Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice, Chapter 16 (Fowl Play and Fated Meetings)

Garth and Roberto pulled up to the edge of Monty Sparks’ farm, the dirt road dusting up under the wheels as they parked and looked out over the spread. Old-fashioned fencing bordered several pens, and a modest farmhouse sat in the center, its chipped paint and leaning porch giving it a rustic charm. The air smelled of hay and earth, and Garth spotted a couple of cows grazing in the distance, a few chickens wandering about, and one particularly plump, majestic turkey strutting freely near the entrance.

Roberto’s eyes widened, and he elbowed Garth. “Look at that bird,” he said, pointing to the turkey. “It’s perfect. It’s even better than I imagined.”

Garth nodded, feeling a pang of hope. The bird was plump, its feathers full and gleaming in the soft morning light. It looked like something out of a Thanksgiving poster, and it even had that haughty look about it, like it knew it was the king of the farm. They both practically floated to the door of the farmhouse, their wallets at the ready.

Monty Sparks himself opened the door, a tall, wiry man with sun-leathered skin and a cowboy hat perched on his head. He gave them a welcoming grin, nodding as he eyed their eager expressions.

“Afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

Garth spoke up first, practically beaming. “We’d like to buy that turkey we saw out front. We’ll take it to go.”

Monty chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m afraid that one’s not for sale, boys. That there’s Bermuda.”

“Bermuda?” Roberto repeated, his face shifting from excitement to confusion.

“Yeah, Bermuda’s my pet,” Monty explained, crossing his arms. “Had her since she was just a chick. She’s family now.”

Roberto’s jaw dropped, and he glanced at Garth, who seemed equally dumbfounded. “Who has a pet turkey?” Roberto asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Well, who wouldn’t? She’s a fine bird, got personality too. Smart as a whip,” Monty said, smiling proudly. He gestured toward Bermuda, who was now pecking serenely at some seeds on the ground, oblivious to the attention she was receiving. “Sorry, fellas. She’s staying here with me.”

Garth’s hopeful expression faded, and he let out a resigned sigh. “So… you don’t have any other turkeys for sale?”

Monty shook his head, his face showing genuine sympathy. “All the others are long gone. Had a busy season. I’d have saved one for you if I’d known, but Bermuda here, well, she’s special.”

Garth looked at Roberto, defeated. “Guess it’s ham this year.”

But Roberto’s eyes lingered on Bermuda with a different look—a mixture of longing and something dangerously close to desperation. He turned back to Monty, pulling out his wallet and taking out a wad of bills. “How much would it take to change your mind?”

Monty’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head firmly. “No amount of money’s going to make me sell a member of the family.”

Roberto muttered a few choice words under his breath in Spanish, casting a dark look at the oblivious turkey. Garth shot him a warning look, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Monty’s face hardened, clearly offended. “You two need to go,” he said, his tone sharp. “You’re welcome here as guests, but Bermuda’s off-limits. If you’re not here for anything else, I’d appreciate it if you left before I call the authorities.”

Roberto sneered, but Garth quickly nudged him toward the car. “Thanks anyway, Monty,” he called over his shoulder, practically dragging Roberto away.

As they walked back to the car, Roberto looked back at Bermuda, who was preening by the fence. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, glancing around the farm with a look that made Garth uneasy.

They got back into the car, and Garth leaned his head against the steering wheel, letting out a long sigh. “Well, I guess we’ll just go pick up a ham and call it a day.”

But Roberto shook his head, staring out the window at Bermuda. “What if… we just wait here, see if Monty leaves? We could, you know, ‘borrow’ the turkey.”

Garth looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? We can’t steal a turkey. Besides, that thing’s like his family. What’s wrong with ham, anyway?”

Roberto scoffed, folding his arms. “Ham isn’t Thanksgiving, Garth. Turkey is. And that bird—” he pointed toward Bermuda, “is Thanksgiving. She belongs on a table, not wandering around a farm like some sort of royal pet.”

Garth rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think I should just go vegan and be done with it. It would make life a lot easier.”

Roberto let out a heavy sigh, reluctantly slumping back in his seat. Just then, the radio crackled with the voice of a local announcer.

“Attention, tri-state area! We know you’re feeling the Thanksgiving turkey shortage, but we’ve got five lucky birds to give away at our annual Turkey Trot contest! Be the first to show up at the station and win your chance to take home a Thanksgiving turkey!”

Roberto and Garth exchanged a glance, their eyes lighting up with new hope. Without another word, Garth started the engine, and they sped off toward the radio station, both men silently vowing that this time, they wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

Elsewhere, Brandon sat on his couch, his mind racing. Damarae’s words echoed in his head, urging him to act now, to tell Adalynn how he felt. His heart hammered as he pulled out his phone, dialing her number before he could talk himself out of it.

The phone rang, and after a moment, Adalynn picked up. “Hey, Brandon,” she answered, her voice warm but a bit distracted.

“Hey, Adalynn,” he replied, swallowing his nerves. “I was, um, hoping we could talk.”

“Oh, actually, I’m out with a friend right now,” she replied, sounding apologetic. “Can we chat later?”

Brandon’s heart sank. He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out strained. “Sure, yeah… talk later. Have fun.”

“Thanks. Talk soon!” she said, hanging up.

He stared at the screen, feeling his stomach twist with uncertainty. A friend, he thought, the word gnawing at him. The idea of her spending time with someone else, possibly even dating, left him feeling unsettled and defeated. Without thinking, he grabbed his keys and left his apartment, needing fresh air and a moment to clear his head.

When Garth and Roberto pulled into the parking lot at the radio station, they found it jam-packed with other cars and people streaming into the building. A long line of locals and hopefuls stretched across the lot, each person clutching contest tickets and chatting animatedly about the chance to win one of the coveted turkeys.

Garth peered at the line, then turned to Roberto with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think we’re crazy for doing this? It’s just a bird.”

Roberto grunted, slamming his door and getting out of the car. “It’s not just a bird. It’s Thanksgiving, Garth. I’ll win it, and I’ll smoke the damn thing myself.”

Garth scrambled out, hurrying to catch up as Roberto joined the line. “Fried!” Garth shouted, just loud enough for Roberto to hear. “We’re frying it!”

They continued their verbal tug-of-war all the way into the radio station, each of them determined to be the one who claimed victory.

Brandon’s car cruised through the city streets as he tried to shake off the frustration and confusion. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, with Thanksgiving looming, he felt trapped between his feelings and the mess his family had created. Finally, he pulled up outside Damarae’s place, hoping he could get some straightforward advice from his friend.

As he parked, he noticed Adalynn’s car in the driveway. His heart dropped, a sinking feeling overtaking him as he realized what it might mean. Was she here with Damarae? Were they… on a date?

He sat there for a long moment, wrestling with jealousy and confusion. Part of him wanted to knock on the door, demand answers, but he hesitated, not wanting to jump to conclusions. Feeling foolish, he started the car and drove off, finally parking outside his mom and Roberto’s place. He noticed Laura’s car in the driveway and felt a surge of relief. Maybe his mom and Laura could help him sort this out.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps and entered the house, calling out a hesitant, “Hello?”

But the sight that greeted him as he stepped into the living room left him speechless. There, on the couch, were Laura and Jazlyn, locked in a passionate kiss. They broke apart instantly, both women’s faces turning shades of red he didn’t know were possible.

“Brandon!” Laura gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Brandon’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His mind reeled, trying to process what he’d just seen. His mother, who had always kept her personal life so private, and Laura… his stepmother.

“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment.

Jazlyn adjusted her glasses, looking equally mortified. “Honey, we were just… having a moment.”

Laura let out a nervous laugh, her hand reaching out as if to calm him. “Brandon, please, don’t freak out.”

He raised his hands, feeling the room spin slightly. “I’m not freaking out,” he replied, though his voice betrayed him. “I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

Jazlyn and Laura exchanged a look, their expressions softening as they realized the awkwardness of the situation. Jazlyn patted the spot next to her on the couch, inviting him to sit.

“Look, if you want to talk… we’re here for you,” Jazlyn said gently. “Maybe we can all just… get everything out in the open.”

Brandon hesitated, then nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over him. His mind was still spinning, but there was something oddly comforting about knowing that he wasn’t the only one grappling with unexpected feelings this Thanksgiving.