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When I stepped back into the hall a few minutes later, Corinne was waiting for me with two slices of pie. Her smile was bright, and for a moment, the weight on my chest lifted.
“Here,” she said, handing me a plate. “You need it more than I do.”
I chuckled softly, ruffling her hair. “Thanks, sweetie.”
As we sat together, eating our pie in companionable silence, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.
Maybe Charlie was right.
Maybe it was time to stop carrying it all alone.
twenty-three
Delia
The kitchen was an absolute mess. The day before Thanksgiving had always been so stressful in my house, and now I knew why. Cooking was hard. Cooking for Thanksgiving was impossible.
I had been cooking for hours, starting in the afternoon. It was already four, and it felt like I’d gotten nowhere. Flour coated the counters, a turkey breast sat half-thawed in a shallow pan, and the gravy I’d been stirring for what felt like an eternity was still refusing to thicken.
“Smells like progress,” Tyler, my brother, said, as he emerged from the tiny guest room I had stuck him in and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a slice of bread from the counter and ate it plain, just like he used to as a kid.
“Smells like effort,” I muttered, stirring the pot harder than necessary.
He smirked and leaned against the counter. “You sure you don’t just want to let Mom cook when she gets here tomorrow?”
I sighed, glancing at the clock. “It’s not the cooking, Tyler. It’s the fact that I’m doing all of this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” he said, gesturing to himself dramatically. “You’ve got me.”
I gave him a look, but his teasing grin was impossible to resist. “Right. Because you’ve been so helpful sitting on the couch all morning.”
He shrugged unapologetically. “I’m a guest.”
Shaking my head, I turned back to the stove. “It’s just... I don’t know. I wish Mom had come earlier.”
“She’s gonna show up with store-bought pie and a list of reasons you should move back home and leave Seattle,” Tyler said, laughing.
I couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t wrong. Mom’s enthusiasm for the holiday didn’t extend to the kitchen—or to making anyone else’s life easier. But at least she was coming.
My thoughts drifted to Dad, as they always did around the holidays. I didn’t talk about him much, especially not to Tyler, but the ache of his absence never really went away.
Some small part of me still wished he’d step up one day and show up unannounced with stories about where he’d been and why he’d stayed away.
I knew I was only feeling this way because of the whole pregnancy thing. It was terrifying, and it was shining a new light on my family dynamics.
I felt like I was running out of time to make things right. I also felt like I’d never be able to make things right.
“Earth to Delia,” Tyler said, snapping his fingers.
I blinked, realizing I’d been stirring the same spot in the gravy for too long. “Sorry. I’m just... tired.”
“Why don’t you take a break? Go do something fun,” he suggested.
“Like what?” I asked, glancing at him skeptically.
Before he could answer, my phone buzzed on the counter. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and picked it up.
Join us for a special Thanksgiving meal at the Seattle Library! All are welcome.