“That deer’s survived more than most politicians,” Tilly said. “I respect the longevity.”
She made a faint sound that could’ve become a laugh if she’d let it.
The front door opened before they reached the steps. Their mom still wore her apron, dusted with flour and something suspiciously green.
“You’re late,” she announced, pointing a spatula at them before turning it toward Savannah. “And you must be the reason why.”
Tilly sighed. “Mom, please.”
“Come in,” she said, already ushering Savannah inside like it was prearranged. “I told everyone you were bringing someone. And I told them you weren’t. This way I’m not wrong.”
Warmth wrapped around them. Cinnamon. Lemon cleaner. Voices from every room. A dog barking like he wanted to join all of them at once.
Savannah paused just long enough for Tilly to notice the way she scanned the space. Not panicked. Just measuring. Tilly stepped a little closer.
“Told you she was unstoppable,” they murmured.
“You undersold it,” Savannah whispered back.
Mom swooped in again, tugging Savannah’s coat from her shoulders with practiced efficiency. “Shoes by the mat, sweetheart. Oh, you’re freezing. Come taste this.”
A spoon appeared in Savannah’s hand before she could protest. “What is it?” she asked.
“No idea. I improvised. Taste.”
She shot Tilly a helpless look, then obeyed. “It’s good.”
“Told you,” Mom said, triumphant, already sweeping away to her next target.
Savannah stared at the spoon like she hadn’t realized she’d passed some kind of test.
Dinner was the exact brand of controlled chaos Tilly had remembered. Folding chairs were shoved around the table. Voices climbed over each other. The dog stationed under Savannah’s seat like he’d assigned himself the job.
Aunt Denise leaned in. “So you’re the reporter. Our Tilly always hides behind the camera.”
Savannah straightened. “I wouldn’t call it hiding.”
Tilly almost choked on water. The speed of that defense took them by surprise.
Their cousin Nate pointed a fork at Savannah. “My teacher said you made a guy confess on live TV.”
Savannah stiffened, like she wasn’t used to being seen from that angle. “Sometimes people tell the truth when they’re ready.”
“And sometimes the edit helps,” Tilly added quietly.
The table laughed. Savannah’s eyes flicked toward them, startled but grateful. It lasted a second, but Tilly felt it settle somewhere deep.
As dinner went on, Savannah thawed in tiny increments. Not enough to relax, but enough to exist. She nodded. She listened. She asked if the rolls were homemade. Her laugh, when it came, was small but real.
Tilly kept catching her watching the room. Watching people talk over one another without consequence. Watching familiar stories told again. Watching the easy warmth. It wasn’t longing exactly, but it was close enough that Tilly had to look away once or twice.
When dessert ended, and people drifted into post-meal clusters, Tilly found themself adjusting an eternally crookedornament on the artificial tree. Savannah wandered over, cider in hand, hovering at the edge of the rug like she wasn’t sure if she should cross into the scene.
“That one’s losing the fight,” she said.
“It always does,” Tilly replied. “I admire the resilience.”
The lights reflected in the window, casting a soft glow across her face. She looked peaceful for the first time all day. Or maybe just still. It was hard to tell.
