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“Yes, soon—I promise.” Sensing my anguish, he again grasps my hand. As always, physical contact with Tristan warms me. And a new acceptance warms me too. Thanksgiving Day, spent with my controlling grandmother and passive grandfather, has helped to explain my
inability to connect emotionally. I haven’t arrived at a complete understanding, though. I’m not yet ready.
“Is your grandmother still insistent that you work for the family company?” Tristan asks.
Relieved at the change of subject, I reply, “Three years in law school and thena career at Remington Plaza Corporation is the plan.”
“This is your life and your future. There comes a time when you have to live it for yourself.”
“I’ve come up with a few ideas about how I can possibly combine my work in art with a career in the hotel business,” I say, but before I have an opportunity to explain, the kids spot us.
“Coach Remi!” Jared races our way. “Let’s play a three-on-three soccer game! Me, you, and Dacia against Uncle Tris, Tommy, and Mom.” He seems to have stacked his team.
“What ’bout me and Bah-Bah Lamb Baby?” Wendy whines.
“You can be on Mom’s team,” Jared replies with a smirk.
The kids scramble to create goal posts out of branches ripped from the carefully trimmed shrubs. The groundskeepers are probably chewing on their fists to stop themselves from intervening. Tristan convinces Wendy (and Bah-Bah Lamb Baby) to be cheerleaders on the sidelines. Everybody is laughing and having fun.
And it hits me—this is my family.
I do belong with them… and with Tristan.
I don’t have to be alone anymore.
Happy Thanksgiving to me.
