Before I could answer, Megan burst into the room, phone held at the perfect angle to capture her entrance for her Instagram followers.
“Morgan is here, everyone. Family reunion time,” she announced to her phone before air-kissing my cheeks. “You look expensive, sis. Did you finally find yourself a rich boyfriend?”
“No, just working hard,” I said, stepping out of her camera frame.
“Garrett brought his new girlfriend,” Megan stage-whispered, still recording. “Amber. She’s 24 and does yoga, like, professionally.”
On cue, a willowy blonde entered the room wearing designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that highlighted her perfect figure. Garrett immediately pulled her to his side with proprietary pride.
“Amber, this is my sister Morgan. She lives in San Francisco and does tech stuff.”
His vague wave dismissed a decade of my professional accomplishments.
“Oh my God, I love San Francisco,” Amber gushed. “The shopping is amazing.”
Our awkward small talk was interrupted by the sound of Dad’s raised voice from his study. Though the words were muffled, his excited tone carried through the house.
“Yes, absolutely. Tomorrow after Thanksgiving. Fifty million is the final offer. Everest Holdings has been very insistent on the terms.”
I excused myself to the kitchen, needing a moment alone. The household staff had always been kinder to me than my own family. Maria, our housekeeper of twenty years, was preparing vegetables for tomorrow’s feast.
“Miss Morgan.” She smiled warmly. “It is good to see you. You look well. California agrees with you.”
“Thanks, Maria. Need any help?”
She shook her head. “Your mother wants everything perfect for tomorrow. Big day, she says. Your father has news.”
I nodded, wondering if the entire household staff knew about the sale before his own children did.
So I gathered.
The pre-dinner drinks hour was excruciating. Mom fluttered about with forced cheerfulness. Dad checked his phone every three minutes. Garrett bragged about his new boat to anyone who would listen. And Megan documented everything for her followers. I sipped my wine slowly, observing the family dynamics with new eyes. No longer the hurt daughter seeking validation, but a successful businesswoman about to change the game entirely.
“Dinner is ready,” Mom finally announced, ushering us toward the formal dining room where the family had gathered for holiday meals for three generations.
I took a deep breath and followed them, knowing that by the time dessert was served, nothing would ever be the same.
The Adams family Thanksgiving dinner had always been a formal affair. The massive mahogany dining table gleamed under the light of the crystal chandelier, set with the Wedgwood china that only emerged for special occasions. Sterling silver candelabras held ivory tapered candles, casting a warm glow over the autumnal centerpiece of pumpkins, gourds, and fall foliage that Mom had undoubtedly commissioned from the most expensive florist in Boston.
I noted with mild amusement that I had been seated at the far end of the table, as far from Dad at the head as physically possible. Typical. Garrett sat at Dad’s right hand with Amber beside him, while Megan occupied the spot to Dad’s left. Mom took her traditional place at the opposite end with me beside her, symbolically separated from the inner circle of family business by the length of polished wood between us.
Maria and the kitchen staff brought out course after course: butternut squash soup garnished with crème fraîche, harvest salad with candied walnuts and cranberries, and finally the turkey, a twenty-five-pound bird roasted to golden perfection, accompanied by all the traditional sides.
Dad carved with ceremonial precision while Megan filmed for her social media, providing running commentary.
“And here is Daddy carving the turkey just like his father before him, continuing the Adams family tradition of excellence in everything they do.”
I caught Mom wincing slightly at Megan’s performance before taking a large sip of her wine. By my count, it was her fourth glass since I had arrived.
Once our plates were filled, Dad raised his glass for the traditional Adams family gratitude ritual, another performance where we each shared what we were thankful for this year. It had once been meaningful before it devolved into a competitive status report.
Garrett went first, as the eldest always did.
“I am thankful for another record-breaking quarter at Adams Software,” he began, though I knew from my research that the company had actually lost market share for the third consecutive quarter. “And for my new forty-two-foot yacht, the Adams Legacy.” He squeezed Amber’s hand. “And for new beginnings with this amazing woman.”
Amber giggled and kissed his cheek while Megan made exaggerated gagging motions when Garrett wasn’t looking.
Megan went next, phone still in hand. “I am so thankful to have reached one million followers this year. My collaboration with Luxury Life Cosmetics has been amazing, and I am grateful to be an Adams and represent our family brand to the world.”
She beamed at Dad, who nodded approvingly, though he had often complained privately about her frivolous career.
When my turn came, I set down my fork and spoke clearly.
“I am thankful for the lessons life has taught me. That sometimes rejection leads to the right path, that persistence matters more than privilege, and that success is the best teacher.”
I raised my glass. “To finding your own way.”