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We got all the food on the tables and everyone settled. I did indeed exile myself to the “children’s table.” No one tried to stop me. I think they knew that, inside, I was wallowing in loneliness. Yet I couldn’t help but feel the infectious joy floating around. I watched Ariana sit between her husband and father. That in and of itself was a miracle. Her dad, Dean, had sapphire-blue eyes that matched his daughter’s, and he gazed at her, eyes twinkling with happiness. All while her husband stared adoringly at her like he was the luckiest man on the planet, and he was. Her stepmother, Sabine—who was an Audrey Hepburn knockoff—chatted happily with my grandparents, making sure to graciously compliment them on their home and thank them for sharing the holiday with them. I could tell it put Grandma at ease. And Kinsley and Tristan couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
My table was full of laughter and mischief. Max and Sebastian were taking the role of uncle seriously when it came to Whitney, teasing her that dinosaurs weren’t real. She wasn’t having it. She stood up on her folding chair, which I quickly grabbed to make sure she didn’t fall, and shook her finger at them. “I have empirical evidence,” she shouted. She was probably the only six-year-old who knew what empirical meant. Both boys’ jaws dropped. They knew she was a genius, but they weren’t around her all that often, so her vocabulary still caught them off guard. Whitney knew she had gotten to them. She gave them a smug smile. “When we get back home, I’ll show you on my laptop all my notes from my dinosaur dig, and Mary Anning’s work.”
“You know we’re teasing you, Whitney.” Sebastian fluttered his eyes unabashedly.
“Yeah,” Max added, “though the truth is, those fossils were placed here by aliens.” He erupted in a roar of laughter.
Whitney stomped her feet. Thankfully, I was holding the chair steady. “That is a lie propagated by conspiracy theorists,” she fumed.
I knew this was the right table for me.
“Boys, quit teasing your niece,” Sabine berated her sons from the other table.
The look they shared with each other said they were just beginning.
Grandpa stood at the head of the main table. He may have been up there in age, but his spirit was as strong as ever. He held himself proud and straight, yet he wore a look of peace and contentment. Family was everything to him. He caught my eye, and in his soft expression I was reminded of the first time I’d met him. I don’t think he had been sure what to do with me. He’d known some of the things I’d faced, especially at the hands of men. And he’d known that I didn’t trust him, at first. He’d never forced a relationship with him, yet little by little he had shown me how a real man treats women—he was a partner to Grandma, never the ruler. He’d also done little things, like making sure there were always fresh strawberries, my favorite fruit, to eat in the fridge. He’d taught me how to drive, how to change a tire and the oil. He’d never raised his voice or a hand. I loved his quiet ways. It was probably why I fell in love with Brock. Brock was quiet and not overly emotive. Feelings were hard for him to talk about, but he was trying, just like Grandpa had when I was younger. Just like I think Grandpa was now, with his silent nod toward me. He was saying he saw me, and he loved me. I had no doubt.
Grandpa cleared his throat. “Welcome. Happy Thanksgiving. We have a lot to be thankful for this year.”
I looked around at everyone, and he was right. I should focus on all the good this year had brought. It had even brought the man I loved back from the dead. Only for me to kill him, metaphorically, but he had survived. And so far, as a couple, we had. That had to count for something.
“New family, new friends—”
A knock on the door interrupted Grandpa.
Grandma popped up like she was sitting in a spring-loaded chair and smiled at me. “Would you mind answering the door, Dani?”
That’s what I got for sitting closest to the door at the kids’ table. Without delay, I stood, curious as to who would be out and about on this cold, snowy Thanksgiving. It was probably Grandma and Grandpa’s tenants who lived down the road in our old house. Maybe they needed to borrow eggs or something.
Oddly, it seemed that every eye was on me. I guess we were all curious.
I reached the solid pine door in no time and opened it. I barely comprehended who was standing on the porch, his hair dusted with snow, before I found myself in the arms I’d been longing for all day.
