Luke Glanton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crashlikethunder) wrote2014-11-23 08:31 pm
crashlikethunder) wrote2014-11-23 08:31 pm
Entry tags:
thanksgiving.
Luke Glanton has never had a real Thanksgiving. He never cared for the holiday. Or he never let himself care. The distinction isn't important. What is important is that he finally has every reason for this day to matter. He has a family.
Last year, it kind of crept up on him, and he realized too late to do anything that the last Thursday in November had come. It was probably the first time in Jason's life that he didn't have that traditional feast, the first time he was away from his family for it, too, and Luke felt like a real piece of shit for not at least trying to make up for it in some way. One year later, he hasn't forgotten that feeling of having utterly failed. And he is determined that it won't happen again.
That fierce determination gets him as far as planning and shopping and hoarding recipes. But it doesn't guarantee that he'll be any good in the kitchen when the time comes. Still, he doesn't let that get to him. He can follow instructions just as well as anyone else. How hard could it be?
Really fucking hard, it turns out. He and Jason have between them a nearly negative level of skill in the culinary arts. By the time Eden knocks on the door, they have been at it for a couple of hours and have little to show for it, having had to scrap almost every attempted dish in its early stages of preparation. Fortunately, Luke had the foresight to buy multiples of everything, thinking it best to leave some room for error. But he never imagined it would be quite this disastrous. He takes one look at the state of the kitchen and wishes he and Jason had at least picked up after themselves a little better. There's little that can be done now, though.
"I'll get it," he mutters to Jason. He considers taking off his apron — it had looked plain black in the clear packaging, and only later did he discover that it must have been folded wrong, the white print hidden from sight — but figures he might as well get it over with. At least if Eden gets a laugh out of it, his mortification will have been for a good cause.
"Happy Thanksgiving," he says when he pulls the door open.
Last year, it kind of crept up on him, and he realized too late to do anything that the last Thursday in November had come. It was probably the first time in Jason's life that he didn't have that traditional feast, the first time he was away from his family for it, too, and Luke felt like a real piece of shit for not at least trying to make up for it in some way. One year later, he hasn't forgotten that feeling of having utterly failed. And he is determined that it won't happen again.
That fierce determination gets him as far as planning and shopping and hoarding recipes. But it doesn't guarantee that he'll be any good in the kitchen when the time comes. Still, he doesn't let that get to him. He can follow instructions just as well as anyone else. How hard could it be?
Really fucking hard, it turns out. He and Jason have between them a nearly negative level of skill in the culinary arts. By the time Eden knocks on the door, they have been at it for a couple of hours and have little to show for it, having had to scrap almost every attempted dish in its early stages of preparation. Fortunately, Luke had the foresight to buy multiples of everything, thinking it best to leave some room for error. But he never imagined it would be quite this disastrous. He takes one look at the state of the kitchen and wishes he and Jason had at least picked up after themselves a little better. There's little that can be done now, though.
"I'll get it," he mutters to Jason. He considers taking off his apron — it had looked plain black in the clear packaging, and only later did he discover that it must have been folded wrong, the white print hidden from sight — but figures he might as well get it over with. At least if Eden gets a laugh out of it, his mortification will have been for a good cause.
"Happy Thanksgiving," he says when he pulls the door open.