A Frantic Thanksgiving

Michele Abete and her husband's marriage is starting to hit the rocks and she hopes with the holidays approaching, that she will be able to use the holidays to save it.

The smell of turkey lingered throughout the house as Michele ran frantically upstairs trying to find her table settings. She had a family dinner in five hours and nothing was ready except the turkey. Why had she not thought of getting the table settings out earlier? No one was home to help her. Her husband was out buying the ingredients for the pie that had still not been baked. Her two kids, save her oldest daughter, were at her parent's until dinner time was ready. Finally Michele had found the box that was labeled 'Thanksgiving' and hauled it downstairs. 

"I'm home!" Her husband, Scott shouted brushing a thin layer of snow off of his coat. 

Michele sat the box down at the foot of the stairs and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. "You're the best. Just go sit the things down on the counter and I'll pour you and I a glass of wine." Michele went back to her box and moved it out into the dining room area. Everything had to be perfect. She sat the box back down by the table and went down into her basement, which she had renovated into a wine cellar and grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir. Michele wiped the dust off the bottle and went back upstairs. The moment Michele opened the bottle of wine, her nose was filled with the fragrance of aged wine. 

Michele walked back into the living room, handing Scott his glass of wine. "Cheers that tonight goes as planned." The glasses made a clinking sound when they hit each other. Michele looked out her window, which had a thin layer of frost on the outside. The weather was perfect for a Thanksgiving dinner. A light snow was falling from the grey sky and the wind could be heard gently singing songs of holiday joy. She looked at her husband and gave him a faint kiss on the lips before patting his knee and going back into the kitchen to start on the apple pie that everyone was looking forward to. 

The End

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