Chapter 5 - The Three Words
We stayed at my mother’s house for the rest of Thanksgiving.
My mother carved the fourteen-pound turkey on her own kitchen counter, and we ate turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce and homemade stuffing off paper plates while watching a football game on a television that was at least fifteen years old.
It wasn't fancy.
There was no fine china or silver candlesticks.
But nobody talked about Ryan.
Nobody compared my baking to a nonexistent culinary masterpiece from a decade ago.
And for the first time in six years, I actually enjoyed Thanksgiving.
Later that evening, after Poppy had fallen asleep on my old childhood twin bed, Lucas and I sat on my mother's back porch with two mugs of hot coffee.
The night air was freezing, but the porch was sheltered from the wind.
"We have to go home tomorrow," Lucas said quietly, staring into his mug. "And by home, I mean our house. Not my parents' house."
"I know," I said. "We have leftovers to get rid of. Enough turkey to feed an entire battalion."
Lucas smiled, then reached into his jacket pocket.
"My phone was ringing while we were driving over here," he said. "I didn't answer it because I wanted to be here with you."
"Who was it?"
"My dad."
I tensed slightly. "What did he want?"
"He didn't leave a voicemail. But he sent a text about twenty minutes ago."
Lucas turned his phone screen toward me so I could read the message in the dark.
It was from Robert. Just three words.
Your mother apologized.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
No excuses. No qualification about being old-fashioned. No mention of Ryan.
Just three words.
I looked up at Lucas.
"Do you believe her?"
Lucas shrugged gently, slipping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close against his chest.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "Does it matter?"
I thought about it for a second.
The cold air on my face, the smell of pine and woodsmoke, the warmth of the coffee mug in my hands, and the weight of my husband's arm holding me like he finally understood where he belonged.
May you like
"No," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. "It doesn't."
We stayed out there on the porch a little longer, watching the stars come out through the bare branches of the oak trees, neither of us in any hurry to go back inside.
