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November had brought classic autumnal storms – dark skies, writhing winds and thunderous rain, strong enough to knock tiles from roofs and tear branches from younger, inexperienced trees. Leaves smothered the driveway, returning quicker than anyone could sweep them away, forming a patchwork quilt of vibrant oranges and yellows which swiftly shifted into murky mulch as the constant rain rotted them within days. It was bitterly cold too, the sort of temperature which struck a chill into your very bones so that no amount of warm blankets or hot drinks could shift it.
On the upside, it did make the manor seem sort of cosy, in Penelope’s very official opinion. Atmospheric, what with the flames leaping merrily in the fireplace and scented candles spreading pumpkin spice from the hearth. It beat back the menace of a stormy night. Safe behind drawn curtains and an obnoxiously fluffy blanket, not even the sudden thud of branches against the window could startle her as the wind struggled to rip the roses from their trellis. She wrapped her hands around her mug and revelled in the warmth bleeding into her palms. The window rattled in its pane. Rain rushed over the glass like a waterfall.
She lifted the hologram projector onto her knees and settled back against the pillows, uncaring about her unkept hair or the faint smudges beneath her eyes where traces of mascara had escaped her makeup wipe. Sherbet was curled up as close to her side as possible and she could feel his soft fur brush against her elbow as he breathed.
“Are you even listening to me?” John sounded mildly put out. Penelope knew him better than to mistake it for true offence. “Stop doting on that dog and pay attention.”
She lowered her mug to arch a brow at him. “But Sherbet’s better company.”
“I can hang up. Do you want me to hang up? I will do.”
“You’re so melodramatic.”
“I am not.” The hologram flickered as John jolted upright quicker than the scanner could track his movements. He jabbed an accusatory finger at her. “How dare you. I am the least dramatic person in my entire family.”
Penelope let the silence settled into something pointed. “That is both inaccurate and an unfair parameter to set when defining what is or isn’t dramatic. Firstly, Virgil takes the title and secondly, can I just remind you of how utterly ridiculous your family can be over mundane things.”
“Name one occasion.”
“Do you recall when someone took the last waffle and all of you decided to ask EOS to stage an interrogation to figure out who the culprit was, only for it turn out to be one of the cleaning bots which had tided the kitchen when you were distracted?”
“That’s an exception.”
“I have known you claim to be dying from the common cold.”
John flailed for a retort and came up empty handed. He flopped back into his nest – alternatively known as a heap of blankets and a beanbag in the Den, because he was down planet-side for the final week of November and had spent the entire time complaining about the lack of controlled temperatures; Penelope dreaded to imagine how he’d fare in the UK at current – and flung up his hands dramatically, only adding more evidence to back Penelope’s case.
“I don’t like this game anymore.”
“Stop sulking, John, it’s not very becoming of you.”
“You are a terrible person.”
“Thank you. I’ll file that observation under the lies and slander section.”
“And you say I’m dramatic.”
“I never claimed not to be dramatic myself,” she pointed out, trying not to laugh. “I merely observed that you are also.”
There was a distant clatter, sort of echoey which proved it was from John’s end of the line rather than due to the final somewhat inevitable destruction of the rose trellis. Penelope petted the fluffy blanket absently as she waited for John to draw his attention away from whichever culprit was skulking in the doorway to the Den. Based off John’s exasperated expression it was either Scott or Gordon.
“Who are you talking to?”
She was suddenly very conscious of the mascara smeared beneath her eyes. There were actual tangles in her hair from her evening walk with Sherbet – the wind had threatened to carry them both away and it would take more than a few strokes of a brush to comb out the resulting knots. Also, she was in her old, comfy pyjamas which were probably the least stylish outfit in her entire wardrobe. They were meant for mornings-after-the-nights-before, or bad breakups, or judging mediocre people on daytime television with John whilst consuming concerning amounts of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. The only person other than John who got to witness her in this outfit was Sherbet. And Parker, obviously.
She repressed a sigh. “Good evening, Gordon.”
“Oh, hi Penny!” Gordon ducked his head into the realm of the projector to greet her with a blinding grin. “I don’t know why I asked, to be honest. Who else would Johnny be talking to? He doesn’t have any other friends- Ow, John! That hurt! Oh my god, why are your elbows so sharp? I think you actually broke my ribs.”
Penelope caught John’s eye.
“See? Dramatic,” she mouthed.
John levelled her with a sarcastic smile and returned to shoving Gordon away from the projector. A series of outraged squawks were swiftly muffled as John smothered him with the blanket and gave him a firm shove towards the door. There was a dull thud followed by another dramatic sigh.
“Really?” John looked to be questioning his own sanity. “Why can’t you just leave?” He turned back to the projector to explain, “He’s decided to faceplant onto the sofa and remain there so that he can haunt me.”
“I’m a delight,” Gordon sang, muffled by the sofa cushions and the blanket he had yet to escape from. “My presence is a blessing, and you should be grateful.” He rolled off the sofa and sidled back into view, legs still trapped within the blanket so that he resembled some sort of deranged caterpillar. “Have you asked her about Thanksgiving yet?”
Penelope set aside her mug to offer her full attention, interest piqued. “I haven’t heard anything about Thanksgiving, no.”
“Really?” Gordon socked John in the shoulder. “Dude. You had one job.”
John sent him a long-suffering stare. “Why are you still here?” He held up a hand before Gordon could go off on another tangent. “Anyway, Pen, we wanted to know if you’re planning to stay for the full weekend or if you’re just visiting for Thanksgiving?”
There was a short pause.
Penelope threaded her fingers through Sherbet’s short fur and attempted to collect her thoughts. Emotions were a complex web holding her voice captive and, when she finally spoke, she couldn’t keep the fondness out of her words.
“I’m invited to Thanksgiving?”
John just looked at her before replying in the sort of voice that suggested she was a complete idiot, “Yes.”
“Duh,” Gordon chimed in, shoving John aside to make room on the beanbag. “Parker’s invited too. You guys are part of the family, obviously you’re invited.”
“Well yes,” Penelope replied haughtily, trying to appear unaffected despite internally screaming, “but I thought perhaps we wouldn’t be included.” She fumbled for a feasible excuse. “Because we are British and therefore do not celebrate your problematic holiday.”
And also because you’ve never had chance to properly celebrate Thanksgiving in almost all the time I’ve known you because at least one of you has always been either in hospital, running headfirst into danger or literally not on this planet, so I assumed this would be a blood relative only deal given it’s the first time you’ve had that option.
She decided against voicing that particular thought. John already looked exasperated enough to somehow take her by the shoulders and shake some logic back into her head, despite being halfway around the world and only present in hologram form.
Gordon, on the other hand, just looked baffled, as if the idea of Penelope not being included had never so much as crossed his mind, let alone been a viable option. His hair was stuck on end as if he’d been electrocuted – a result of still being damp from his swim and nearly suffocated by John’s blanket – and he was slowly but surely pushing John off the beanbag entirely.
Thanksgiving was bound to be complete chaos. And yet. Penelope was overwhelming honoured to be invited. She was almost moved to tears. She concealed this danger by lifting Sherbet onto her chest and burying her face in the silky fur on his head.
“You still haven’t answered the question,” John pointed out with that knowing glint in his eyes which proved he knew exactly what she was thinking but had the good grace not to call her out on it in front of Gordon. “Any pressing weekend engagements?”
“I’m sure I can clear my schedule.”
“Good. Make sure you do.”
“Don’t order me around.”
“Yeah, John,” Gordon chimed in. “You can’t order Penny around. She’s a lady.”
John looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Don’t be fooled by that smile. She’s a menace. Don’t let her charm you.”
“Too late,” Gordon quipped without thinking and promptly flung himself out of view as his own words dawned on him. “I mean, uh, I- Oh wow, I totally forgot I’m supposed to meet Brains and talk about Four’s, um, upgrades, yeah, so- Bye!”
John shot Penelope a questioning look. “Are you sure you want to put up with this insanity for a full four days?”
Penelope shrugged. “We’re family,” she replied, unable to fight her smile. “Chaos comes as part of the package.”