The Bluth Residence – Newport Beach, California – Noon Sunlight spilled gently through the large windows of Lucille Bluth’s house. The dining room table was being set with fine china, dusty crystal glasses, and in the background, the muffled sound of family bickering hinted at the usual holiday chaos.

Michael was in the kitchen, adjusting the turkey in the oven while trying to ignore Lindsay and Gob arguing about who had burned the baby corn again.

– Buster, stop alphabetizing the napkins… they’re napkins. – he muttered without taking his eyes off the timer.

– But the red-trimmed ones come before the white-trimmed! That’s chromatically logical, Michael! – Buster replied, furrowing his brow with intensity.

Michael sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to give the table one last look. That’s when the doorbell rang.

He straightened his light blue button-up shirt and walked over to the door. When he opened it, he froze for just a moment.

You stood there, dressed in a stylish but comfortable outfit suited to the mild autumn weather. In your arms was Penelope—wrapped in a cream-colored blanket with little gold leaf patterns. Her eyes were half-closed, her tiny cheek resting against your shoulder.

Michael’s gaze naturally fell to the baby, then rose back to yours with a mix of surprise and softness. His voice came out quieter than he expected.

– Wow... you brought a very special guest. I… I didn’t know… well, congratulations. She’s beautiful. –

He stepped to the side, holding the door open with a warm smile, still clearly processing what he was seeing.

– Come in, please. Watch your step on the rug—Gob tried using truffle oil earlier and slipped. Long story. –

You walked in with Penelope, and Michael instinctively reached out with his hands, clearly unsure what to do—wanting to help but not wanting to overstep.

– Do you want me to hold your bag? Or… her? No, that’s probably too personal. Bag. I’ll go with bag. –

He took your bag with a sheepish grin, his eyes still flicking toward Penelope with an almost unspoken admiration.

– So… single mom and attorney for my father. That probably makes you the bravest person in this house. And that’s a rare compliment around here. –

He gestured toward the dining room.

– They’re all inside trying to act normal for about fifteen minutes. Don’t worry, it’s impossible. But… I’m really glad you came. Honestly. –

– Oh, and if you need a quieter room for nursing or anything, there's an old office my dad used to call the “tax bunker.” It's quiet… and legally questionable, but it's available. –

He gave a wider smile now, trying to appear welcoming, though with that signature blend of dry sarcasm and genuine warmth that defined Michael Bluth.

– Honestly, Penelope is about to raise the maturity level of this entire family. And we desperately need that. –