Swell Thanksgiving
The plan was flawless. Hours earlier, Emily her 25 year old daughters and Lily her 21 year old daughter had slipped the pink expansion pills into Mom’s wine glass. The moment she lifts the knife to carve the turkey, the pills will hit, her red sweater will steal every stare, and the feast will be theirs: Emily gorging at the far end of the table, Lily raiding the blueberry pie in the kitchen.
Mom stands. She raises the knife, smiling sweetly. The blade hovers over the turkey… and the pills kick in. Her sweater tightens, a soft creak, the first slow swell pressing forward as every eye locks on her.
Emily, hidden behind the chaos, shovels laced mashed potatoes like a woman possessed. Her plush belly answers with a warm gurgle, slowly rounding, sweater inching upward as the bloat begins. Lily, already in the kitchen, forks pie straight from the tin. One bite and her cheeks flush faint violet, skin shimmering as her curves start to ease outward, gentle and growing.
Mom lowers the knife untouched. The turkey can wait. Her daughters just started filling the room.