Someone laughed. Someone else made an approving sound. The whole tail end of the family pressed forward, jostling, curious, already reaching for their seats.
Diane paused at the doors for effect.
She always paused. She wanted the moment when every eye landed on her at the same time.
She turned back, beamed at the crowd, and reached for both handles.
“Ready?” she called out.
A chorus of yeses.
At that point, I looked at Harley and, for the first time in eight years of marriage, I did not look away when his mother spoke.
Diane threw open the dining room doors with a proud smile, and the smile died on her face.
The dining room sat empty.
There was no turkey, no plates, and no glowing centerpiece. Just folded chairs stacked against the wall and one printed card on the bare table.
She snatched it up. “Thanksgiving relocated? What is this?”
“It’s exactly what it says,” I answered.
“Madison, where is the food?”
“At a restaurant 20 minutes from here. I booked a private room. Reservation for eight.”
Her mouth opened and closed. “Eight?”
“Me, Harley, my parents, and the four cousins I actually invited,” I said. “Since 20 extra guests were added without asking me, I made room by moving the family dinner somewhere quieter.”
