No F*cksgiving

Thanksgiving—a day of gratitude, warmth, comfort, and celebration. A day to gather with the people we cherish most, to reflect on the abundance in our lives, to remind ourselves of the joy, hope, and love that surrounds us. So why, amidst all of this, do I feel anything but thankful?

I glance at myself in the mirror—vintage blue Levi’s 501s, a plain white tee tucked just so, and a touch of gold jewelry to add a little polish. It’s the perfect blend of effortless and appropriate for a casual Friendsgiving. Marcus, however, went in a decidedly different direction, stepping out in a baby pink Gucci suit. A choice, to be sure. Not one I’d ever make, but when you’re the host, you get a free pass. Even if that pass leads straight into tacky territory.

Marcus kisses me on the forehead and I do my best not to wince. He tells me I look nice, and I thoughtlessly return the compliment. He hugs me from behind and I feel my skin crawl. His reflection smiles at me in the mirror and mine effortlessly smiles back. Guilt inevitably sets in. 

He’s a sweet man, maybe even a perfect man. For someone. Not me. Am I using him? I can’t bring myself to answer the question directly. I know the answer, but I won't address it. Instead I bury it deep deep in a dark corner of my mind.

“You nervous?” Marcus asks, in a sweet, understanding, thoughtful voice.

“I am, yeah.” I say with sincerity. This is Marcus’s party—his famous Friendsgiving. We’ve only been dating a few months, but I’ve already heard endless tales of Friendsgivings past. It’s the kind of event where Marcus’s social and professional worlds collide, a mix of celebrities, indulgence, and just the right amount of scandal. An elegant sit-down dinner that seamlessly transitions into a wild dance party. The guest list? People who are older, more polished, and infinitely more sophisticated than I am. To say I’m nervous would be an understatement.

What am I? I’m 24, broke, and clinging to the idea of being an actor while only working in a bankrupt theater company. A wannabe writer with nothing to show for it except mounting credit card debt and the beginnings of a drinking problem. To top it off, I’m dating a man purely because he promised to help me sell a pilot I just finished. A man who likes me enough to parade me around to his friends as his boyfriend. The real question is, who should I feel more sorry for—me or him?

“I might have something that’ll make you feel better,” Marcus giggles in a way that makes me sick. I look up at him from under my brow.

“What?” I hope it’s not his dick. I he pulls out his dick I will kill myself.

Marcus hurries over to his Louis Vuitton monogrammed computer case and fumbles around for a moment before pulling out a small vial of something more than familiar.

“Would a line make you feel better?”

Finally, something to be thankful for.

***

The familiar burn of vodka slides down my throat as I polish off my fifth shot of Tito’s. I’ve retreated to the kitchen, my safe haven, as the guests start trickling in. Thankfully, I dodged most of the cooking chaos after slicing both my pointer and middle fingers while attempting to chop brussel sprouts for Marcus’s best friend, Gavin. I tried to warn them—I have a rare and unfortunate talent for ruining any meal I try to help with. But, as always, no one believed me until it was too late.

“Sean!” I hear Marcus’s voice before I see him, but when I spin around, his baby pink suit is practically screaming louder than he is. “There you are!” Standing next to him is a tall, blonde Adonis who immediately catches my attention. I remember my place, though, so I flash Marcus a smile, plant a quick kiss on his cheek, and keep one eye firmly fixed on the handsome stranger beside him.

“You know me, never far away from the vodka,” I joke. The two men chuckle in good spirits. I raise my eyes at Marcus, queuing to introduce me to his friend.

“Sean, this is Dominik.” 

“Hi! Nice to meet you,” Dominik says, his British accent mirroring Marcus’s perfectly. He extends his hand, and I take it without hesitation. His grip is firm, his touch warm, and as I study him, I can’t help but feel a little spellbound. Sandy blonde hair tumbles in soft waves around his ears, and his tan skin seems to glow against his piercing green eyes. Through the open buttons of his shirt, I catch a glimpse of his defined chest and a teasing tuft of hair between his pecs. It might just be the vodka, but I’d swear there’s an actual halo of light radiating from him. I just hope Marcus doesn’t notice the way I’m staring.

“You too, I’m Sean.” I try my best to keep my smile looking as blasé and uninterested as possible.

“I know,” Dominik says with a sexy little smile attached to it. It feels like a tease. Again, it could be the five shots of vodka, and the three lines of cocaine, but this feels like bait.

“What does that mean?” I ask tilting my head to the side and matching Dominik’s smirk.

“I’ve just heard a lot about you, that's all. I was excited to meet you.” Dominik says with that same smile plastered to his face. I look over at Marcus as though to make myself seem embarrassed by whatever story he might have told his friend, when really I love that Dominik has had me on his mind. I can feel his eyes on me while I give Marcus a playful slap on the shoulder.

“Dom and I have been friends since we were kids, there’s not much we don’t tell each other! I’m sorry!” Marcus tries to defend himself, but he shouldn’t. This is the only good thing he’s done all day. 

To my relief, the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of more guests. “Shit! Excuse me, you guys!” And just like that, Dominik and I are alone.

Dominik picks up the bottle of Tito’s that I have been determined to finish and says, “so, were we doing shots?” 

“We can,” I laugh, “I should tell you I’m about five deep.” Dominik starts to pour shots.

“Well then it won’t be that hard to get you drunk.” I laugh out loud. Why is the universe testing me?

“You’re cute,” I say, laughing, “you better not be trying to take advantage of me.” I say with jest, hoping that his intentions are the opposite. 

“You’re cute,” his voice deeper and more serious than mine. Dominik hands me a shot and taps his glass to mine. He raises his eyebrows at me just before we drain our cups. 

Dominik leans in, his voice dropping low. “Here’s how I see it,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “We’ve got about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, before Marcus comes looking for us. I say we get whatever this is out of our system right now, then walk away from it, no strings attached. If that sounds good, follow me. If not, no hard feelings.” Dominik looks directly at my soul with his bright green eyes, then gives me a little eyebrow raise before turning on his heel and disappearing into Marcus’s bedroom.

I consciously have to close my mouth when I realize my jaw has practically hit the floor. I glance around, half-expecting someone to rush over and ask what just happened, or warn me not to go, or maybe even remind me that Marcus would be furious. But instead, the room is eerily quiet. No one says a word. In fact, there’s no one around at all. It’s as if the world, for just a moment, decided to hold its breath. And then, as if some force beyond my control took over, my legs started moving toward Marcus’s bedroom.

The second I step into Marcus’s bedroom, any illusions I had about Dominik vanish. There he is, hunched over the plate of cocaine I left behind before the party started. He finishes snorting a line, then looks up at me, eyes gleaming like a devil who’s just claimed another soul.

“Took you long enough.”

Before I have a second to breathe I’m pushed up against the wall and pulled into a deep sloppy kiss. I try to resist at first, immediately wondering if I made the right decision. I tell myself I’m so stupid for ruining something that’s taken me so long to build. But then again, what did I build? What is a relationship built on lies? Whatever the answer is, there’s no turning back now. 

Our tongues frantic, tangled in each other’s mouths, hands tearing at clothes like we’re starving. “You’re such a little whore, aren’t you?” Dominik breathes between heated, sloppy kisses, his words dripping with something between a challenge and a promise.

“You have no idea.”

***

I exit Marcus’s bedroom just as stuffed as the Thanksgiving tofurky, but looking as flawless ever. You’d never guess what just went down unless you lowered my jeans and saw the red handprints still burning on both cheeks.

Almost immediately as I enter the commotion in the living room Marcus rushes up to greet me.

“Oh my god! There you are!” Marcus says as he approaches me, a familiar face trailing in his wake.

“Oh my god.” I mutter to myself.

“Sean, this is Saoirse.” Saoirse Ronan. As if I need Marcus to introduce me—I know exactly who she is. Saoirse Ronan is at this party, with me. My soul has left my body. There she stands, hair casually swept into a perfect bun, dressed in slacks and a tank top, radiating effortless class. She's so fucking classy.

Oh my god.

I remember where I am and realize that she’s extended her hand to shake. I take it and try my best to keep my inner fangirl at bay.

“Hi, I’m Sean. It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too! Marcus was telling me all about you, we have to sit next to each other, okay?” She says to me in a perfect Irish accent. I look over at Marcus who smirks at me. He knows how much I’ve loved Lady Bird and Saoirse, he clearly orchestrated this whole thing.

Like the universe knew exactly what to do at that moment, Dominik walks by us on his way to the kitchen and gives me a little wink. 

I am the worst person to ever live… or maybe the best?

***

As I sit, not eating Thanksgiving dinner, between Saoirse and Marcus – and across from Dominik – I take inventory of what I’m most thankful for. 

I’m thankful for the moments that catch me off guard, for the way a single glance or a careless touch can send me spiraling, and for the fact that, somehow, I’m still standing. I’m thankful for the friends who make me laugh until my stomach hurts. I’m thankful for the times I’ve felt completely lost, because that’s when I learned the most about myself—whether I wanted to or not.

I’m thankful for the messy parts of life. The ones where we stumble, break, and somehow rebuild ourselves stronger. And I’m thankful for the people who show up, even when the pieces of me don’t quite fit together.

So here’s to love, lust, chaos, and whatever else this holiday might bring. Because sometimes, being thankful is less about what you have, and more about how you survive what you don’t.