Work Text:
Every Sunday at three o’clock, Carson took her spot on the couch and Greta took her spot at the kitchen counter, both poised and ready for their respective phone to ring. It was always a competition to see who answered first. There were frequent arguments over who had more advantages -- Carson’s phone was lower, which meant she had to sit while Greta’s was mounted on the wall and therefore she had to lean over the counter, losing her precious time.
This Sunday, when the phone rang at exactly three, it was Greta who won.
“Hey there chickadee,” she said smugly. “This is your favorite mother speaking.”
“Hey now!” Carson huffed. Greta could hear her both through the phone and down the hall. “It’s not my fault I was switching the laundry. A woman can only multitask so much.”
“Hi Moms,” said Kit teasingly. “Don’t worry, you’re both my favorites.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Greta pouted as she curled the phone cord around her finger. Her heart still swelled at the plural ‘moms’.
“Don’t worry I’m just saying that to make Mom Number Two feel better,” Kit fake whispered. “But you do get a point for promptness.”
“I was switching the laundry!” Carson insisted. Greta grinned as she leaned against the counter. Flustered, slightly angry Carson was always one of her favorites.
“Uh huh. Sure, darling,” Greta called down the hall. A disgruntled growl greeted her in response, but Greta could almost hear the smile in Carson’s voice. Greta turned her attention back to Kit. “So how’s October in Poughkeepsie? Any snow yet?”
“No snow, thank god. Although I did have to pull out my hat collection yesterday, so I don’t think it’s far off. Last year we got our first snow on Halloween, remember?”
“How could we forget?” Carson asked. “That blizzard came through the city, too. We were stuck inside for what, two days?”
“Mhm,” Greta confirmed. “And someone still went out to a party in said conditions, if I remember correctly. Dressed as -- what was it again?”
“A female Paul McCartney,” Carson reminded her. “In a mini skirt, if memory serves me right.”
“Oh yes, that’s right.”
“Look, we’ve talked about this. It was Ruby’s 21st birthday,” said Kit defensively. “I couldn’t not take her out on her birthday.”
“You could’ve at least worn pants,” murmured Carson. Greta was about to agree, when Kit cut her off.
“Alright parents,” she huffed. “I don’t have much time, but I do have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Greta straightened up, folding her arm across her chest and clutching the receiver.
Usually, these Sunday conversations just flowed naturally. They’d started when Kit was a freshman and so homesick she practically begged Carson and Greta to let her come home. Now Kit was a senior, and even though she was happy as a clam up at Vassar and already dreading graduation, she still made time to talk to her parents every Sunday. She told them about her classes, her friends, all of the shenanigans she got into. In turn Carson and Greta gave her updates on all things Manhattan. The three of them would poke fun at each other and laugh and laugh and laugh. It was a time for them to be together, even though Kit was still so far away.
But rarely did Kit have something particular to talk about. The idea alone made the hair on the back of Greta’s neck stand up. Was something wrong?
Carson peeked her head around the corner, the phone still clutched to her ear. She cocked her head.
Do you know what this is about?
Greta raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
No idea.
“Alright, what’s up?” Greta asked as Carson’s head popped back into the living room. She could hear Kit take a deep breath.
“It’s about Thanksgiving. I was wondering -- you can say no, I’ll completely understand. In fact, maybe I just shouldn’t ask. I don’t want --”
“Kitty, you’re rambling,” Greta said gently. Between Carson and Kit, she’d lost count of the number of times she had to redirect conversations like these.
“Just ask,” Carson added. “It’s okay.”
“Right,” Kit took another breath before finally asking, “Well, I was wondering if I could bring someone home with me? For Thanksgiving?”
Greta’s eyes widened, a smile spreading across her face. She knew Kit had dated here and there, but to her knowledge, she’d never come close to bringing one of said dates home for a weekend, let alone a holiday.
Once again Carson popped around the corner, this time her eyes just as wide as Greta’s.
“You want to bring someone home for Thanksgiving? As in a date someone?” Carson asked, her eyes still locked on Greta.
“Uh, yes?” Kit said nervously, her voice about two pitches higher than normal.
“Katherine Gillian Shaw are you in a relationship ?” Greta asked, unable to contain herself. “Tell me everything! What’s their name? How did you two meet? When did you two meet? Are they cute? Mama Geeg needs details.”
“Geeg…” Kit practically whined. Greta knew she had to be blushing.
“Sorry, sorry. This is just so exciting!” Greta gushed.
“Start with their name,” suggested Carson.
“His name. Okay. Yes. His name is Jack,” said Kit. Carson and Greta gave each other a look. So she was dating a boy. “We started dating in August. We met at Lola’s, that bar I told you about? And he’s really cute -- like the most gorgeous, handsome boy I’ve ever seen.”
“Aw, Kit!”
Greta could see Carson melting from across the room, and for good reason. Based on the lightness, the excitement in Kit’s voice, their girl was smitten.
“Jack,” repeated Greta, nodding in approval. She loved this. “Short for Jackson? Or just Jack?”
“Well…” Kit said slowly. “His name used to be Jacqueline. But now he goes by Jack.”
Oh. OH. OH.
“He’s really amazing,” Kit said earnestly. “I -- I love him, you guys. So much. He is kind, and funny, and really good at calming me down when I’m stressed. He’s the only person I know who loves sugar cream pie as much as me. And his parents kicked him out when he cut his hair and started wearing boy clothes and I just want him to have a place to go for the holidays, you know? Because he deserves it. And I thought you guys would understand.”
Tears threatened to fall down Greta’s cheeks and, based on the way Carson was already wiping her eyes, she was feeling the same way.
Because they did understand. They knew all too well what it was like to be cast aside by your own family and to have nowhere to go. They made sure Kit never, ever felt she had to hide who she was from them. And now, Kit was trying to do the same for Jack, for the boy she loved.
“We do,” said Greta, clearing her throat in an attempt to control the thickness in her voice. “Of course he can come. Right, Mom?”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Carson. “You tell him there will be a sugar cream pie with his name on it.”
“Just make sure you warn him about all your aunts,” added Greta. “Joey and Maybelle are coming and I’m pretty sure Lupe, Jess, and Ana will be making appearances as well. He’ll need to be prepared for all the chaos.”
Kit laughed, and it sounded like a weight had been lifted off her daughter’s shoulders. “I will. Thank you both. This means so much to him. And to me.”
“Thank you for asking us,” said Carson softly. Greta hummed in agreement.
“Yes, very glad you asked,” she added. “And we’re so happy for you, Kittle Kattle.”
“Thanks, guys. I’m happy for me, too,” Kit said sweetly. Her voice quickly turned serious. “But now my question is, if Jack is getting his own pie does that mean I get my own pie? Because that’s only fair.”
Greta scoffed. “I draw the line at having more than one sugar cream pie at Thanksgiving. You two can share.”
“But Jack’s a guest! He deserves his own,” Kit protested.
“It’s not even a Thanksgiving pie!”
“But it’s a crowd favorite!”
“It is not! Last year, Lu and Jo literally left their slices out for the pigeons who live on our balcony,” Greta reminded her. “We need an apple or pumpkin pie thrown in there. It’s only fair.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Carson interjected. “There will be enough pie for everyone to have what they like. I promise.”
And so the conversation continued, just like every other Sunday afternoon. But that lightness in Kit’s voice never left, and neither did the pride and excitement that flowed through Greta’s veins.
--
Since Kit had moved out, Greta had finally, finally moved herself officially into Carson’s room and turned her old fake room into a guest room. And since that move, Greta had hardly ever woken up alone. They’d had eighteen years of early morning wakeups and sneaking down the hall. Now, they took advantage of every uninterrupted night they got together.
Which was why Greta was thoroughly confused as to why she woke up to an empty bed the morning of Thanksgiving.
She quickly swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped into her favorite slippers before padding down the hall. Her footsteps were overshadowed by clanging pans and muttered swears. Greta had to hold back a laugh as she approached the kitchen. Carson was flitting about like a chicken with her head cut off -- a million different pots and pans were already out of their usual places along with what looked like their entire cupboard.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked casually, leaning on the archway into the kitchen. Carson looked up at her, a slightly manic look in her eyes.
“I am trying to get a head start on dinner,” she announced, wiping a hand on her brow. “But I can’t decide where to begin.”
“How about we begin with coffee?” Greta suggested, moving to pull two mugs off the shelf.
“But there’s so much to do!” protested Carson, even though Greta could see her moving towards the coffee pot. Greta brought the mugs over and set them down before wrapping her arms around Carson’s middle and nuzzling her neck.
“We have time, darling,” she whispered. “What’s the rush?”
Carson sighed as she leaned into Greta’s touch. “I just want it to be perfect.”
“For Kit?”
Carson nodded. “And for Jack. I know I don’t know him, but…”
“I know,” said Greta, squeezing lightly. “He’s one of ours.”
“Exactly. I want him to feel welcome, to feel somewhat at home here.”
“He will.”
“You think so?”
Greta kissed the nape of Carson’s neck. She loved how much Carson cared, how hard she tried to make sure everyone in her life felt the love she never got from her own family.
“Honey, you’re making this boy his favorite dessert. You already know how he likes his eggs for tomorrow morning. You’re having Joey, Lu and Jess bring hand-me-downs in case he needs more clothes. He’s going to feel welcome here. You’re doing great.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Carson seemed to relax, her shoulders going back to their normal height as she prepared the coffee. Greta let her hands slowly wander around Carson’s body, her lips leaving a gentle trail from her shoulder, up her neck, and almost to her ear before Carson groaned.
“Greta…”
“What?” Greta smiled into Carson’s neck. “We have time, remember? Folks won’t be here for hours.”
“We have time for a coffee break not -- this,” Carson murmured.
“You sure?” asked Greta as she nipped at Carson’s earlobe.
“Mmm, I’m sure,” said Carson, her voice soft but firm as she kissed Greta’s cheek before ducking out of her grip. “We actually do need to get the turkey in the oven, lest we face the wrath of seven very hungry queers.”
Greta playfully slapped Carson’s butt. “Well then. Let’s get to work. Where do you need me, coach?”
--
One by one their friends began to arrive. Lupe and Jess were living over in Hell’s Kitchen while Ana was in Brooklyn, so the three of them arrived once the parade traffic died down. Maybelle and Jo were quick to follow, having spent the night with Joey’s brother.
Which meant Kit and Jack were the last to arrive.
Which meant Carson and Greta were both lowkey driving everyone else nuts.
“Carson, if you don’t stop fluffing those pillowsI will actually hold you down with my own bare hands,” Lupe grumbled after Carson almost knocked her over trying to reach the throw pillow she’d fluffed five times in the last half hour.
Carson looked up and glared at Lupe. “Don’t start with me, Lu.”
“Dear god, don’t anger it,” Jess murmured under her breath, earning a snort from Jo. Greta and Maybelle both elbowed her in the ribs.
“Hey!”
“Don’t make fun!” Maybelle insisted. “Meeting the boyfriend is a big deal. Remember when we met Georgie and you went through a pack of cigarettes in like, an hour?”
“No, I do not remember that,” Jo deadpanned, although she did mutter a quick, “Sorry, Farm Girl.”
“I still think we should’ve picked them up at the station,” grumbled Carson, ignoring Jo.
“I still think you’d feel better if you had a glass of wine,” Ana retorted. Carson shook her head.
“I want to have a clear head when they get here! You know wine just makes me sleepy these days.”
While Carson was panicking externally, Greta somehow managed to keep her nerves, like many of her emotions, hidden inside her carefully constructed walls. But even still, her hands couldn’t seem to stay still. She was either chewing her thumbnail or playing with her ring or wringing her hands or somehow staying in motion. She couldn’t stop, not until she knew Kit was safely off the train and in their home.
And even though they’d been waiting all morning, both Carson and Greta still jumped when they heard the door open and the ever familiar, “Anyone home?” ring through the hallway.
Greta and Carson all but sprinted to the entryway, where a very windblown Kit was standing in front of a tall, freckled boy with the sweetest blonde curls Greta had ever seen. Kit lit up when she saw them both and lunged into her parents’ arms.
“Hey sweetheart,” Carson murmured as she planted a kiss on Kit’s cheek.
“Welcome home, Kitty,” said Greta. She lowered her voice to a faux whisper. “He’s cute.”
Kit blushed but squeezed both of them hard before letting go. “Hello to you, too.”
She grinned up at Jack and reached out for his hand, which he gave to her. Kit promptly yanked him forward, almost knocking him off his feet. “Mom, Mama, this is Jack. Jack, this is Carson and Greta, my moms.”
Greta knew Kit had told Jack about the whole two mom situation -- she’d asked them before she did it just to make sure they were okay with it. And of course they had been. If he was coming to the queerest Thanksgiving in New York, he’d have to know. But still, it felt equal parts exciting and terrifying to be introduced to someone in that way. Carson seemed to feel the same way, as she quickly squeezed Greta’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Jack said with a shy smile. “Miss Shaw, Miss Gill, I don’t know how to thank you for letting me come to your Thanksgiving.”
“You can start by calling me Greta,” Greta said with a comforting wink. “Miss Gill was my mother and she was not a nice woman.”
“And I won’t accept anything other than Carson,” agreed Carson. She quickly took Jack’s suitcase out of his hand.
“She accepts Farm Girl!” Jess called from the living room. Carson quickly flipped her off before returning her gaze to Jack and Kit, giving them both warm smiles. Greta had to hold in a laugh.
Jack nodded quickly. “Greta and Carson. Not Farm Girl. Got it.”
“He catches on fast,” Carson said to Kit, impressed.
“He’s a smart boy, my Jack,” Kit grinned, cupping Jack’s face in her hand and kissing him. The way the two of them looked at each other was so sweet it almost made up for the fact that Greta just saw her daughter kiss someone for the first time. There was a part of her that would always see Kit as five years old. The fact that she had a boyfriend, that she was even old enough to date at all still boggled her mind sometimes.
Jack returned Kit’s smile with a kind one of her own before returning his gaze to Carson and Greta. “Well, thank you both. Seriously. I -- I didn’t --”
It was Carson who stepped forward and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “It is our pleasure, okay? We’re so happy you’re here.”
Greta nodded from her spot behind Carson.
“So happy,” she echoed.
“Hey, Greta! Farm Girl! Quit hogging our favorite niece and the new guy,” Jo called. “We have a poker game to play.”
Kit rolled her eyes, but Greta could see how happy she was. It made her own heart want to burst.
“You know how to play poker?” she asked Jack, whose eyes lit up.
“Oh yes,” said Jack with a devilish grin. Kit nodded in agreement.
“He has the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen.”
“Good,” Greta said, flicking Jack’s shoulder. “You’ll fit right in.”
--
This Thanksgiving would always be remembered as one of the best Thanksgivings Carson and Greta had ever hosted. None of the food got burnt, it started to snow just as they sat down to eat, and Jack had fit in perfectly to their loud, slightly chaotic dynamic. While he was shy at first, and really only talked to Kit, it only took a couple of rousing games of poker and a beer for him to open up.
After that, it was easy to see why Kit loved him. Jack was attentive, always asking Kit if she wanted another drink while he was up or offering to help with the food once Carson went into full dinner prep mode. Not to mention the guy was wicked funny. He even had stone cold Ana laughing at one point.
And Kit’s eyes lit up like the Fourth of July every time he looked at her.
“They’re so flippin’ cute,” Maybelle whispered as she sat next to Greta at the dinner table. They both were watching Kit and Jack, who were giggling like a couple of kindergartners about God knows what.
“I know,” Greta murmured back, smiling. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Reminds me of you two way back when, off in your own little world while the rest of us watched Miss Canada over there pee standing up,” said Maybelle wistfully. “Man, those were the days.”
Greta laughed. “Only you would get nostalgic over Jess peeing, May.”
“Why do you miss me peeing?” Jess asked from across the table, giving Maybelle a disgusted, yet slightly intrigued look.
Maybelle scrunched her face and gave Greta a playful shove.
“Oh, that’s not what I meant and you know it. I just mean -- look at them, Jess!” She pointed at Kit and Jack, who were still oblivious to the world around them. “They’re just like Greta and Carson back in the day, aren’t they?”
“Definitely,” Jess agreed. “So cute it could make ya sick.”
“It did make me sick,” joked Lupe. “I’ve vomited twice today already.”
“Alright, alright, no vomit talk at the table please,” said Carson as she placed the turkey on the table. She sat down across from Greta and gave her a small, cheeky smile. Greta grinned back at her.
“Shall we go around and say what we’re thankful for?” she asked, looking around the room.
“I’ll go first!” Kit announced, which was a surprise to no one. Kit had gone first for years.
“Go ahead, Kitty,” said Greta with a smile.
“I am thankful for the chance to have all of my favorite people in the same place at the same time,” said Kit, smiling at everyone. “And I’m thankful that I’m able to get a kickass education at the best college in the country. Ooh, and for the Beatles.”
“Jack?” Carson asked encouragingly. Jack’s cheeks reddened as he looked around the room.
“Well, I’m thankful for Kit, obviously,” he said, smiling down at Kit. “And for our friends back at school. And I’m -- well, I’m just thankful that I’m spending Thanksgiving with people who are as kind as you guys are. Really, really thankful for that.”
“We’re glad you’re here too, kid,” said Jess, raising her glass in Jack’s direction.
“Here here!” Maybelle cheered, raising her own glass before taking a sip of her wine.
As the rest of their friends went around the room and shared what they were thankful for, Greta found herself unable to keep a smile off her face. Because somehow, whether it was by fate or luck or some other force of nature, somehow this group of weird, wonderful people had found each other. Had become a family. Had created a safe space that no one would ever be able to penetrate. She had her friends, her daughter, and her partner.
“What are you thankful for, love?” Carson asked her, giving Greta a knowing, adorable smile.
Greta took Kit’s hand and squeezed as she looked around the table.
“I’m thankful for us.”