Chapter 22: THANKSGIVING PREP
The knock came at 8:15 on a Sunday morning.
I opened my door to find Ted Mosby standing in the hallway, still in pajamas, holding a coffee mug that said "World's Okayest Architect." Behind him, I could hear Marshall's voice from apartment 4A, something about cranberry sauce temperatures.
"You're coming to Thanksgiving," Ted announced.
Not a question. Not an invitation. A statement of fact.
"I am?"
"You are. Thursday. Our place. We're doing the whole thing—turkey, stuffing, gratitude speeches, Marshall crying about his mom's recipes. The works."
From inside 4A, Marshall's voice: "I don't CRY about the recipes! I get emotionally moved!"
"He cries," Ted said flatly. "Anyway, you're coming. Lily already added you to the headcount. She's making her grandmother's green bean casserole, even though she tells her mom it's her mom's recipe. It's a whole thing."
I leaned against my doorframe, processing the information. Thanksgiving. A real Thanksgiving, with people who considered me part of their group. In my previous life, I'd spent most holidays working—the ER didn't close for turkey day, and someone had to be there when family arguments turned into medical emergencies.
In this life, I'd been dead for two months before waking up here. I hadn't thought about holidays at all.
"What should I bring?" I asked.
Ted's face lit up. "See, that's what I like about you. No false modesty, no 'oh, I couldn't possibly.' Just straight to logistics." He considered. "Dessert. We need dessert. Marshall's handling the turkey, Lily's doing sides, I'm in charge of ambiance—"
"Ambiance?"
"Candles. Music. The overall FEEL of the evening, Ethan. Very important."
"Right."
"Robin's bringing... something Canadian, we're not sure what. And Barney volunteered for entertainment, which honestly terrifies me, but we couldn't talk him out of it."
"I'll handle dessert," I said. "I know a baker."
The words came out before I fully processed them. Victoria's bakery—I'd walked past it last week, seen her through the window, remembered her from the pilot episode that existed only in my meta-knowledge. The woman who was supposed to meet Ted at a wedding, supposed to start something complicated, supposed to be part of the romantic chaos that defined this universe.
But that was canon. And I wasn't sure canon applied the same way when there was a matchmaker living across the hall.
"Perfect. Dessert guy. I'm putting you down as dessert guy." Ted pulled out his phone and typed something. "Okay, planning meeting at MacLaren's tonight. Seven o'clock. Be there."
He retreated back to 4A without waiting for confirmation, leaving me standing in my doorway with a Sunday morning I hadn't planned and a Thanksgiving invitation I hadn't expected.
[Social Milestone: Holiday Inclusion]
[Host has been accepted into primary social group]
[+100 EXP for community integration]
MacLaren's was already loud when I arrived at seven.
The gang had claimed their usual booth, but the energy was different tonight—more chaotic, more animated. Marshall had a notebook open, filled with what appeared to be a detailed schedule broken down into fifteen-minute increments. Lily was arguing with him about oven temperatures. Ted was sketching candle arrangements on a napkin. Robin looked mildly bewildered, and Barney was wearing a pilgrim hat he'd apparently purchased from a costume shop.
"The dessert guy arrives!" Marshall announced as I slid into the booth. "What are we looking at? Pies? Cakes? Some kind of elaborate French pastry situation?"
"Pies," I said. "I'm thinking pumpkin and apple. Maybe something else if they recommend it."
"'They'?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "You're outsourcing?"
"There's a bakery on the Upper West Side. Buttercup. The owner's supposed to be incredible."
"Supposed to be?" Ted looked up from his candle sketches. "You haven't been there?"
"Going tomorrow." I flagged down the waitress for a beer. "I've heard good things."
The planning continued around me—who was arriving when, what dishes needed what prep time, whether Marshall's turkey-carving skills were up to the task (Lily: "Remember last year?" Marshall: "That was ONE TIME and the knife was defective").
Robin leaned over to me, looking genuinely confused. "So American Thanksgiving is in November?"
"Fourth Thursday of November, yeah."
"Canadian Thanksgiving is in October. Second Monday."
"I've heard."
"So you've been doing this wrong the whole time. November is way too late for harvest gratitude."
"I think the Pilgrims were working with what they had."
"The Pilgrims were making it up as they went along." She took a sip of her scotch. "Respect, honestly."
I watched the group while they debated stuffing recipes—Marshall advocating for traditional, Lily insisting on her grandmother's sausage variation, Ted somehow trying to connect it to architectural principles. Their strings pulsed with the particular energy that came with holiday proximity.
Marshall and Lily's connection was rock-solid, as always—a thick golden rope that practically glowed with stability. Nine years together had built something that holidays only strengthened.
Ted's string to Robin was another matter. The bright red knot I'd noticed on day one had tightened over the past months, pulsing with an intensity that suggested holidays were not helping his obsession. Every time Robin laughed, every time she touched his arm casually, the knot flared brighter.
Robin's strings remained chaotic—multiple threads leading in different directions, none of them committed. She wasn't ready for what Ted was offering, and her strings showed it clearly.
And Barney's obscured string flickered occasionally, hidden behind whatever barriers the system couldn't penetrate. He needed to grow before his match became visible. I wondered if he even knew he was waiting for someone.
[Holiday Proximity Effect Detected]
[Emotional density increasing across observed connections]
[Note: Ted Mosby's Robin-fixation intensifying. Monitor for holiday-related escalation.]
"Earth to Ethan." Lily snapped her fingers in front of my face. "You zoned out. What are you thinking about?"
"Pie flavors," I lied smoothly. "Trying to decide if I should add a third option."
"Go wild. More pie is always better." She studied me for a moment, that familiar calculating look that had softened since her investigation last week. "You know, you're different than I thought."
"Different how?"
"When you first moved in, I thought you were... I don't know. Weird. Not bad-weird, just weird-weird. But you're actually kind of..." She struggled for the word. "Normal. You just know things other people don't."
"Comes with the job."
"I guess." She turned back to the stuffing argument, leaving me with something that felt almost like acceptance.
Barney chose that moment to stand up, pilgrim hat firmly in place.
"ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF THIS BOOTH. As entertainment coordinator for Eriksen-Aldrin Thanksgiving 2005, I am pleased to announce that I will be providing a series of games and activities designed to maximize festive engagement and minimize family-style awkwardness."
"What kind of games?" Ted asked warily.
"The kind that involve revealing secrets and making poor decisions." Barney grinned. "It's going to be LEGENDARY."
"That's what I was afraid of," Marshall muttered.
After MacLaren's, I walked home through streets that were starting to show the first signs of holiday decoration. Shop windows with harvest displays. Restaurants advertising Thanksgiving specials. The particular energy that came with the end of November, when everyone suddenly remembered they were supposed to feel grateful for things.
Back in my apartment, I looked up Buttercup Bakery on my phone. The website was simple—photos of incredible-looking pastries, a menu, an address. And a photo of the owner: Victoria Collins, smiling in front of a display case.
She looked exactly like I remembered from the pilot—kind face, warm eyes, the particular confidence of someone who was good at what they did. In the show, she'd met Ted at a wedding. Fallen for him. Become part of the romantic tangle that defined his journey toward Tracy.
But that was years away, if it happened at all. Right now, she was just a baker. And I was just a customer.
I'd go tomorrow. Order pies. Be professional.
My heart rate didn't need to increase.
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