“She was crying.”
I stared at my apartment wall.
At the time, I had moved into a temporary studio downtown.
One room.
White walls.
Furnished.
Nothing personal.
“She cheated with Julian for six months.”
“I know.”
Sarah sighed.
“But she’s still a person.”
“So am I.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Sarah became defensive.
“I talked to her for an hour.”
“That’s all.”
I said:
“Do whatever you want.”
I meant it differently than she heard.
Dad stopped discussing the divorce altogether.
Whenever Elena came up, he became silent.
Not normal Dad silence.
Judgment silence.
The kind that says:
I have an opinion that will cause trouble.
I ignored it.
I was exhausted.
Work.
Lawyers.
Selling the house.
Sleeping badly.
Living in a place that did not feel like mine.
I wanted one normal thing.
Thanksgiving.
In my family, Thanksgiving was sacred.
My mother began preparation almost two weeks early.
The entire extended family came.
Aunts.
Uncles.
Cousins.
Children running everywhere.
Two turkeys because Dad believed one was never enough.
Pecan pie.
Football.
Arguments about politics everyone promised not to start.
I needed it.
I needed to sit at the same dining table where I had sat every November since childhood and feel like one part of my life still existed.
Two days before Thanksgiving, Sarah called.
“You’re still coming, right?”
Her voice sounded wrong.
“Twelve thirty?”
“One.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
Then:
“Just making sure.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
I should have understood.
I did not.
Thursday morning, I put on a dark sweater.
I had lost twelve pounds.
Not intentionally.
Food had become something I remembered late.
I drove forty-five minutes to Oakridge.
The streets around my parents’ house were lined with cars.
Family.
Normal.
Then I saw Elena’s blue sedan parked beside Mom’s SUV.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
For a moment, I considered driving away.
Then I thought:
Maybe she is picking something up.
Maybe Sarah borrowed her car.
Maybe I’m wrong.
Trust dies slowly even after betrayal.
We keep trying to create innocent explanations.
I parked.
Walked inside.
The smell hit first.
Turkey.
Butter.
Cinnamon.
Then voices.
Laughter.
I stepped into the dining room.
Elena sat near the middle of the table.
My aunt Karen beside her.
Sarah across from her.
A linen napkin had been folded into a swan at Elena’s place.
My mother only made those stupid swans for guests she wanted to impress.
The room went silent.
Elena’s laugh stopped mid-breath.
Sarah’s face went pale.
Dad looked down.
Mom entered carrying appetizers.
She saw me.
Stopped.
Then smiled nervously.
“Marcus.”
She set down the tray.
“Come in.”
I looked at Elena.
Then at my mother.
“What is she doing here?”
Mom inhaled.