Thanksgiving morning arrived in chaos. My coffee went cold as I chased after my kids—Emma, coloring the walls, and Jake, snatching cookies from the counter. The turkey was in the oven, but the mashed potatoes were still chunks, and I hadn’t even finished setting the table when the door slammed open.

“We’re here!” Dan bellowed, beaming with pride. Behind him was a parade of unfamiliar faces—fifteen coworkers, none of whom I’d planned for.

“Dan, who’s ‘we’?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“I invited a few coworkers,” he said casually. “They didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“A few?” I repeated, gripping the bowl of potatoes.

“Fifteen,” he grinned, as if this was no big deal.

I plastered on a tight smile. “Welcome, everyone!” I said, clapping loudly. “Since this is unexpected, I’ll need some help.”

Dan’s grin faltered, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Take the kids upstairs, please.”

Turning to his coworkers, I quickly assigned tasks, from mashing potatoes to setting the table. They hesitated but obeyed.

By some miracle, the dinner came together, albeit with spilled cranberry sauce and too much sugar in the sweet potatoes. But we managed.

At the table, I raised my glass. “Thanks for your help today,” I said pointedly. “Teamwork, right?”

Later, as Dan scrubbed dishes, I teased, “Remember this next time you think about inviting the office.”

“Let’s hope there’s no next time,” he replied, defeated.

Thanksgiving chaos was ours to own.