Chap­ter 29 begins with a touch of win­ter teas­ing the small town of Two Mills in Novem­ber, though it is not until Thanks­giv­ing that the cold tru­ly makes its pres­ence known. The chill in the air seeps into every cor­ner of the town, and although the sea­son seems harsh, it does lit­tle to damp­en the spir­its of Mani­ac and Grayson. The two brave the bit­ing cold to attend the local high school foot­ball game, immers­ing them­selves in the ener­gy of the crowd. The air, so cold it seems to freeze every­thing it touch­es, turns Stony Creek’s edge­pools into sol­id ice, and Mani­ac, along with Grayson, faces a minor struggle—both have run­ny noses but no tis­sues in sight. With no oth­er option, they resort to using their sleeves and nap­kins, laugh­ing at the ridicu­lous­ness of the sit­u­a­tion as they watch the game unfold.

The game itself ends with a thrilling vic­to­ry for Two Mills, thanks to a spec­tac­u­lar 73-yard touch­down pass from quar­ter­back Dene­hy to his friend, James “Hands” Down. Mani­ac, caught up in the excite­ment of the game, cheers wild­ly for Hands, try­ing not to make too much noise and draw the atten­tion of Mrs. Beale, who might dis­ap­prove of his bois­ter­ous­ness. After the final whis­tle blows, sig­nal­ing the vic­to­ry, the two make their way back to the cold, emp­ty base­ball room they have been using. Despite the frigid tem­per­a­ture, they look for­ward to the warmth of their apart­ment. The space heater, once turned on, trans­forms the room from a cold, uncom­fort­able space into a cozy haven, per­fect for a qui­et Thanks­giv­ing din­ner. The meal they pre­pare togeth­er is a sim­ple but sat­is­fy­ing one—roast chick­en, gravy, cran­ber­ry sauce, Spaghet­tiOs, and a slice of pump­kin pie. It is, in Maniac’s mind, the per­fect Thanks­giv­ing spread.

As they set­tle down to eat, Maniac’s thoughts drift to the Thanks­giv­ings he spent in years past, those qui­et days filled with awk­ward silences at his aunt and uncle’s house. In stark con­trast, this meal is filled with warmth, laugh­ter, and com­pan­ion­ship. With a sin­cere heart, Mani­ac offers a grace, thank­ful for this din­ner that is by far the best Thanks­giv­ing he has ever expe­ri­enced. His words are play­ful but sin­cere, and he includes Grayson in his thanks, humor­ous­ly acknowl­edg­ing that Grayson hasn’t had a chance to taste the food yet. Grayson, ever the wit­ty one, plays along, affirm­ing Maniac’s thanks but teas­ing that he can’t tru­ly appre­ci­ate the meal until he’s tast­ed it him­self. This sim­ple moment of grat­i­tude between them is fol­lowed by a reflec­tion on the Beale fam­i­ly and their well-being, as Mani­ac can’t help but think of the peo­ple who had helped him along his jour­ney. The meal becomes more than just food; it is a cel­e­bra­tion of how far he has come and the rela­tion­ships he has built along the way.

After the meal, the two of them relax in the warmth of the room, the com­fort­ing tunes of pol­ka music fill­ing the space. Grayson, always with a sense of fun, pulls out an old record play­er and plays the live­ly tunes that set the mood for the evening. The music inspires the two of them to dance around the room, their laugh­ter fill­ing the air as they take turns col­laps­ing onto the floor, only to bounce back up with renewed ener­gy. There is no rush, no urgency in their movements—just the pure joy of being in each other’s com­pa­ny. The music plays on, and they dance, laugh, and enjoy the moment with­out a care in the world, savor­ing the hap­pi­ness they have found in their unlike­ly friend­ship.

As the evening deep­ens and the night grows qui­eter, Mani­ac sud­den­ly has an idea. He turns to Grayson with a request for some paint and a brush, eager to add a per­son­al touch to their tem­po­rary home. Grayson offers him some brown paint, but Mani­ac decides on black instead, a col­or he feels is more fit­ting for the job. With the sup­plies in hand, Mani­ac steps out­side and care­ful­ly begins to paint the door. Each stroke of the brush feels pur­pose­ful, mark­ing their space in a way that sig­ni­fies own­er­ship, even if only tem­po­rary. When he steps back to admire his work, he smiles proud­ly at the sim­ple but sig­nif­i­cant mark he has made. He names it “One oh one,” the address on Band Shell Boule­vard where he and Grayson have made their home for now. This small act of paint­ing the door becomes a sym­bol of the new chap­ter they are begin­ning, a ges­ture that holds mean­ing in its sim­plic­i­ty. The door, once plain and ordi­nary, now stands as a tes­ta­ment to the bond they share and the small but impor­tant moments that have made their lives feel more whole.