The morning after Thanksgiving, the house was unusually quiet. Too quiet, considering it was supposed to be Black Friday. I'd always imagined the day as a chaotic whirlwind of activity—lines of people camped outside stores, doors flying open at dawn, and shoppers dashing through aisles to grab discounted TVs or half-price kitchen gadgets. I'd heard classmates swapping stories about their families waking up before sunrise to snag deals, and even the commercials made it seem like a holiday in itself.

But here? Nothing.

The faint hum of the heater was the loudest sound in the house. Lily and Sam were in the living room, still in their pajamas, sprawled on the rug with a puzzle book open between them. Sam held a pencil, lazily tracing words in a search, while Lily propped herself up on her elbows, flipping the pages whenever she got bored.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Blake sat at the table with a steaming mug of coffee, the soft clink of her spoon against the ceramic the only break in the silence. She was humming something cheerful, her face relaxed as she stared out the window. The faint smell of leftover pie drifted in from the fridge. Mr. Blake, I realized, must have retreated to his office because the house had that unmistakable hush it always carried when he was working.

I hovered in the doorway, watching the calm scene unfold. "Uh... shouldn't we be doing something?" I asked, breaking the silence. My voice sounded louder than I intended, and I winced as everyone turned to look at me.

Mrs. Blake glanced up from her coffee, a smile spreading across her face. "What do you mean?"

"It's Black Friday," I said, gesturing vaguely at nothing. "Aren't we supposed to, like, go shopping or something?"

From the living room, Lily giggled, her voice ringing out like a bell. "We don't do Black Friday."

"Never have," Sam added without looking up from his puzzle.

I blinked, confused, and sat down at the kitchen table across from Mrs. Blake. "Why not? Isn't it, like, a tradition or something?"

Mrs. Blake chuckled softly, setting her coffee mug down with a gentle thud. "Not for us. Honestly, I've never understood the appeal of waking up at the crack of dawn to fight crowds for a discount on something I probably don't need."

"It's stressful," Sam chimed in, wandering into the kitchen with the puzzle book tucked under his arm. "All those people yelling and pushing? No thanks."

"But what about the deals?" I asked, still baffled. "Isn't that the whole point? Isn't it worth it for the bargains?"

Mrs. Blake shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "The deals are tempting, sure, but we've always believed in focusing on what we already have instead of chasing after more. Black Friday can bring out the worst in people—the greed, the impatience, the chaos. That's not how we want to spend our time."

Lily appeared in the doorway, her bare feet pattering against the tile floor. She held the puzzle book against her chest like a prized possession. "And it's more fun to stay home and do other stuff! Like play games or watch movies. Right, Mom?"

Mrs. Blake's face softened, and she nodded. "Exactly. We make our own fun. No crowds, no stress, no rush."

Her words made me pause. Back when I lived with my mom, Black Friday had been a big deal. She'd always dragged me out of bed in the dark, promising it would be an adventure, but it never was. The lines were endless, the crowds suffocating, and most of the time, we didn't even get the things we'd gone for. I remembered the sharp sting of disappointment, the frustration that clung to her for the rest of the day, and the exhaustion that left us both snapping at each other.

Sitting here in the calm warmth of the Blake household, it struck me just how different this felt. No rushing. No arguing. Just... peace.

"Okay," I said finally, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "So, if we're not shopping, what do we do?"

Sam's face lit up, and he headed straight for the cabinet where the board games were stored. "We play Monopoly. And if you're smart, you'll team up with Lily before Mom does. She's ruthless."

"Hey!" Lily protested, her cheeks flushing pink. "I'm not ruthless—I'm just good!"

Sam snorted, pulling out the game and placing it on the table. "You cheated last time."

"I did not!" Lily shot back, crossing her arms with a huff.

Mrs. Blake laughed, shaking her head as she stood to refill her coffee. "How about we start with something a little less intense? Maybe Uno or Clue?"

"Clue!" Lily said immediately, her earlier indignation forgotten. She rushed to grab the box from Sam's hands, her excitement bubbling over.

The rest of the morning unfolded in a way that felt cozy and comforting. We sat around the table, playing round after round of Clue, laughing at the absurd accusations and dramatic reveals. Lily got so into her role as the detective that she started taking "notes" on a napkin, sketching out elaborate diagrams of who could've been where with what weapon. Sam rolled his eyes at her theatrics but couldn't help cracking a smile when she solved the mystery.

After Clue, we switched to Uno, and the competitive spirit came out in full force. Lily's triumphant shout of "Uno!" echoed through the kitchen, followed closely by Sam's groan of defeat. Even Mrs. Blake got in on the fun, her face lighting up as she slapped down a Draw Four card, much to Sam's despair.

As the games went on, I found myself relaxing more and more. The house was filled with laughter, the kind that echoed off the walls and wrapped around you like a blanket. It wasn't flashy or exciting—it was simple and warm, and that was exactly what made it special.

By the time lunch rolled around, the games were set aside in favor of sandwiches and leftover pie. We sat around the table, still chatting and teasing each other over the morning's victories and defeats.

"This is nice," I found myself saying, the words slipping out before I could think about them.

Mrs. Blake glanced at me, her smile soft but knowing. "It is, isn't it?"

And it really was.

The day was spent in the best kind of chaos—not the kind that involved long lines, crowded stores, or the blaring hum of fluorescent lights, but the kind that filled the house with laughter and warmth. We moved from one activity to the next, each one simple but full of joy. Board games stretched into animated debates over rules, with Lily's triumphant shouts and Sam's mock groans filling the air.

Later, we baked cookies, the kitchen turning into a flurry of flour and sprinkles. Lily insisted on decorating every single cookie with elaborate designs, while Sam tried to sneak chocolate chips into his mouth when he thought no one was looking. The sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven wrapped around us, mingling with the faint scent of woodsmoke from the fireplace in the living room.

In the afternoon, we bundled up and went for a short walk in the crisp November air. The chill bit at my cheeks and nose, but the warmth of Lily's chatter and Sam's dry humor made it easy to ignore the cold. The sidewalks were sprinkled with golden-brown leaves, and the trees, now mostly bare, reached toward the pale sky. We didn't go far, but the simple act of being outside together felt refreshing, like a reset button for the day.

At one point, as we strolled back to the house, I caught myself thinking about how different this Black Friday was from any I'd experienced before. Back then, it had been about deals and rushing from one store to the next, the frenzy of the crowd often overshadowing any sense of excitement. But here? Here, it wasn't about the bargains—it was about togetherness, about finding joy in the little things and savoring the moment.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the house in a warm, golden light as the day gave way to evening. The smell of Thanksgiving leftovers filled the air, rich and familiar—turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce mingling with the faint hint of roasted vegetables. In the kitchen, Mrs. Blake was already busy, her movements purposeful as she pulled containers from the fridge and set them on the counter. The soft hum of the refrigerator door opening and closing echoed through the quiet house.

"Emily, want to help me make dinner?" she called over her shoulder, her voice light and cheerful.

"Sure," I said, wandering into the kitchen. "What are we having?"

"Turkey sandwiches," she replied with a grin, reaching for a cutting board. "It's the best way to use up the leftovers, and it's simple. Plus, it's kind of a tradition around here."

I grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and placed it on the cutting board. "How do we make them?"

Mrs. Blake started slicing the turkey into thin, even pieces. "It's easy—bread, turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. Sometimes we add cheese or a little mayo, depending on what we're in the mood for."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Cranberry sauce? On a sandwich?"

She laughed, the sound soft and warm. "Trust me, it works. The sweetness balances everything out. You'll see."

We worked side by side, assembling the sandwiches like a small assembly line. Mrs. Blake spread the cranberry sauce across slices of bread with practiced ease while I layered turkey and stuffing on top. The soft, buttery texture of the bread contrasted with the firm slices of turkey and the slightly sticky cranberry sauce.

Every now and then, Mrs. Blake would sneak a bite of turkey, her grin mischievous. "This is way better than waiting in line for fast food," she said, handing me a slice of cheese. "And it tastes better too."

"Definitely," I said, carefully pressing the top slice of bread onto my sandwich. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"See? You're a natural," Mrs. Blake said with a wink.

Once the sandwiches were assembled, we heated them up in a skillet, the bread sizzling as it turned golden and crisp. The rich, buttery aroma filled the kitchen, making my stomach growl. Mrs. Blake used a spatula to press each sandwich gently, ensuring the fillings warmed through and the cheese melted into gooey perfection.

We carried our plates to the kitchen table, where Lily and Sam had already claimed their spots. Lily's face lit up as she saw the sandwiches, her wide eyes filled with excitement.

"Turkey sandwiches! Yes!" she exclaimed, bouncing slightly in her seat.

Sam smirked, grabbing his plate. "Finally, something better than cereal for dinner."

"Hey, cereal has its place," Mrs. Blake said with a laugh as she sat down beside me. "But this is better, isn't it?"

The first bite of the sandwich surprised me. The savory turkey and stuffing blended perfectly with the tangy sweetness of the cranberry sauce, and the crisp, buttery bread tied it all together.

"This is really good," I said, my words muffled by another bite. "You weren't kidding about the cranberry sauce."

"Told you," Mrs. Blake said, grinning as she took a bite of her own sandwich.

Across the table, Lily was already halfway through hers, her face smeared with a bit of cranberry sauce. Sam ate more slowly, but even he looked impressed, nodding approvingly as he chewed.

The conversation flowed easily as we ate, drifting from lighthearted teasing to stories from Thanksgiving to plans for the weekend. The room felt warm, not just from the food or the glowing light of the kitchen, but from the easy, genuine connection we shared.

After dinner, the hum of activity lingered as Lily and Sam cleared the table, their sibling banter bouncing off the walls. The clink of dishes and the scrape of silverware on plates was accompanied by Lily's exaggerated complaints and Sam's dry responses.

"You didn't even eat all your cranberry sauce," Lily accused, holding up Sam's plate as though it were evidence in court.

"Maybe because it's gross?" Sam shot back, smirking. "Not everyone likes weird jelly on their turkey."

"It's not jelly! It's sauce!" Lily huffed, stomping toward the sink.

Mrs. Blake chuckled, shaking her head. "Enough, you two. Just focus on the dishes."

I lingered in the kitchen with Mrs. Blake, the warmth from the stove still clinging to the air and the faint scent of buttery bread and roasted turkey lingering like a pleasant memory. She leaned casually against the counter, her coffee mug from earlier now replaced with a glass of water.

"You know," I began, fiddling with the edge of my napkin, "today's been... really nice."

Her expression softened, and she gave me a warm smile. "I'm glad to hear that. It's been nice for me too. I like days like this—no pressure, no rushing, just time to enjoy each other's company."

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. "I didn't think staying home on Black Friday could be fun, but it really was."

Mrs. Blake tilted her head slightly, her gaze kind but thoughtful. "It's not about what you do, Emily—it's about who you're with." She paused, her voice growing softer. "And I'm glad you're here with us."

Her words hit me with an unexpected force, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. The sincerity in her tone, the way she looked at me like I truly belonged here—it was almost too much.

"Me too," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Blake reached out, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving to the sink to check on Lily and Sam's progress. "Alright, you two," she said with a playful tone. "If the table isn't spotless in the next two minutes, I'm calling for reinforcements."

"Spotless, huh?" Sam said, grinning as he held up a slightly damp fork. "Define spotless."

Lily rolled her eyes, grabbing the fork from his hand and shoving it into the dishwasher. "Just finish already. I want to beat you at Uno."

"Dream on," Sam said, but he picked up the pace.

Once the kitchen was clean, we gathered in the living room for one last round of board games. The coffee table was strewn with cards, game pieces, and Lily's ever-growing pile of "house rules" notes.

The glow from the fireplace bathed the room in soft, flickering light, and the sound of laughter filled the space as we played. Mrs. Blake's competitive streak surprised me—she had a knack for perfectly timed moves that left both Lily and Sam groaning in defeat.

"Mom, seriously?" Sam said as she laid down her winning card in Uno, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Never underestimate me," she said, her laughter contagious.

By the time the game ended, even Lily's boundless energy was starting to wane. She stretched out on the couch, her eyes fluttering shut despite her protests of "just one more game." Sam retreated to his room with a yawn, muttering something about needing to "regroup for tomorrow's rematch."

Mrs. Blake and I lingered for a moment, tidying up the scattered pieces of the game. The quiet of the house settled around us, a comforting blanket after a day filled with laughter and activity.

"Goodnight, Emily," she said as I stood to head upstairs, her voice warm and steady.

"Goodnight," I replied, pausing at the doorway. "Thanks for today."

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks for being a part of it."