Normally, he would have made some terrible joke about whether Karen had managed to dry out the turkey again.
But this time, his voice sounded different.
Careful.
“Rick,” he said slowly, “I think I’m just going to stay home today.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
There was a pause.
“Karen called me last night. Said the table was getting crowded. She thought I might be more comfortable here.”
For a few seconds, I said nothing.
Then I ended the call.
I walked straight into the dining room.
Karen was arranging the silverware with the same precision she used whenever she wanted everything to look perfect.
Calm.
Neat.
Completely unconcerned.
“Why did you tell Dad not to come?”
She barely looked up.
“Rick, my parents are particular. Your father smells like a garage. I’m not going to make them sit across from that all afternoon.”
I stared at her.
And suddenly, I understood.
This had never really been about a smell.
My wife quietly took my father off our Thanksgiving guest list. When I asked why, she barely hesitated.
