Title: Ever the Same
Pairing (if any, or gen): None
Summary: He can follow the traditions, obligated by memory and guilt.
Warnings: Not mine, no profit made, no harm intended.
For the prompt Thanksgiving at fourbrothers100
Picking a frozen bird shouldn't require so much thought, Bobby decides as he pokes the netted bags stacked in the freezer before him with one gloved finger. Apparently size, weight, butterballs, free range, all these things are important.
Each turkey is a different weight and size and the resemblance to headless, winged children really creeps him out. He pokes the bag again, staring at the plucked skin.
Bobby hefts the turkey up and resolutely ignores Sofi's remarks about the turkey being far too big. He won't explain his need for a turkey this size, won't justify the desire to serve a turkey the size that Ma or Jack would have served.
He places the turkey in the shopping cart and moves on to the next aisle, a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket, instructions printed out neatly on it. He's no great cook but he can follow instructions.
Bobby prepares each of the items, following the list with a steady hand and determined eye. He seasons according to the amounts, knowing that the mishmash way Evelyn tossed in dashes of spices could never be replicated with the same success.
As he serves the food to Angel and Jerry, he can't help but see how empty the table is.
And goddamn it, it hurts. A year is nothing in terms of grief or healing.
He packs up the leftovers and takes them down to the first shelter he sees. The workers are pleased by the generous amount of food and he leaves the shelter feeling like maybe he helped a little.
She would approve, he thinks as he lights a cigarette. They both would have. Bobby sighs and exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl above his head and dance with the cold wind.
Thanksgiving, he figures, just isn't the same without them.