This was about who Karen believed belonged in the room.

And who did not.

For twelve years, she had assumed I would continue smoothing things over.

That morning, I stopped.

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine?”

“If Dad isn’t welcome, then we’re not having Thanksgiving here.”

Karen blinked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“My parents will be here in an hour.”

“I know.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

I didn’t yell.

I didn’t slam a door.

I didn’t throw anything.

I walked into the kitchen and looked at the meal.

The turkey was beautifully browned.

Sweet potatoes were warming in the oven.

Green bean casserole sat on the counter.

Fresh rolls.

Pumpkin pie cooling nearby.

Everything Karen had prepared for the people she believed deserved a seat at the table.

I opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out several foil trays.