“Accept the praise, Mom,” Jack says.
“Do come over for both meals, Eli,” Mrs. Benson says to me. “I have a shift at the diner, but then I’ll be cooking the hash and soup, and you heard me say I made a big turkey this year. There will be enough for a few meals for all of us over the weekend, and even some turkey sandwiches.”
“It’s the best long weekend of the year,” Jack says, grinning and putting a hand over his stomach.
My lips curve up. “I’ll say.”
“I’m glad we got to be part of your first traditional Thanksgiving feast,” Mrs. Benson says.
No one’s mentioned my family since they left. I know Mrs. Benson feels guilty for telling them off in front of me, but as painful as it was to hear, I wasn’t lying when I told her it was nothing I didn’t already know. She wasn’t as angry as I expected her to be. I know she still held back, because I was there. I couldn’t leave her to do it alone, though. I had to be there, to hear it and to see how my parents reacted to hearing it themselves, knowing I support every word Mrs. Benson said.
I wonder what I’ll find when I go home.
Something of my thoughts must show on my face. “Talk to them,” Mrs. Benson says in a different voice. Gentle but coaxing.“Give them one more chance, now that they’ve had some time for the truth to sink in. Before distance buries it again.”
Before they leave, tomorrow morning.
Jack’s hand squeezes my knee. I know he’s asking if I want him there. I do, but at the same time, I have to do this alone. They need to know this is coming from me.
“I have a feeling I might need a walk after,” I say, looking at him.
Those light blue eyes burn straight to my core. “Anything you need.”
I look at the wall clock and nod, taking a deep breath. “All right.”
Mrs. Benson gives me a huge hug. “Come back tonight if you want to. If you want to sleep on the couch, we can set it up.”
Tears prick at my eyes again. “Thanks, Mrs. Benson.”
Jack walks beside me, my personal guard, and leaves me at my door with a lingering look of steadfast devotion.
A savory smell hangs in the air as I enter, salmon and white sauce and spices. Uncle Remington and my parents must have reheated the catered dinner Uncle Remington orders each year. My father is standing in the kitchen, swinging the refrigerator door shut. He turns at my arrival and studies me for a few seconds.
“Hi, Elliot.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Elliot’s home?”
Mom’s voice carries through to the kitchen only a few heartbeats before she rushes in. She stops just inside the room, wavering.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“We need to talk,” I tell them.
“Yes,” my father says. “Why don’t we go sit in the living room?”
I lead the way and sit in Uncle Remington’s chair, facing them on the loveseat. “Are you all right?” Mom asks.
I could laugh at the absurdity of the question, but keep my face even through pure habit. “Let me be completely honest. I’m not all right with what happened today, but more importantly, I’m not all right with our situation.”
“You’ve never said you had an issue with it before,” Mom says, fidgeting.
My mask slips away. “Because I didn’t realize I did until I saw what a real family is supposed to be.”
“All families are different,” my father says. “Not every parent has the luxury of staying home—”
“Don’t even,” I interrupt. “You’re rich. You could stay here and work any local job you wanted, or even no job at all for a while, and not have to change. You didn’t bat an eye when I told you I spent money at the vet that they would have needed weeks of work to pay off. Mrs. Benson isn’t financially well-off like you. She works long hours for a decent salary. She still makes sure she has time for her family.”
