So I did.
When I arrived, the house smelled of roasted turkey and slightly burnt bread rolls.
Camille was standing in the kitchen wearing an apron, staring at a meat thermometer as though it were a complicated scientific instrument.
“Liv! Thank goodness!”
I laughed.
“What happened?”
“Is the turkey supposed to reach one hundred sixty-five degrees or one hundred eighty-five?”
“One sixty-five in the thigh.”
She nodded rapidly.
“Okay. Good. But don’t help me. I’m doing this myself.”
“I wasn’t planning to take over.”
“Good.”
We both laughed.
Hannah ran from the living room and wrapped her arms around me.
“Aunt Liv! You came!”
“Of course I came.”
Ruth was sitting in Dad’s recliner, smiling quietly.
Dad was arranging plates on the table.
When he saw me, he put everything down and walked toward me.
Then he hugged me.
Not a quick pat on the shoulder.
A real embrace.
I rested my head against him.
“I got your check,” I whispered.
“Good.”
“I didn’t cash it.”
He leaned back.
“Why not?”
“I’m keeping it.”
His eyes became wet.
He laughed softly and hugged me again.
Mom was in the dining room arranging the rolls.
When I entered, she looked up.
For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.
“Olivia.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Neither of us knew what else to say.
Dinner was imperfect.
The turkey was a little dry.
The rolls were too dark underneath.
Camille forgot cranberry sauce, so Hannah suggested using raspberry jam instead.
Everyone laughed.
But something was different.
Nobody asked me to refill drinks.
Nobody sent me back to the kitchen to fix anything.
