I convinced myself I could stand between both families and absorb whatever discomfort came with it.

That was my mistake.

I didn’t understand just how big a mistake it was until Thanksgiving morning.

It was around eleven.

The turkey had already been roasting for two hours, and the house smelled like every Thanksgiving house somehow does.

Warm.

Familiar.

Comforting.

I called Dad to tell him I was getting ready to pick him up.

Normally, he would make some joke about whether my truck had enough room for a man who had already eaten breakfast twice.

Instead, his voice sounded careful.

“Rick, I don’t think I’m coming this year.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Karen called last night. She said it was going to be a small dinner and she didn’t want me feeling crowded.”

For a moment, I didn’t say anything.

“She called you?”

“Yeah. She was nice about it.”