Page 11 of Gamechanger

"So," Moose began, speaking around a mouthful of shrimp dumpling, "Is this your first Thanksgiving without the 'rents?"

I swallowed a bite of a crispy spring roll and then nodded. "Yeah, and it's… different. It's weird not to be with the family. You?"

"Not so big of a deal. After Mom left, Dad treated it like any other day, and he'd search the city for open burger joints." He speared another dumpling with his chopsticks. "This alternative Thanksgiving thing is becoming sort of standard for me. Having Chinese reminds me of my junior year in college."

I wiped a drop of soy sauce off my shirt, the dark liquid leaving a faint, salty stain on the fabric. "How so?"

"Well, Quinn had gone home for the holidays, but I decided to stick around on campus. It was my first Thanksgiving without Dad, but he was busy chasing a new woman. I had a big biologyproject, so I told myself it was good to be stuck alone in a dorm room." He rolled his eyes. "Excitement every minute. I tell ya."

"Honestly, you make everything fun, Moose."

I grinned as his cheeks flushed lightly. "Well, anyway, I sat in the dorm common room on Thanksgiving day with Petri dishes lined up on a coffee table. Suddenly, a group of international students walked in, and they looked sort of lost and hungry."

"And you decided to be their holiday host?"

Moose grinned from ear to ear. "Yep, you got me. I had Rohan from India, Kana from Japan, Sofia from Brazil, and Omar from Egypt. None of them had ever experienced an American Thanksgiving, but they were all interested."

I was mad curious about what happened and leaned forward. "What'd you do?"

"Being the culinary genius that I am…" Moose exhaled on his fist and rubbed it on his shirt. "I led a small parade to the 24-hour mini-mart just off campus. We bought all sorts of snack foods—chips, cookies, microwaveable pizzas, and Hot Pockets. When I was about to turn toward the checkout, I spotted a lonely frozen turkey pot pie and nabbed it. We couldn't do it without turkey."

I laughed, picturing Moose like the Pied Piper of Thanksgiving.

"We spent that whole evening hanging out in the dorm kitchen and common room, eating junk food while I did my best to explain the history and significance of American Thanksgiving. I did my best to avoid the politics of the Wampanoag, the Indigenous people, vs. the Pilgrims, and focused on the food and football. It all sounded a little silly to people who'd never heard of it before."

"Man, that's for sure." I popped the last bite of my BBQ pork bun in my mouth.

"I got hung up on describing putting marshmallows on sweet potatoes. Some of them thought the marshmallows were just weird. At least they'd all heard of cranberries. All things considered, it was one of my best Thanksgivings ever."

Moose raised his teacup. "Here's to unconventional Thanksgiving dinners and how they unite people."

I tapped my cup against his. Just as I was about to ask another question about his family, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket to see Mom wearing her nutty Christmas sweater from last year. "Sorry," I mumbled and slid out of the booth. "I have to take this."

"No problem, but I'm not responsible for missing dumplings when you return."

As I stepped outside to take the call, the cold late-November air shocked my system. My hand trembled from the nerves, the cold, or both.

"Hey, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving—again."

"Finn! Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!" Her voice was heavy with emotion, almost syrupy sweet, and I pictured her in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear while she was in the oven and on the stovetop. "Just wanted you to know we miss you so much."

"I miss all of you, too."

"Are you eating right—real food? Is the team making sure you eat right? You're not living on protein shakes and energy bars, are you?"

I chuckled. "Yes, Mom, I'm eating real food. Right now, I'm at a Chinese restaurant with a new friend."

"Chinese food? On Thanksgiving? Oh, Finn." She sounded like I'd insisted the Pilgrims eat Peking duck instead of turkey.

"It's pretty good."

She didn't reply immediately, and I heard Dad's slightly muffled voice in the background. "Is it a girl? Ask him if it's a beautiful girl."

I closed my eyes and grunted. "Mom, I gotta go. Is it okay if I call you tomorrow? I'll tell you all about my Thanksgiving."

"Wait, Finn!" Mom sounded like she did when relatives tried to rush out the door without spending twenty more minutes talking at the threshold. "Your cousin, Sarah, is here with one of her good friends. She's in grad school now studying physical therapy, and so is her friend. Doesn't that sound great? An athlete and a physical therapist. Maybe at Christmas, the two of you could—"

"Mom, stop." I cut her off. It was a little more abrupt than I intended, but I didn't want to hear her race down into a fantasy that wouldn't happen. "I mean, I can choose my own dates. Please don't try to set something up."

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