#justalilbithot

Being American, your family had a tendency to go overboard on the fourth Thursday of November. Turkeys and stuffing and cranberry sauces and rolls and croissants and potatoes and every side dish imaginable lined your kitchen, nearly making it impossible to find your way around. Your mother sat delicately in the midst of it all, counting each and every dish and imagining where it would be placed on her intricately designed dining room table. Thanksgiving wasn’t just a holiday in your family. It wasn’t just some day off from the usual comings and goings. It was something else entirely.

And that might have scared the man from New Zealand sitting on the couch in the living room. He was bombarded with various smells of the enumerating foods wafting into his nostrils and he buried himself in the sectional, trying desperately to hide from the hum of business that buzzed within your home like an electric wire.

Calum was now starting to regret his decision of wearing that slim–fitting Burberry sweater and the blue jeans he had bought just for this occasion. The sweater was tight against his biceps and the button–up he had (also) chosen hugged his wrists just a little too tight. You had told him he didn’t need to wear a stuffy outfit, telling him you liked him the way he was and your family would, too. But he refused to listen, citing his reasons as (a) I just want to impress them, doll (b) and anyways, the shirt that I wanted to wear has a stain on it and (c) this way they won’t think I’m some guy from some band sexing up their daughter. (“Sexing up?” You repeated. “Is that what you’re doing? Sexing me up?”) He really only had himself to blame.

Kids darted around the foreigner to and fro, playing games of tag and hide–and–go–seek, and Calum couldn’t help but admire your family, both extended and otherwise. They were your people. These were the people that you came home to. The poor man couldn’t help but admit that he wished he was one of them, one of the members of the secret circle that knew you so intimately and so much better than he did. Sure, he knew you had an obscene hatred for waking up before ten in the morning; he knew that if you could, you would eat breakfast for all three main meals of the day; he knew that you dreamed of living abroad. But Calum didn’t know the things these people knew. He didn’t know your favorite movie from when you were a kid and he didn’t know how you used sit under the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve hoping to catch Santa in the act. But these people did. And that thought made him burrow himself a little bit further into the couch cushions. (Just a little bit.)

“You’re Calum, right? Y/N’s fiancé?” A little girl asks, standing confidently in front of him, hands on her hips.

The word fiancé (when in regard to you ) made coherent sentences and words just a little hard to find and he blubbered for a moment before managing to shake his head. “Uh––no. N–Not fiancé. Just––um––just boyfriend. I’m just her boyfriend.”

She shrugged her shoulders and her hazel eyes twinkled in mischievousness. “But are you going to be her fiancé soon? I don’t like my other uncles. They’re boring and annoying. You don’t seem annoying, though. Or boring!” She grinned. “You should be my new uncle! You’re cool! I want a cool uncle.”

Calum spluttered and only managed to nod his head. “Oh––okay––“

A familiar, and oh–so–missed voice, interrupted his own and a body that fit into the curvatures and crevices of his plopped down next to him. “Lauren, what are you talking to Calum about?”

The little girl grinned wickedly and shook her head. “Nothing, Y/N. I was just asking him what his favorite food was.”

“Why don’t you go play with the other kids, Lauren? Dinner will be ready in an hour or so. Your Grandma is just finishing up some last minute dishes and desserts, okay?”

“Dessert!” And then Lauren was off racing into the kitchen, dreams of chocolate cake and ice cream dancing in her hazel irises.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, vaguely watching the Thanksgiving football game unfold. (Panthers v. Cowboys.) “So, Brown Eyes, how’s your first American Thanksgiving? Crazy? Unorganized? Chaotic? Ridiculous–––“

“Amazing,” Calum interrupted and you tilted your head to look up at him. “It’s everything I thought it would be. And more. I love it. Really, I do.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

You snorted. “Well, come dinner time and all the embarrassing stories and questions that will be thrown our way, you’ll change your mind. Trust me.”

Another little tyke rushed past the two of you, heading straight for the frigid and chilly backyard and you hoisted yourself out of the warm embrace of the man you loved. (Reluctantly.) “Toby, put your jacket on! It’s freezing outside!”

Calum didn’t think he would be changing his mind anytime soon.

+

“Kids! Adults! Thanksgiving is ready!” Your mother shouted above the human noise that had taken over your home. Kids came careening into the dining room, their stomachs growling and their hands grabbing for the first piece of contraband they could find. (In your household, eating, especially on Thanksgiving, before saying grace was a criminal offense.) “Kids sit at the kids table and adults sit at the adult table. Okay, everyone?” Exhausted bags were heavily concealed under her eyes and her dress was ironed to perfection. Your mother, on Thanksgiving, was the quintessential housewife.

“I don’t want to sit at the kid table, Grandma,” Lauren said indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am eight now. I’m the oldest kid here. I should be able to sit at the adult table this year.”

Your mother bent down to the little girl’s level. “The adult table is for adults, sweetheart. You’re going to have to sit at the kid table for a few more years, okay?”

“I want to sit at the adult table! I am smart. I know what you talk about. Money and the president and jobs. I can talk about all of that, too, Grandma!” You and Calum traipsed into the dining room, carefully avoiding the little tykes running aimlessly around with hungry eyes and grabby hands. “Calum!” Lauren shouted, running towards him and pulling him with her. “Tell Grandma that I can sit at the adult table, too! I can, Calum. I can!”

You watched the scene unfold.

Your mother eyed Calum somewhat warily, knowing that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place and laughed as his eyes widened in nervousness. “You want to sit at the adult table, Lauren?” She nodded her head. “Uh, okay. Well, um. How about this? After we all eat the appetizers and salad and main course, you come sit with me? At the adult table, of course. You can sit with me for the dessert, okay? How does that sound?”

“I have to sit with all the other kids for three courses?”

Calum eyed the smaller kids table and counting the seats. There was one empty seat not including Lauren’s own. “Okay, how about this, too? For the salad course, I will come and sit with you, okay? At the kid’s table. Is that okay? Am I allowed to sit at the kid’s table with you?”

Little Lauren gleamed and wrapped her tiny arms around the New Zealand man, refusing to let go. He pulled her into him, enjoying the feeling of a young one’s arms around him. (So, maybe, just maybe, he was imagining that Lauren was your own child. Sue him.) “You’re a cool uncle, Calum. Really cool.”

Your mother leaned into Calum as soon as Lauren scampered away. (Happily, might he add.) “You think you’ll manage to fit at the kid’s table? Your legs might be a little, I don’t know, long?”

Calum grimaced at the phantom feeling of squished legs. (He had felt it too much on short couches and airplane rides and long car drives.) But then he spied Lauren’s smiling face and her hazel eyes and he couldn’t say no. Not to that little tyke. “I think I’ll manage to fit. And, anyways, I’m the king of promises, Mrs. Y/L/N. Wouldn’t dare t’go back on ‘em.”

“Well,” she brushed off her dress. “I guess that’s that, then, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The remainder of the adults slowly trickled in to the dining room, glasses of wine hanging from their fingertips and dogs scampering around their feet. Your father walked past Calum, clapping him on the back before heading toward his exhausted, but accomplished, wife. “Please––“ He greeted. “Be seated.”

You gripped Calum’s hand, dragging him towards the seat you saved hours earlier for the two of you. Your oldest sister and her husband sat to the right of you while your grandmother sat next to Calum, her warm eyes drinking the boy in, trying to get a feel for the man he was. (“A good man,” you had told her countless times before. “Really, he is. Calum is a great man. You’ll love him.”)

“We are so glad that all of you are here and that you could make it to this Thanksgiving dinner. My lovely wife has cooked the majority of the delicious and appetizing food that you see on this table and in the kitchen. So, hat’s off to her! Anyways, we are just so happy that we could all be together for this holiday and that we could all meet my youngest daughter’s boyfriend, Calum. He is a nice addition to this family and we hope we see you around for a long time, young man.” The old man raised his glass to Calum and the foreigner bowed his head in appreciation. "And on that note, shall we say grace? Honey, would you do the favors?”

Hands clasped hands and you gripped your boyfriend’s loosely, unsure of he was familiar with the practice of saying grace before meals. (It wasn’t a habit that your family remembered to do at every meal, but it was a habit that they never forgot on Thanksgiving.) “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil; for Thine is the Kingdom, Power, and Glory forever. Amen.”

Amens fill the room and Calum squeezed your hand tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a quick (and somehow heart–racing) kiss to the back of your hand before placing it back into your lap. “Amen,” he said.

Lauren groaned from her vantage point at the kids table and shouted, “Get a room! You aren’t a cool uncle anymore.”

Your sister, Lauren’s mother, kicked you under the table. A smirk was painted on her features and you knew what was going to come out of her mouth. “Uncle, huh?”

“Lauren’s eight,” you said, busying yourself with passing the fried green beans to Calum next to you. “She doesn’t know what she is talking about.” (You couldn’t really blame your sister if she didn’t believe your unconvincing words, now, could you?)

Your sister grinned wickedly, elbowing her husband to watch your cheeks blush and your eyes shift to the man busy talking to your grandmother. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, little sister.”

Plates fell into your lap left and right and soon the table was alive with the hum of passing plates and scraping cutlery and side conversations. Calum continued to talk to your grandmother. Your family was smitten with the man from New Zealand and you felt the same. The feeling of your family and Calum blending into one seemed like something that was meant to happen. It was too perfect, too good, and you didn’t want the moment to end for anything.

“Oh, doll,” Calum whispered into your ear. “It’s almost the salad course. I have to go sit with Lauren, remember?” He squeezed your hand again.

You nodded your head. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Go. She’ll love you. Maybe you can get her to think you’re cool again. I know it’s a lost cause for me.”

He poked your sides and you squirmed, falling into your sister’s side. “Take it back.”

“Go,” you breathed. “Away to the kid’s table. I’ll just be here with the civilized members of this family.”

“You?” Calum questioned. “Civilized? What a thought!” He kissed your cheek as he stood up and brought his napkin with him. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“This is my family, remember?”

“Eh, yours. Mine. Ours.”

And, this time, you definitely couldn’t help the crimson stain that had overtaken your normal skin tone. Definitely not. A groan of annoyance fell past your lips and you buried yourself into the plate of food before you, desperately trying to avoid the smirks and sneers your sister and her husband were tossing your way.

“You’re so sick,” she commented. “Him just looking at you makes you blush like a little girl. Woman up, Y/N. You know that’ll only make Grandma over there start talking about weddings and engagements. She’s commented on the two of you before. Can’t wait to see what she’ll say this time.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, shoving a forkful of green beans into your mouth.

+

The main course was coming to an end and Calum had found his way back to the adults’ table, much to Lauren’s (grumpy) dismay. His free hand held your own and there was an itching thought at the back of your mind that you didn’t understand how you were so lucky to have someone like Calum (or to have Calum at all). He conversed politely with the reminder of your family, never forgetting a name or a face. Calum was perfect. There was absolutely no other way to describe him.

Your father talked sports with him, asking curious questions about Australian football (“Footie,” Calum always corrected you.) and what he thought of the Panthers v. Cowboys game. (“Well, sir, I don’t know much about American football. But I do know that the Cowboys should be glad that Romo is back. Very glad.” That seemed to please your father.) Your oldest brother joked with Calum about his old soccer days and planned to play a game out in the backyard after dinner was over. (Your mother violently objected. “It is much to cold for you boys to be playing outside in the cold! You’ll freeze to death. No, you can play FIFA. The kids have it upstairs.”) With the mischievous glances your brother and Calum were throwing around, you knew they were still planning on playing outside. (“Idiots,” you muttered under your breath.) Your sisters asked Calum about his music and that irrefutable spark flashed in his eyes again and you knew they wouldn’t be able to get him to shut up. Not this time. (“It’s amazing. We’ve got a new tour coming up. So, I’m taking all the time I can right now. I’ll be gone for––what?––eight months? I don’t really know. But it’ll be great. It’s all around the world again so we’ll get to go to really cool and new places. I’m excited.”)

You tried to forget that he was going to be gone for eight months. The idea of over half a year without Calum by your side hurt deep within you and you tried to think of something––anything––else.

But there was one conversation you were not aware of. You had left the table for just a moment to go freshen up, telling Calum that you would be right back. Your grandmother had taken this as the perfect opportunity to bring up discussions of the future. (She had a nasty habit of doing that.)

“So, Calum,” the old lady began. “You and my granddaughter have been together for how long again? My old brain forgets these things. You gotta remind me.”

He laughed, “Almost two years.”

“Almost two years,” she mused. “And where do you think these ‘almost’ two years have been leading you to?”

Calum blushed. He had had this conversation before with his own mother and remembered it just a little too well. (“You know, son, you’re going to have to decide what you want. She’s an amazing girl, Cal, and she’s here with you. Which, if you don’t mind me sayin’, is kind of insane. I see how you look at her, son. You’re in love and you’re only falling deeper each time you see her. So, what’s it gonna be? Do you see a future with her? And not just a good future. Not somethin’ you’d just settle for. Do you see a great future? An amazing future? Something better than all the movies? ‘Cause if you do, you need to make your mind up. And soon.”) Oh, yes––did he remember that conversation.

“Something more,” he answered poetically.

Your grandmother chuckled, leaning into the smitten man. “You look at my granddaughter like she’s the entire universe and you’re tellin’ me it’s only leading you to ‘something more?’”

“You know what I mean.”

“And what do you mean?”

“I mean––“ Calum stumbled over his words, visions of you in a white wedding dress with him at your side and a ring on your finger and kids that looked like the perfect mixture of the two of you dominated his consciousness. He struggled to push them to the side for this one moment. “Everything. I mean everything. With her I want everything. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. Three kids. A nice house. A couple dogs. That’s what I want. Thanksgiving dinners of our own. Something more.”

She slid back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s what I thought. And when do you want this ‘something more?’”

“Soon. Definitely soon.”

“‘Atta boy.”

Calum watched as you strolled back in to the dining room, your face glowing with something ethereal and––yes––he wanted something more right now. You smiled as you sat back in the dining chair you had left minutes before. “I miss anything?”

He shook his head, tossing your mother a sly and knowing glance. “Nothing, doll. You missed nothing.”

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

+

Lauren sat delicately on Calum’s lap, her arms wound around the man, and yawned. Food coma had struck early. (Though it was 10:43, so you assumed Lauren’s sudden exhaustion did have a point.)

Dessert had already been served and devoured by all that attended your family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Your mother’s pie collection and chocolate cake with ganache had won again (just like you knew it would) and the adults leaned far back into their chairs, their nearly pregnant bellies obvious underneath their winter attire. Murmurs and a quieter human noise hung around the table and you knew it wouldn’t be long before your mother was stumbling into the kitchen with the myriad of dishes needing washing.

Your sister nudged you on the shoulder and sighed. “Little sister, do you think Calum would mind putting Lauren to bed? It’s late and I don’t think I can get out of this chair.” She chuckled before holding onto her full stomach. You nodded your head and nudged Calum out of his chair.

“Come on, Brown Eyes,” you said. “We gotta go put this sleepy little one to bed. It’s late for her.”

Calum nodded and followed you out of the living room and up the stairs to where the children were sleeping. Something in him told him to remember this moment: the kid clinging onto him like they were his own, you with your tired and grabby hand holding desperately onto him as well, and the house that could (in some alternate universe) be your own. This was a vision of the Something More he wanted for the two of you. This was it. And it made his heart race and vision fade and hand cling onto yours.

“This is her bed. Just don’t wake her up. She can be a lil’ grumpypuss.”

He chuckled at your choice of words before unwinding the little one’s arms around his neck and placing her sleepy little body on the enticing bed below her. She stirred for a moment and Calum nearly froze, your words haunting his memory, but her eyes remained shut and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“She likes you, you know,” you told him. “A lot. I’ve never seen her like that. Not with any of her other uncles.”

Calum shrugged his shoulders. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

“Something like that.”

The two of you slowly tiptoed your way out of the bedroom and neither could help but hope that this was what your life would like come a few years time. (A little one of your own, tiptoeing out of the room you had decorated for them––a room in your own house––before heading off to your own bedroom where you lived in blissful ignorance of the chaos that was reality.)

“You’re a g–good uncle,” Lauren’s voice mumbled into the open air and Calum grinned wildly, his eyes flashing with love and affection in the dimly light room.

You couldn’t disagree with Lauren and you didn’t want to either.

“I love you,” Calum murmured as he shut the bedroom door. “A lot.”

“I know.”

“––I just . . . I want it all with you. This, I mean. Thanksgiving dinners and little tykes running around and families. I want a big family. I want us to have a big family. Two girls and two boys, maybe? And a couple dogs. And a nice house a good suburb where the kids can play footie and American football in the street and where we don’t have to worry. I want bubble baths and showers at one in the morning with you and I want to come home to you and only you. I just––I want it all. With you. Only you. And I––I don’t have a ring right now because I was planning on something with a little more je ne sais quoi but I want you to know that I plan on having all this with you. No matter what. Lauren thought that I was your fiancé when she first met me and I . . . I’ve realized that I don’t want to be anything short of that. I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I want to be your fiancé. I want to be your husband. So, yeah. Husband and wife. That’s what I want. That’s Something More.”

And if your heart had fallen out of your ribs and into your stomach and if your lungs had forgotten how to convert oxygen to carbon dioxide and if your hands fell limp at your sides––well––you couldn’t be blamed for that, now, could you? Because Something More with Calum was all you wanted. You wanted Something More today and tomorrow and forever. Seeing him with a child clinging to him only increased those feelings and you launched yourself into Calum’s arms.