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Phoenix Wright didn’t care about Thanksgiving that much. His family only started celebrating it after coming to America and when he left for college he kinda just stopped celebrating. He thought that’s what everyone one thought about it. Then he got a very interesting- no- annoying call on his cell phone.
“Yo Nick, what are you doing for thanksgiving?”
“Nothing, since when did you celebrate thanksgiving Maya?”
“Wait so you’re telling me you’re all alone!”
“Wait, that doesn’t answer my question-“
“I’m all alone too!” Maya takes a breath though the phone “Let’s do our own thanksgiving.”
“What would we even do?” Phoenix actively shrunk in size, ready for anything.
“Well… you make the turkey and stuffing, I’ll bring the mashed potatoes and gravy, and we invite other people and everyone brings something. We can make a list.” Here we go.
“You know the only thing I can make is toast.”
“Look it up then, you can even do it on the computer, I thought I gave you a tape to help you?”
“It’s too complicated, what do I even do?”
“Click the top and type h.t.t.p.s-“
“I’ll figure it out!”
And that's how he got here. In front of the closet, Destiny’s Child in the background, sweat on his brow. The thing is the only pan or pot he has big enough for a turkey was left in the few boxes he never unpacked when he moved. That meant he was stuck swimming though old clothes, VHS, boxes for things he bought years ago, papers, textbooks, AOL disks, and any other forgotten things you can think of.
He eventually finds those old boxes, lucky there’s only two of them. He searches the first one, his middle school and high school diploma, old school project’s he was proud of then but feel petty now, an old art project, a poem he’s too embarrassed to read. He looks more, an old Backstreet Boys t-shirt he’s embarrassed to have, a picture of him and his great grandma (before she died), a family portrait, and a picture of him and Larry. No pots or pans to be found.
He moves to the next box, he tried to ignore it, but the dust is unbearable. He looks, way too many old drawings from elementary school, a family scrapbook, a few old taped episodes of Sesame Street, and a photo of him and Edgeworth as kids. He makes a choice to not acknowledge how that makes him feel, although he’s always been easy to make emotional. The last thing is one of those magnets tourists buy, WELCOME TO JAPANIFORNIA! In bright bold letters.
And after all of that… he still didn’t find a pot or pan in sight. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say he got rid of it because he never cooks anyway so why would he have a big pan for? So not only did he have to buy a pan he would never use again when he went to the store, but now he had to put everything back in the closet… goddammit Maya.
Once he did all of that he went straight to bed because he was not prepared to celebrate a holiday he hasn’t remembered for years.
And of course he woke up to a knock on the door and the emidit destruction of said door.
“Maya, no…”
“Maya, yes!”
“Happy thanksgiving Mr. Nick!” She brought Pearl with her, Pearl holding a can of cranberry sauce, great.
Before he knew it Dinner was done and people were walking through the door.
First Larry, with… sweet potato pie? “It’s my aunt Mary-Ann's recipe, Nick!”
Then Ema, with Craft Mac and cheese. “It’s the only thing I know how to cook dude.”
For some god awful reason Lotta was here, with… cream corn. “Ain’t y’all have corn at your thanksgiving?”
And last was Gumshoe with more Mac and cheese. “I’m sorry I can’t afford anything else!”
Everyone was just getting settled when one more knock came at the door.
Maya is the only one who speaks. “I thought he wouldn't come. I’ll get the door.”
“Does anyone else know who that is?” Larry is the next one who speaks.
“I don’t know, pal.” Gumshoe is number three.
Before anyone can catch up Edgeworth walks into the kitchen, delicately carrying a casserole dish.
“Hello, I apologize for my lateness.”
“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!”
“Yo, Edgy!”
“Is that what he looks like? I could fight him.”
“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth!”
Despite everyone claiming how surprised they were, Phoenix felt like the only one who was really shocked. It’s what he gets for letting Maya do everything. He just didn’t know how to feel about it. Goddamit Maya…
“I didn’t know you would be coming, Edgeworth.”
“Really?”
“Well, Maya invited everyone. I just didn’t guess she would invite you, I didn’t think she had your contact information.”
“She doesn’t, she just walked into my office.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Sorry what, you didn’t do anything.”
Everything was set on the counter buffet-style, all next to a jumbo pack of paper plates, silverware drawer open. Phoenix looked around standing in the corner, letting everyone else eat first. Gumshoe was already eating, and Larry was pouring himself a giant cup of Sprite. Edgeworth was trying his best to not wrinkle his nose at the setup while stacking up three paper plates. He was watching Maya get everything on her plate she could, except Lotta’s cream corn, in fact, not one person touched the corn, not even Lotta. All well Maya’s “Thanksgiving Mixtape” was playing in the background, which was all experimental stuff for the 70’s that had nothing to do with thanksgiving.
Phoenix looks on stuck in thought, “what's the point,” he thinks “couldn't you just make something and say that’s what thanksgiving means-“ This is when it clicked, Thanksgiving is like any other holiday, it has no meaning, nothing has it inherently. Everything that has meaning is given that meaning by others. We celebrate thanksgiving because we want to, to hang out with our family, to learn our uncle really is racist, Larry’s weirdly good sweet potato pie, because what’s more American than excessive eating on stolen land? Nothing that’s what!
“Godddamit Maya, you were right.”
And as everyone leaves, Phoenix Wright decides to do this every year. Because it’s fun. He might even keep that pan.