Shane didn’t feel like doing this. She was hung over and exhausted and the last thing she wanted to do was make nice and be polite over an endless dinner, even with people she loved. Especially not with people she loved.  But, she’d promised Tina she would show up, so she guessed she had no choice. Shane never disappointed her friends if she could help it. Still, she was coming to think that Thanksgiving was a pointless holiday – it didn’t mean anything to her now but a day off. She looked down at her clothes and idly wondered whether or not she would change. Nah. She gave her pits a tentative sniff. Better shower.

A few minutes later she wiped lethargically at the steamy glass of the bathroom mirror. There were shadows under her eyes. Not looking very "Shane" today, she thought, grimacing at her reflection. At least she was clean now.  After a cursory run-through of her normal post-shower routine, she hurriedly pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt and went into the kitchen, where she grabbed four bottles of wine out of the fridge. Two over-priced whites, two over-priced reds. It wasn’t much, but better than nothing. 

Shane left the house, putting on the same jacket she wore the night before.  It only smelled faintly of cigarettes, so she figured it was alright.  As she pulled the door shut, she heard the unmistakably loud voice of Alice.

“Stop messing with it!” 

Shane winced at the noise, and began shuffling up the pathway to Bette and Tina’s.  She mounted the stairs of the porch just in time to see Alice protectively hugging a tinfoil-wrapped casserole dish and slapping Helena’s hand away.  The aroma whatever it was Alice was carrying wafted past suddenly and Shane felt her stomach lurch.

Alice turned towards her and smiled.  “Shane!”  Did Alice always speak with a sonic boom?

Helena gave a more subdued greeting.  “Hey, Shane.”

Shane could only give a tight smile and nod in return.  She was suddenly sure that if she opened her mouth, she would be sick all over the porch.  She swallowed, once, twice, then gestured towards the door with one of the wine bottles.  “We going in?”  A miracle.  No puking.  Yet.  She worriedly eyed the casserole dish.  “Alice, what is that smell?”