New Yorkers

Sebastian Stan was a persuasive person.

The morning after the night you told him about your childhood, he called you to ask about your plans. You were already at work, surrounded by papers needed to be reviewed by the time he asked if you were allowed to have a break for coffee. You declined the offer and told him you can’t even go out at lunch because Marlene was having a lunch meeting with one of the new authors and your presence was essential. You suggested dinner, but he had already plans with his friends. He offered for you to join them, but you politely declined. And so the phone call ended with something like, you’ll see whatever you can do tomorrow.

And the day came like a promise. He got up earlier than usual for gym, and waited for you at the café where you met. You told him you never really buy your coffee there unless you were in a rush. And he told you to shut up and drink your coffee. He insisted on walking you to work, but you turned him down, saying he stunk and needed a shower. Both of you laughed as you parted ways.

You didn’t see him again until two days later, when he called if you’d had lunch. Thankfully, Marlene let you have your lunch outside because it wasn’t a particularly busy day. You went out for lunch with him, and it was the first time you were photographed together. An undercover paparazzi was apparently following him and trying to make a story of how his life goes when he’s not working. It was the first time you saw him annoyed.

The next day arrived as usual. You got up, cuddled your dog on the floor while you waited for your coffee, took a bath, dressed, carried your dog and took her to your neighbor, and went to work. By the time you came home, you were exhausted. You answered the door, it was your 19-year old neighbor who took care of your dog while you were at work. You had dinner, washed the dishes, took a bath, and headed for bed. You were about to sleep when Sebastian called, asking about your plans for the weekend. And so you told him. To say he was shocked that you were spending Thanksgiving alone was a total understatement.

All of your friends were spending Thanksgiving with their partner’s families. Your family went to San Francisco for Thanksgiving, thus you really couldn’t go back to Maine, where you’re originally from. Besides, you can’t leave your dog with the neighbor. 

“Why didn’t you go to San Francisco with them?” he asked through the phone.

“It was a whole week of vacation, Seb,” you answered. “I can’t leave work for that long." 

“You should’ve just gone even for the weekend.”

“I can’t leave my dog,” you replied.

“Uhm, your neighbor?” he suggested. 

“They’re already getting ready for Utah,” you answered. 

“Come on,” he said. “You can’t spend Thanksgiving alone! Who does that?”

“I did,” you said. “Last year. I spent Thanksgiving alone.”

“What?” he asked. “Thought you had a boyfriend.”

“I did,” you replied. “He was on tour with his band during Thanksgiving.”

“He didn’t spend it with you? What kind of boyfriend was he?” 

“A hardworking boyfriend,” you retorted. “One that did everything to make something out of his music.”

“But he should have gotten you a ticket to wherever he was,” he mumbled, but you heard it clearly. 

Sighing, you ran your fingers through your hair. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m spending Thanksgiving alone. End of story.”

“I can’t let you do that,” he replied, sighing back. “I’m calling my Mom.”

This made you get up. “What? Why?”

“I’m spending Thanksgiving here with you,” he answered nonchalantly. 

“What?” you exclaimed. “You can’t do that! I’m not letting you do that!” 

“That’s what I told you when you said you’re spending the holiday alone.” 

“Seb, you can’t do that!” you exclaimed again.

“Why not?” 

“We barely know each other,” you replied. “You can’t just tell your mother you’re not going home because a lonely girl you just met is alone on Thanksgiving.”

“I didn’t just meet you, (Y/N),” he corrected. “We met three weeks ago.”

You groaned. “Nope, you’re not cancelling your plans with your mother for me. I’m getting up from bed. I’ll pack my clothes and try to catch a plane to San Francisco at this hour.”

“It’s impossible,” you hear him say. “Everyone’s trying to catch a flight tonight. Come on, (Y/N). It’ll be fun. We’ll eat take-out or if you know how to cook the turkey, then turkey it is. My mom will be cool about it.”

You snorted. “I won’t.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“It won’t.”

“Besides,” he said. “Even if you tell me you’ll catch a plane now and assure me you won’t be spending Thanksgiving alone, I know you’ll still be there at your apartment.” 

“Seb, no,” you said. “I’m ending this conversation.”

“Come on,” he said again. “Wait, how about we go to my Mom’s for Thanksgiving?”

You stopped, unable to talk. Was he really asking you to spend Thanksgiving with his family after three weeks of barely being friends? 

“Do you do this to every girl you meet?” you asked, regretting it immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“What did you say?” he asked again. “Did I hear you correctly? What do you think am I doing? Luring you to….. what? Tell me.”

“It’s just that,” you sighed. “We barely know each other, Seb, and you’re already asking me to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“I’m being nice,” he said, voice rising a little. “You’re my friend, and I don’t want you to spend the holiday alone.”

“I know, Seb,” you said. “It’s just that…” 

“That?”

You thought about it a little, letting your mind list every single thing that could go wrong. The paparazzi could catch the two of you, leading to a whole lot of different list of things that could go wrong. His mother may hate you and ask Sebastian to stop being friends with you. Or Sebastian himself would realize that he’s only wasting his time with you.

Then you asked yourself, what good could happen?

A story, you thought. You could get a good story about a weekend with Sebastian Stan and his family.

“All right,” you gave in. “I’m spending Thanksgiving with you and your family.”

And that’s how you ended up inside Sebastian’s home in Long Island, cuddling his mother and stepfather’s dog and Hermione, your dog, on Thanksgiving Day.

“Honey, Tony and I are going out to grab a few things from the market,” Georgeta, Sebastian’s mother, called out from the hallway.

“He’s in his room,” you politely answered and got up. Winnie, their dog, followed you as you walked out to the hallway, while Hermione stayed behind. “Do you need help? Seb and I can just go." 

“It’s all right, sweetie,” she said, smiling. “Tony and I can still handle a little shopping. You stay here and watch the dog. We’ll be back in a few.”

You nodded and walked them out of the house.

Georgeta was a sweet, wonderful woman. She waited for you and Sebastian to arrive on their peaceful home’s porch and welcomed you both with a hug. She introduced herself and took the flowers you got for her, while Sebastian carried little Hermione inside. Anthony, or Tony, was waiting in the living room when you entered. He hugged Sebastian, and then shook hands with you. 

They mentioned that none of their kids, besides Sebastian, decided to come home for Thanksgiving. Two of Sebastian’s stepsiblings were in Europe and the other was in California. It was kind of sad just hearing it, and Georgeta noticed the look on your face when she told you, so she assured that it was fine because they’ve never really spent Thanksgiving on their own. Someone always came back home.

“Seb,” you called out, and he immediately ran downstairs.

 “They’re out?” he asked, barely landing on the last step. You nodded. 

“Winnie won’t stop following me around,” you announced. “I’m now her godmother." 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he said with a shrug. “I think she needs to be baptized for that.” 

“No, that’s how it works for dogs,” you said following him as you entered the kitchen. “From this day on, I’ll be allowed to visit her anytime. She can play with my Hermione.”

He laughed, opening the fridge and getting himself a drink. He offered one for you, but you politely declined.

“So, you want to visit a dog in Long Island but not me who lives a block from your apartment?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, jumping on the stool. “So, this is where you lived?”

He nodded, setting the drink down the counter and standing across you. You rested your elbows on the counter and leaned close to him.

“So, how many girls have you brought here?” you asked.

“All of my official girlfriends,” he answered, resting his elbows as well and leaning forward. 

“You have unofficial girlfriends?” you asked, letting out a laugh. “Tell me about your childhood then.”

And so he did, just like you did a few nights ago.

A couple of hours later, you and Sebastian were in the living room, watching Pretty Woman with Winnie and Hermione, and his parents were back from the market. You insisted to make the pie because you knew how to, thanks to your mother. Sebastian offered to make the mashed potatoes because it was the easiest to do. Tony helped set the table and Georgeta cooked the turkey.

Once Sebastian was done with his task, Tony asked him for help in setting up the Christmas lights in the living room, leaving you with Georgeta in the kitchen.

“How long have you known Sebby?” she asked while she stirred the casserole.

“Three weeks,” you answered. “We don’t know each other that long. I hope it’s alright that I’m here.”

“Oh honey,” she said and stopped stirring to face you. “It’s alright. He told me you were a good friend of his and you were alone for the holidays. Our home is always open for another guest, no matter how short the time you’ve known him.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “Your home is beautiful. I hope I can come back again.”

“You’re always welcome here, honey. A friend of any of my children is a friend of the family,” she answered, turning back to the casserole. “Did you grow up here in New York?”

“No,” you answered, leaning against the counter. “I was born and raised in Maine, until I moved in Providence for university.” 

“You went to Brown?” she gasped.

You nodded. “How did you know?”

“Let’s be real, honey, every student who moves to Providence goes to Brown,” she joked. “What program did you take?”

“Literary Arts,” you answered. “I moved to New York in hopes of getting my works published. But it’s been six years and I’m still living off my monthly paycheck.”

“Your time will come, sweetheart,” she said. “Sebby waited for his for a long, long time. Look at him, he’s so happy.” 

And you did. You turned to look at Sebastian who was laughing at whatever Tony had just told him.

“That’s what we all want, don’t we?” you whispered. Georgeta hummed in response.

“How’s it like in Maine?” she asked, changing the topic. “I’ve never been there.”

“I would suggest you to take a trip when you can but it’s really boring out there.” 

“You only say that because you grew up there,” she replied, letting out a laugh. “The casserole’s done. Dinner’s ready!”

And with her announcement, Sebastian and Tony made their way to the dining area. You and Georgeta carried what you can and placed everything on the table. Winnie followed, nuzzling her nose on your feet.

The dinner began like every Thanksgiving dinner does. Tony led the short prayer, and then Georgeta announced what she was thankful for. Next was Tony, and then me. 

You thanked for the beautiful day, for being invited in their humble home, for Hermione (like you do every year since she was born), for Sebastian, and for you wonderful job.

Sebastian did the same.

“I am grateful for my beautiful parents’ health, for my agent and manager, for the roles I did and I am yet to portray, for our safe trip from the city to here,” he said, and then looked at you. “And for the lack of tables available at Café Nero on November third.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could react, Georgeta clapped her hand and announced the commencement of digging in to the sumptuous dinner you all prepared together.

Sebastian Stan knew the exact date you met.