Thanksgiving Day
From the day the welcome party ended and the birthday party was over, the autumn semester began. Looking forward to autumn was like taking a smooth, fast, and punctual train ride.
Every day is progressing steadily: I go to the lab in the morning, discuss and analyze with James in the afternoon, and organize manuscripts, revise statistics, and reply to emails at night.
Her collaboration with James became increasingly seamless, with clear division of labor and often sharing the same ideas.
Chase's guidance remained restrained and precise—she wouldn't give specific answers, but would pause at crucial points, forcing the reader to figure it out for themselves. This "point-and-shoot" guidance was more effective at clearing the mind than direct explanations.
As for Ethan, she no longer tried to fully understand his departure.
That lingering longing, as if polished by time, only occasionally stirs a barely perceptible thorn in my heart when I see that painting of the Rowan tree or that small pot of succulents.
Life became stable, clear, and regular.
There is nothing left to lose sleep over, and nothing to run away from.
She can sleep soundly every night and work efficiently during the day—everything is running smoothly, and even her dreams are as clear as a blank sheet of paper.
On a November afternoon, the sky was just beginning to lighten. A quiet weariness hung over the campus after lunch; the wind rustled through the maple leaves, creating a clean, crisp sound.
Pan Qiu returned to her office with her laptop, ready to continue revising her thesis. Just as she sat down, a new email popped up in the upper right corner of her screen.
The sender is Chase.
The theme is just like her style—simple and clean:
Title: Thanksgiving Invitation
She opened the email.
If you're free next Thursday, you're welcome to come to my house to celebrate. You don't need to prepare anything, just come on your own.
It was a mass email, with no recipient list, just a blank, unchanging space.
It has few words, but it has a quiet warmth.
Panqiu stared at that line of text for a long time.
For her, this might be her last Thanksgiving in the United States.
In previous years, she always let her holidays slip away quietly for various reasons—experiments, papers, conference preparations. She knew, of course, that some professors would invite their students to their homes for dinner every Thanksgiving.
However, Ethan never did that.
He didn't have many students at the time, and he also seemed to be alone.
Pan Qiu never thought much about it, but subconsciously felt that he was the kind of person who kept quiet even on holidays.
But now, upon receiving Chase's invitation, a soft tremor stirred within her.
The feeling wasn't one of surprise, but rather like a gentle acceptance.
She typed a few words in the email reply box:
Thank you so much for your invitation. I'll definitely be there. I can't wait!
She hesitated for a second, then added a smiley face emoji.
Then press "Send".
The email on the screen was added to the "Sent" folder, and the cursor blinked.
Panqiu leaned back in her chair and sighed softly.
The leaves outside the window were swept up by the wind and then slowly fell back down.
There was a calm and a faint glow in the air, a feeling unique to the period leading up to the holiday.
The weather was so clear on Thanksgiving Day that it almost seemed unreal.
The blue sky was as clean as if it had been wiped clean, and the wind carried a hint of mint and the scent of fireworks.
Chase's home is in the suburbs, in a typical American residential area. The houses are scattered along the street, each seemingly occupying its own little hill. Each house has a meticulously manicured lawn and pine trees in front, and pumpkin lanterns, maple wreaths, and "Give Thanks" signs stand on street corners, creating a festive atmosphere that makes you want to smile.
Chase's house is located on a hillside that is neither too high nor too low.
A light beige villa combining modern and colonial styles, with ivy climbing the exterior walls and wisps of white smoke rising from the chimney on the roof.
A small forest can be seen from behind the house, its golden leaves layered like a painting. The quiet seclusion makes one imagine a warm fireplace and the scent of pine wood inside.
Pan Qiu climbed the steps.
She carried a bottle of red wine in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other—yellow tulips and white lisianthus, bright but not overly vibrant.
The wreath at the entrance was made of dried maple leaves, pine cones, and orange berries, with a ribbon in the center that read "Thankful".
The gentle colors shimmered with a soft golden light in the afternoon sun.
Pan Qiu stood at the doorway, taking a moment to steady her breathing. Her heart was pounding slightly.
She reached out and pressed the doorbell.
With a "ding," the bell echoed in the room.
Then came the sound of footsteps, laughter, and the faint aroma of roasted turkey.
The door was pushed open from the inside, and a rush of warm air wafted out—a mixture of the sweet aromas of cinnamon, cider, and toast.
Before Pan Qiu could speak, she heard that familiar, steady voice, tinged with laughter:
"Come in quickly, Qiu! You've come at the perfect time..."
The lobby was small, but orderly. A light gray carpet was neatly laid on the wooden floor, and several black and white photographs hung on the wall—some showing distant mountain silhouettes, others depicting the city at night.
None of them were signed, yet they conveyed a sense of quiet contemplation.
Chase noticed her gaze and said with a smile, "The job of the department head will drive you crazy if you don't find some hobbies."
There was a hint of lighthearted self-deprecation in his tone.
This was the first time Pan Qiu had seen Chase "show weakness" like a real person, no longer the perfect and confident person she was used to seeing in the department.
She smiled back, giving him a knowing look.
The living room is lit with soft light.
The fire crackled in the fireplace, and on the mantel sat several thick psychology books and an open novel, with a maple leaf pressed against one of its pages.
A dark blue wool blanket was draped over the beige sofa, and several cups of hot tea were steaming on the coffee table.
The trees outside the window swayed gently in the wind, and fallen leaves occasionally hit the glass, like autumn gently knocking on the door.
Her gaze swept over a piano in the corner, its lid half-open, with a sheet of music pressed between the keys.
The framed photo next to him is an old photograph—a young girl standing side by side with Chase, their smiles bright.
The girl looked to be in her early twenties, and her features resembled Chase's.
Pan Qiu recognized her. It was Chase's daughter—she had seen photos of the child from childhood to adulthood in the office.
Chase noticed her gaze and spoke with a gentle smile.
"You'll meet Claire and her fiancé in a moment."
Panqiu nodded, took off her coat, and was enveloped in the warmth of the room.
This was the first time she had seen Chase's home—everything was just like her:
It was orderly, clean, and the temperature was just right.
Every detail seems "prepared" yet not deliberate.
She suddenly had a subtle feeling—
It felt as if I had stepped into not just my mentor's home, but into a world she had meticulously crafted, a world of order and warmth.
Chase led her through the living room and into the dining room.
The lights were brighter than in the living room, with a warm yellow chandelier hanging above the dining table, casting a soft glow on the edges of every glass and silverware.
The long table was covered with a deep red linen tablecloth, and in the center was a decoration made of dried flowers and small golden pumpkins.
The air was filled with the aroma of roast turkey, cranberry sauce, and baked potatoes—warm and rich.
A middle-aged man who looked mild-mannered sat on one side of the table, wearing a gray sweater and dark trousers, cutting turkey into a plate.
Chase introduced Xiang Panqiu: "This is my husband, Robert."
The man put down his knife, stood up, shook her hand, and smiled sincerely: "Welcome, Qiu. Chase often mentions you."
Claire sat on the other side of the table—the little girl in the photo had grown up and her smile had a radiance that was somewhere between a girl and a woman.
Her fiancé sat beside her, and the intimacy between them was obvious—their hands touched casually, like a habitual comfort.
“This is my daughter Claire, and her fiancé, David,” Chase added.
Pan Qiu smiled and nodded, saying softly, "It's a pleasure to meet you all."
Claire smiled, her eyes clear: "We are too. Mom often mentions you."
When she said that, Panqiu was slightly taken aback, wondering what the word "mentioned" implied.
Besides them, several familiar faces were sitting around the table—
They are all students and researchers in Chase's group, including those from India, Greece, and a postdoctoral fellow with a Latin American background.
Some people waved to her, while others stood up to give up their seats, smiling and saying, "We saved you a seat."
As she sat down, the slight awkwardness in her heart gradually dissipated.
A whole roasted turkey, golden brown, sits on the table, alongside stuffing, roasted potatoes, a casserole of green beans, and several bowls of steaming pumpkin soup.
The desktop isn't luxurious, but it's as cozy as a painting.
Chase pushed the baking tray towards her and said with a smile, "First Thanksgiving."
Pan Qiu nodded: "Yes."
"Then you'll have to try everything."
Laughter drifted softly across the table. Glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.
Robert stood up and raised his glass: "To new journeys, and to family, in every form."
Pan Qiu also raised her glass, the wine inside shimmering faintly.
The atmosphere at the dinner table gradually warmed up.
Robert poured red wine for everyone, and Chase sliced the turkey into even, thin pieces and distributed them to the crowd. The clinking of glasses mingled with laughter, and the firelight from the fireplace danced on everyone's faces.
Chase took a sip of red wine and casually mentioned their winter break plans: "We're planning to spend a week in Iceland. Robert has always wanted to see the Northern Lights."
Robert picked up the conversation and laughed, "Last time we went too late and all we saw was snow."
“Yes,” Chase shook his head. “I checked the dates in advance this time—mid-December, before the polar night begins, which is said to be the best time to see it.”
The Indian postdoctoral researcher sitting across from me pushed up his glasses: "Iceland! That's in the top three of my wish list."
"Want to come along?" Chase joked.
"Let's talk about it after I publish my paper." He smiled wryly, and the table erupted in laughter.
Claire and her fiancé David sat side by side, their expressions tender.
When the conversation turned to them, Claire gave a bright smile: "We're preparing for our wedding next summer. We haven't decided on a venue yet, but I'd like it outdoors—preferably with a view of the sea."
“The sea breeze makes everything romantic,” Robert said.
“It will also mess up my hair.” Claire sighed, and David patted her hand gently beside her.
At the other end of the table, several graduate students were chatting about their holiday plans.
A student from Greece, eager to visit his grandmother, excitedly declared that he would take her to see the Christmas lights in Athens.
The Latin American postdoctoral researcher said he didn't plan to return to his home country this year, but would stay here to write a project report. "I'll spend Christmas with my thesis," he said with a helpless shrug, eliciting a knowing smile.
Someone asked Panqiu, "What about you? Are you going back to China?"
Panqiu shook her head: "No, I'm not going back this year. I need to prepare my graduation thesis."
At that moment, she heard herself speak calmly, her tone even carrying a soft certainty.
The fire crackled and popped in the fireplace.
The air was filled with laughter and the aroma of food. The wind outside the window rustled the fallen leaves, but the heavy curtains kept them out.
This group of people came from different countries, speaking accented English, and talking about papers, travel, family, and weddings—these seemingly trivial details of life gave Pan Qiu a strange feeling:
It turns out that at a certain point in time, the distance between people is not based on their birth or blood ties, but is gently connected by a kind of warmth of "being in the same room at this moment".
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