I wanted to be honest.
And honestly, that was scarier than anger could ever be.
Thanksgiving morning was unseasonably warm for Harrisburg.
53 degrees and sunny, which felt like the universe was trying to set a pleasant backdrop for what was about to be the most uncomfortable family dinner in the history of the Morris family.
And we’re a family that once had a fistfight over Monopoly at a Fourth of July barbecue.
So, the bar was already pretty high.
Leah and I drove up from Philadelphia that morning.
Two hours on the turnpike, with her reading a book in the passenger seat and me gripping the steering wheel like it owed me money.
She reached over at one point and put her hand on my arm and said, “You okay?”
I said I was fine.
She said, “You’re driving like you’re trying to outrun something.”
I eased off the gas and took a breath.
She was right.
I wasn’t trying to outrun anything.
I was driving toward it.
We pulled into my parents’ driveway around 11:00.
Tyler and Jessica were already there.
Of course, they were.
Tyler’s car was parked in the garage because my dad always saved the garage spot for him.
Even though I’d been driving a longer distance, my car went in the driveway.
Leah noticed but didn’t say anything.
She just squeezed my hand.
The house smelled like turkey and cinnamon and that specific brand of artificial harmony my family had been manufacturing for decades.
My mom hugged me at the door.
It was a genuine hug.
I’ll give her that.
Whatever my mom’s shortcomings, she did love me.
She just loved me the way you love a plant in the corner of a room.
You water it when you remember, and you’re glad it’s there, but you don’t spend a lot of time thinking about whether it’s getting enough sunlight.
“Aaron, sweetheart, you look thin. Are you eating?”
First thing out of her mouth.
Classic Stephanie.
“I’m eating fine, Mom. This is Leah.”
My parents had heard about Leah but hadn’t met her.
My mom was warm and welcoming because my mom is warm and welcoming to everyone.
My dad shook Leah’s hand and said, “Good to meet you. Aaron’s told us a lot about you.”
He had not told them a lot about her.
He had told them she existed, which in our family counted as extensive communication about my personal life.
Tyler came around the corner holding Gavin, who was now three, and had the same effortless confidence that Tyler had always had.
Even as a toddler, the kid walked into a room like he expected applause.
Tyler gave me the standard bro hug, one arm, two pats on the back, and said, “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Jessica waved from the kitchen.
Aunt Clare was already on the couch with a glass of wine that was definitely not her first.
Uncle Vince was in the backyard pretending to supervise the smoker, which was just his excuse to stand outside and avoid conversation.
The house filled up over the next couple of hours.
My cousin Bryce showed up with his wife, Courtney, and their daughter.
My mom’s sister, Aunt Denise, arrived with a pie that she announced was gluten-free, which prompted a brief moment of collective despair from everyone who’d been looking forward to dessert.
The noise level rose, kids ran around, football went on the television.
It was the kind of controlled chaos that my family thrived in because it kept everyone busy enough to avoid saying anything real.
I helped my mom in the kitchen because that’s what I always did.
Tyler sat in the living room with my dad watching the game.
Leah was incredible.
She moved through the house like she’d been there a hundred times, chatting with my aunt Clare about physical therapy, playing with Gavin, helping my mom arrange the table.
At one point, my mom pulled me aside and said, “I like her, Aaron. She’s lovely.”
And for a second, I felt that old pull, that desperate little-kid part of me that still wanted his mom’s approval.
Then I remembered that the woman telling me she liked my girlfriend was the same woman who hadn’t asked about my promotion, my condo, or my life in general for the last eight months.