November 23, 1991 — Cape Canaveral, FL
4:54 PM, EST

Shelby had spent every Thanksgiving of her life at her grandmother's table. Even when Thanksgiving dinner was composed of just the two of them, some of her fondest memories of Gran surrounded the holiday.

It would be her first Thanksgiving without Gran, and Shelby wasn't quite sure how to feel. Thanksgiving was one of her favorite holidays - Shelby loved food, and Thanksgiving was the one day out of the year that she could stuff herself into a gravy-coated food coma.

Knowing she'd have no place to go for the holiday, Dr. Feldstein and his wife had invited Shelby, and subsequently Adam, who'd been in the States for Thanksgivings, but had never had a proper meal, over for dinner. The Feldsteins didn't have any children, and usually, only Joe's mother, who flew in from California, joined them for the feast. After assuring Shelby many, many times that she would not be imposing, the redhead had finally agreed to come.

While Shelby could cook quite well, it wasn't something that she particularly enjoyed doing. She could pour over math problems for hours, but she didn't have the patience for making food, and baking was a whole different story.

Nevertheless, she couldn't walk through the door without having brought something, so she dug out her grandmother's old recipe box, one of the few things she'd brought with her from the house up in New Hampshire, and set to work making her gran's famous maple butter sweet potatoes. They were sweet and savory, and had been a hit every time Gran made them. Well, they'd been a hit with Shelby, anyways - it was often just the two of them for dinner.

"Do you think they'll like the sweet potatoes?" Shelby asked Adam as they drove to the Feldsteins' house. The warm casserole dish, wrapped in a blanket, was tucked securely in Shelby's lap. She'd painstakingly arranged the mini marshmallows on top into a pretty design, and she didn't want anything to happen to it.

"Well, considering that you offered to bring them and Joe said, 'Sure, that sounds fantastic, Shelby," I think they'll like them," Adam chuckled from beside her.

Shelby supposed she shouldn't have been so nervous -- it was just dinner with the Feldsteins. She saw Joe every day, and Miriam stopped by the office often enough for Shelby to be able to carry on a pleasant conversation with the woman. Shelby had never met Joe's mom, the elder Mrs. Feldstein, so she was a little worried about that. What if she thought they were encroaching?

"I got a letter from my dad today," Shelby said, leaning her head against the window as they drove.

"Oh yeah?" Adam glanced over at her before returning his eyes to the road. "What'd he have to say?"

"Just wished me a Happy Thanksgiving," Shelby replied.

"You're talking again, though, so that's a start," Adam said. It was true -- even if it was over pen and paper, they were talking, and Shelby was really glad. Going to visit him when she'd been back in Portsmouth had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done, but it was worth it. With Gran gone, he was the one person she had left.

They pulled up to a fancy brick house on the outskirts of town, with beautiful landscaping and a white picket fence. "Is this it?" Shelby asked.

Adam glanced down at the piece of paper in his lap, double checking the address. "This is it. Come on, Red. Let's go get our Thanksgiving pants on."

Adam had been cracking jokes all morning, and it was clear that he was excited to experience his first American Thanksgiving.

"So, do we play 'football' in the backyard before or after dinner?"

"Do I need to bring pajamas for my after-dinner nap?"

"Am I going to need to wear a size up of pants for all that turkey I'm going to eat?"

It was quite entertaining, and Shelby thought he was being particularly adorable that day. He was like a puppy experiencing a car ride for the first time, or a kid on Christmas morning.

Adam was dressed handsomely in a dark blue sweater, a chunky knit one that Shelby wished she could steal for her own (she'd tried and failed on numerous occasions) and Shelby wore an ivory sweater dress that complemented her hair quite well.

It was a bit warm in Florida to be so bundled up, but Shelby adored the layers of fall fashion, and she'd be damned if she missed the chance to dress in her autumnal best.

She held the sweet potatoes close as Adam knocked on the door, which opened to reveal Dr. Feldstein dressed casually in a CalTech t-shirt. "Shelby, Adam! Glad you could make it, come on in," Joe said with a wide grin as he pulled both of them in for a hug. Joe was always good-natured, but away from the stress of work, he seemed even more cheerful.

He led them through the house, which was as charming inside as it was on the outside, and into the kitchen. Miriam and an older woman Shelby didn't know sat at the kitchen table, and the room smelled like roasted turkey.

"Shelby, Adam, you've met Miriam," Joe said, gesturing to his wife with a large grin.

"It's nice to see you again," Shelby said, shaking her hand.

"And this is my mother," Joe gestured to the older woman, who looked like her son with a perm. "Henrietta Feldstein."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Feldstein," Shelby said with a smile.

"Call me Hettie, dearie," Mrs. Feldstein said.

"Dinner's almost ready, everything's just keeping warm while the turkey finishes up," Miriam explained, taking the sweet potatoes from Shelby. "These smell delicious! Thank you for bringing them."

Shelby smiled. "They're my grandmother's recipe, and thanks for inviting us. It's Adam's first Thanksgiving, so he's pretty excited."

Miriam looked to Adam with a wide smile. "Well, I hope I live up to your expectations, Adam."

His face flushed and he shoved his hands into his pockets, moving behind Shelby. "I'm sure it will be everything I've hoped for."

Shelby chuckled, seeing that Adam was suddenly shy. Where were his jokes about overeating and American football now?

"So, you've not got any other family in town?" Hettie asked, turning to Shelby.

Miriam and Joe shared a look, with the latter shooting his mother a look. "Mom,"

"No, it's fine," Shelby replied with an embarrassed smile. It was exactly what she'd been afraid of -- that Mrs. Feldstein would think she was intruding. "I usually spent Thanksgiving with my grandmother, but she ..." Shelby trailed off. She didn't want to get into the story of her unusual upbringing, or what had brought her to live with her grandmother in the first place. "She passed away this year, so... here I am."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Hettie said, her eyes going wide as she quickly looked down at the wine glass in front of her.

"On that note, can I offer anyone a drink?" Miriam offered a polite smile and a bottle of wine.

Adam was driving, but Shelby accepted the offer. She wasn't big on wine, but she could use the alcohol-induced confidence boost to shake off the sudden awkwardness. "Thank you, Miriam, that would be delightful."

Shelby clutched the narrow stem of the wine glass as Joe carried on the conversation, switching the topic from Shelby's past Thanksgivings to the upcoming Tenacity launch, which was something Shelby was much more comfortable discussing.

"Why is it that you've got to go to the moon anyways?" Mrs. Feldstein asked her son. "I mean, we've been there already. That damned Kennedy made sure of that when he poured all of our tax money into his space program."

"Here we go again," Joe groaned, turning to Shelby and Adam with an eye roll. "Space is the next frontier, Mother. It's up to us to explore it."

"They're pioneers, Hettie," Miriam added.

"Pioneers? What is this, Little House on the Moon? No, Miriam, they're not pioneers. We've been to the moon -- why do you want to go back?" Mrs. Feldstein asked, taking a sip of her red wine.

"The moon is vastly large, Mrs. Feldstein," Adam began. "There's so much to be explored."

"Besides," Shelby said, raising her pointer finger. "We've only sent white men to the moon. How unadventurous is that? I mean, the US didn't even start sending women or people of color to space until less than a decade ago," she paused to take a drink of her wine, the alcohol already increasing her ability to ramble on about things. "I mean, how ridiculous is that? In that aspect, we're years behind the Russians. They sent a woman to space in 1963. 1963!"

Mrs. Feldstein sighed and shook her head. "Well, that's what we get for putting like-minded men in charge of everything, isn't it?" She chuckled. "That Sally Ride, I like her. She didn't get shuttled up there until ... when?"

"1983," Shelby answered, a grin growing on her face. She'd been a space enthusiast her entire life, and it seemed her fascination was finally paying off in the form of some friendly Thanksgiving space discussion.

"So you're both going up, then? With my Joey?" Mrs. Feldstein asked, pointing to Adam and Shelby.

"That's right, Mother. Dr. Colewell and Dr. Mitchell, along with two others of NASA's brightest," Dr. Feldstein.

"Well, bring me a moon rock, would you?" the older woman asked. For a woman that thought the US didn't need to go back to the moon, she sure had a lot of interest in it.

November 23, 1991 — New York, NY
3:20 PM, EST

"Anthony, don't you think you've had enough of that?" Maria asked as Tony pulled out his, well, she'd lost count, but yet another beer. He'd been drinking since she'd forced him out of bed to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, which she'd pulled up on the television, and by the afternoon, he reeked of beer and Old Spice. At least, she supposed, he'd put on deodorant.

"It's Thanksgiving, Mom," Tony replied with a sloppy grin. "I'm giving thanks."

Howard sat in the living room, staring at the football game that played on the television with his jaw clenched. He wasn't really watching it -- he was far too annoyed with his son to enjoy the game.

"Giving thanks, how?" Howard called from the couch. "By chastising your mother? Listen to her, Tony."

"She doesn't need to tell me what to do, Dad," Tony replied, settling himself into the comfy arms of his father's La-Z-Boy recliner. "I'm a grown adult."

"Oh, you're an adult, hey?" Howard asked, glaring at his son. "You're a grown adult? Then why don't you start acting like it?"

Tony rolled his eyes at his father. "I am, Pops. I'm drinking a beer and watching the football game."

"Tell you what, we'll start treating you like an adult when you get off of your ass and start acting like one," his dad replied.

"Oh, enough already!" Maria exclaimed, walking in from the kitchen. "Stop it! It's Thanksgiving, for God's sake."

Tony's eyes widened as he looked at his mother, and Howard looked at his wife with an equally as shocked expression. She wasn't prone to outbursts of the sort.

"Sorry, Mom," Tony replied, staring down at the beer can in his hand. It suddenly didn't seem quite so appetizing.

"Can't we just enjoy a meal together as a family?" Maria asked. "Is that such a difficult request? We only have the three of us, and I just ... I want to enjoy our time together."