Don’t be such a square. Even Panic! At the Disco said “Champagne, cocaine, gasoline. Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

I leaned over, shoved the paper currency up my nose and…

•

…two, three, four. Diego was right, cocaine did help you drink more.

The party had mostly cleared. I couldn’t tell you where Dillon and Shelly were but I could tell you exactly where Diego and I were.

“We should exchange numbers” he said leaning in closer over the kitchen island.

Oh no he didn’t. RED FLAG. ABORT MISSION.

“Just in case, you know, you want any product…” Diego handed me his phone, a new contact file already open.

I REPEAT, ABORT MISSION.

I punched in my number anyways and handed back the phone.

“I still got it” Diego smirked.

RED FLAG. Dillon has to be right. I have to be misinterpreting Diego’s advances. This is a me problem.

Then Diego winked.

You stupid whore. You knew this is exactly where this was going and you still walked yourself right into it…

An uncomfortable giggle escaped my lips and I heard Dillon’s voice.

“Don’t cause a scene.”

Was that in my head or is he in the room?

I looked around. It was still just Diego and I.

•

Once the kids were in bed I blurted out to Dillon “Diego was hitting on me, again.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. You can never just have a good time, can you? You always have to make it about something ridiculous.”

“He asked for my number and winked at me.”

“He did not wink at you.”

“Oh-fucking-Kay. Because you were there? For the record, I gave him my number. He will text me. Just wait.”

“Blaire not every dude that looks at you or talks to you thinks you’re hot. Especially not Diego.”

“That’s your favorite line, huh?! ‘Not every guy thinks I’m hot’. How about you finally say what you mean which is YOU don’t think I’m hot.”

Dillon said nothing, retreating to our bedroom. I spent another night on the couch, tears streaming down my puffy post-partum face.