The guests started arriving at 3:00 for dinner at 4:30 at the Markin residence. His two oldest kids were there on time, Sara with her husband and John with his wife Bessy, plus their two young kids. The house felt alive in anticipation of Thanksgiving dinner, and that made Tom feel good. Yet par for the course, the Markin's youngest child, Carl, was late.

“He never was a punctual child," remarked Aunt Ida as she was pouring herself a glass of wine at the sideboard in the kitchen where they'd laid out the various beverage options.

Tom's wife, Janet, frowned at Aunt Ida. “It's quite a drive from New York," she said.

“You should have sent an uber, dear," said Ida.

“You can get an Uber for a six-hour round trip on Thanksgiving?" asked Tom. He hadn't thought about that, but could you? It was bound to be expensive, he was sure, but he could have foot the bill, if it meant Carl would be on time.

“I'm sure you can," said Ida. “What else does a single person with no family have to do today anyway?"

Janet cleared her throat. “I wouldn't ask someone to do that just so he was here on time."

“Tsk tsk—you could have had them all here for Thanksgiving if you did," Ida said before she walked into the living room of the house.

Tom sighed and pulled out his phone to check the turkey. The app for the wireless thermometer said it was almost up to temperature and ready to come out of the oven. He swiped over to his messenger app to look at the last text he'd gotten from Carl. Sorry running late, it said. That was over two hours ago. He started typing out a text telling his son to hurry when the doorbell rang.

“See, he made it," said Janet, looking up from sorting out the plates and silverware to set the table. “Can you get the door, honey?"

“Sure," replied Tom, walking over to the foyer. Ida was shaking her head in the living room, and Tom wasn't sure if it was that was about John and Sara watching the game or about Carl being late. Probably both.

In the entranceway, he straightened his shirt and reached for the door. It was time to parent.

“You're late, kiddo," he said as he opened the door. “Ida is already—" his complaining died when he saw Carl.

“Hi, dad," said Carl.

“What's with the…" asked Tom, gesturing toward the large canine next to Carl.

“It's my emotional support animal."

To call it a dog would have been inaccurate. It had a tapered muzzle with a shiny blank nose and erect ears. The fur was thick and shaggy, with dark grays and blacks along its back fading to white at its paws with hints of yellow mixed in. The tail was full and held in a sickle curve. The animal had piercing yellow eyes that seemed to bore into anyone who it looked at. It was easily over a hundred pounds.

“Tom, why does he have a wolf?" asked Ida. She had gotten up from the couch and was ready to give Carl some of her pointed criticism on punctuality, except this had caught her off guard.

“It's not a wolf," said Tom turning, trying to still process. “it's not a wolf, right?" he said to his son.

“The people at the shelter said he might have a touch, but he's really quite sweet. Go say hi to Aunt Ida, Mishka."

The dog walked over to Aunt Ida and took a big sniff, tilted its head to look at Aunt Ida, stepped next to her. and then lifted its leg to pee right on her overly expensive shoes.

Aunt Ida screamed, dropped the glass of wine she had, and tried to hit Mishka with her handbag. “My shoes, do you know how much these cost!" When that didn't stop the torrent of pee, she fled into the living room.

Tom Markin balled his fists and made a snap decision. “Take yourself and that creature out of this house this instant! I will now have you disrespecting this house with that mangey dog!"

#

The first ten minutes of the drive back to New York were silent before Carl spoke up.

“Was that really necessary?" he asked the wolf sitting in the passenger seat of his car. It had curled up and was quietly resting.

The creature lifted its head to look at him. The long pink tongue rolled out in an amused pant.

“We could have at least had some turkey."

Mishka made a dismissive woof and turned to look back at the road.

Carl tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “They're going to hold this against me for years."

“Good."

Carl turned and looked back at the man sitting in his passenger seat. “Oh, now you want to talk?"

“You forget I can smell your emotions. All that depression, all that frustration, it's right there. Plus, you told me about Aunt Ida before and the constant needling."

“Yeah, but you let go right in the middle of the entrance hall. I thought the plan was to go, eat, and after dinner to do something that gets me excused early."

The werewolf shrugged. “I improvised. You heard all the screaming about how you ruined Thanksgiving. You're off the hook now for the holidays. Anyway, by leaving now, that Chinese place you like will still be open when we get back.

Carl didn't say anything, and when he looked back, there was again a wolf curled up in his passenger seat. He reached over and scratched behind the ears, and the wolf made a soft huff.

“That was pretty funny," he said, “the way she screamed…"

Mischa wagged his tail.

“You want orange chicken?"

The tail wagged even harder.

“Orange chicken it is."