2018

After twenty-seven years on Earth, it occurred to Dan Humphrey that he should probably be more tolerant of holiday shenanigans.

Standing at the end of his ornate yard, meticulously manicured with pumpkins, foliage, and even a few Christmas decorations, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of meditation, remaining mindful of the groceries in his hand. Brace for impact, he thought to himself. Brace. For. Impact.

By impact, he meant relatives. Biological, adopted, and in-law.

"Alright, one store-bought rotisserie chicken, free range and ready for consumption," he quipped as he walked in the door, hoping to lighten his own mood.

A flash of wavy blonde hair flips around, and the sight of Serena's warm, radiant smile greets him.

"Oh thank God, now Henry will have a protein to eat," she refocuses herself on the tasks in front of her, stirring pasta before bending over to check on the turkey.

"Are you sure Blair will appreciate you providing him with an alternative?" He watched his wife fumble with the meat thermometer, struggling to reach for the counter and pull herself upright.

"Braxton Hicks," she winced, finally standing, massaging the top of her stomach in slow, gentle circles. "He's getting more and more eager to be on the outside."

There was reason to be more tolerant of the holidays, and that was the impending birth of their little boy. At thirty-six weeks pregnant, Serena was growing increasing uncomfortable as their son prepared to enter the world. After a generally idyllic pregnancy, minus some occasional nausea and afternoon fatigue (which appeared contagious), she was now struggling with basic tasks like tying her shoes...or bending over an oven.

"I can't believe he's almost seven pounds, he's technically not even full term," she said, apprehensive. Henry had only weighed about six pounds when he was born, yet here she was on her way to birthing a nine-pounder. She was wholly unprepared.

"Why don't you relax while I take care of dinner?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pecked her on the lips, affection she gladly returned.

"Afraid I can't. That turkey needs to be taken out of the oven in ten minutes so we can make the fries for my mom," she went to stir the mac and cheese, another food made on behalf of her beloved nephew, before grabbing the bag from the freezer.

"I can't believe we're serving pasta and fries but no stuffing," he lamented, watching her pull out a pan. The sales lady had told her convinced her to buy her cookware by insisting they could make French fries taste fried despite, well, not frying them, and Dan suspected that was bullshit.

"It's about knowing your audience, Dan. What we're making will get gobbled up and save us the trouble of whining or leftovers. The only people who really like stuffing are you and Nate, who we both know will fill up on bread," she smiled, thinking about Thanksgivings past.

"Alright, how about I take care of dinner while you boss me around?" He suggested, pulling out a bar stool for her. She readied herself to protest but got interrupted by another wave of discomfort. She probably needed to slow down. If Dan had his way he'd convince her to lie down, noting the slight slump of her shoulders and well-concealed bags forming under her eyes.

"Do you have any intel on the girl Nate's bringing to dinner?" Dan asked, as he searched the cabinets for seasoning, not daring to complain about his wife's hazardous method for organizing their kitchen.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You hang out at least twice a week."

"It would take months worth of meet-ups to get as much information as Anne and your mother glean from each other at some snotty cocktail party," Dan quipped, and Serena knew he had a point.

"Well, her name is Stephanie, she recently moved to the city from Maine, and she's neither adolescent nor post-menopausal."

"A welcome change."

"Haven't ruled out the con artist angle."

"Naturally."

"She's super petite. I've been going crazy finding an outfit that won't make me look like Java the Hutt next to her," Dan didn't notice the slight crack in her voice as she attempted levity.

Suddenly disinterested in dinner, he turned around to get a full look of Serena for the first time that day. While her tall frame and long torso had minimized the appearance of pregnancy until the tail end of her second trimester, their son's recent growth spurt had made it impossible to ignore. Fearing other opinions, she'd agonized for the better part of an hour over what she'd wear for dinner, eventually settling on a burgundy dress with accented bodice, and looked as glamorous as ever. The notion that Stephanie or anyone else would think otherwise was too irrational to consider.

"I'm not complaining though, I kind of like the 'poke too hard and I'll pop like a balloon' look. Makes me want to have 100 babies with you," she smiled.

"I like the sound of that," he stretched across the island to kiss her once more. "But 100 babies would mean 100,000 arguments about names."

"Serena, I'm not saying no to naming the baby William, I just want to understand why it means so much to you." Dan grabbed a Kleenex and began dabbing at the hot tears making their way down the corner of his wife's eyes. "I don't think I need to remind your Dad's an odd choice to honor like this." He noted with trepidation, not wanting to hurt her feelings. He couldn't stand seeing her cry like this.

Her parents had reunited shortly after him and Serena, his stunt with Ivy proving to be the ultimate aphrodisiac for Mrs. Bass to become Mrs. Van der Woodsen yet again, and his wife was given the attentive nuclear family she'd always dreamed about. Living just a few floors below their penthouse, the reunited couples met up often for dinner, Sunday brunch, and the occasional family game night. While Dan kept his guard up, Serena soaked up every ounce of parental love sent her way, allowing herself to heal the from the hurt and rejection that had plagued so much of her life.

While Dan, of course, had been happy to see the woman he so desperately loved have this need met, he wasn't exactly impressed by her parents elected to, well, parent after decades of neglect. It was less than the bare minimum, to be perfectly frank. He turned her around and began massaging her shoulders, noting

"Well, it's a family name on both sides," she began, referencing Dan's long deceased maternal grandfather. "I don't imagine I need to remind you of the endless homages it has to history and literature. It's classic." Dan nodded, silently prodding her to continue.

"We obviously wouldn't want Rufus as a middle name, but the name is versatile enough that we could easily think of something sentimental for that. Or forego it altogether if you wanted." She began fiddling with her hands nervously, not wanting to become more visibly emotional than she already was.

"The name means resolute protector, which I'm sure you already knew, and as a mother there's nothing I want than to be that for him. For our family. Had my own father not succumbed to all of his poor impulses, chosen temporary pleasure over lasting contentment, he could have been that for me. Maybe. I forgive him for that, which I didn't even think possible, but I don't ever want this baby to need that kind of forgiveness, nor do I ever want to ask it of him. Or you."

"So you want our dynamic with our son, and with each other, to be the antithesis of everything you witnessed growing up, and his name would serve as a sort of symbolic reminder?"

"That and forgiveness. The fact that we've all gotten to where we are is a pretty powerful testament to its value."

He stopped the motion of his hands to pull her back against his chest, kissing her temple.

"I guess that settles it."

"He's become really responsive to his name," Serena smiles, admiring the outline of his tiny foot through the thin material of her dress. She and Dan had been spooked the first time it happened, but had since come to love the exciting and bizarre site. "Better than Burton," Serena reached down to lift their pug into her lap, feeding him a piece of tender chicken. Sweet and unassuming, he'd been an outlet for Serena's maternal instincts in the three years since they adopted him.

"Are we going to announce to your Dad that we're naming the baby after him?"

"No, I want to enjoy Thanksgiving. I like surprises, and pleasing my father, and getting a rise out of my mother, so let's wait until they're holding him," Serena joked, self-aware.

"The day is volatile enough," he agreed, memories of previous years causing his muscles to tense.

"But we have each other."

"That we do, sweetheart. That we do."