Christmas Eve, I’d finished the last of the prep.
The turkey would go in at 6:00 in the morning for a 3:00 dinner.
Nadia had finished the table.
Two long tables, end to end.
White linen tablecloth, the green napkins, the place cards, a simple centerpiece of pine branches and candles.
Twenty-five settings, 25 real chairs.
I’d borrowed extras from my buddy who runs a rental company.
No folding chairs, no card tables, no sunroom exile.
After the kids were in bed, Nadia and I sat in the dining room with a glass of wine and looked at the table.
“It looks perfect,” she said.
“It looks like a family dinner.”
“That’s what I said.”
I laughed.
First real laugh I’d had in a while.
Then my phone buzzed.
Text from an unknown number.
“This is Susette. I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing, but destroying a family over a seating chart is pathetic. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I read it twice.
Then I typed out a reply, deleted it, typed another one, deleted that, too.
Finally, I just set the phone down.
Nadia picked it up, read the text, and shook her head.
“She still thinks this is about a seating chart.”
“It was never about a seating chart.”
“I know.”
“It was about Caleb standing there holding a plate and being told he doesn’t belong.”
“I know, Wes.”
“It was about Viv eating Stouffer’s lasagna alone on Christmas.”
“I know.”
I turned the phone face down and finished my wine.
Christmas morning.
The turkey went in at 5:45.
By noon, I was in full chef mode.
Four burners going, oven cycling between dishes every 30 minutes.
Nadia’s parents arrived at one with wine and her dad’s rum cake.
Uncle Pete showed up at 1:30 with a bottle of bourbon and a bear hug.
“Smells like a real Christmas in here, kid,” he said.
Aunt Viv arrived at two.
She walked in, saw the table, and stopped in the entryway.
She stood there for a long time looking at 25 place settings, 25 name cards, 25 real chairs at a real table.
She found her name card and pressed her hand against it.
“You put me at the table,” she said.
“You were always supposed to be at the table, Viv.”
She hugged me so hard she almost knocked me into the stove.
By 2:30, the house was full.
Tanya brought her roommate.
Drew arrived with his girlfriend and a cheeseboard.
Marcus brought sparkling cider.
Frank and his wife brought a fruit salad and a story about a car breakdown on the turnpike that had everyone laughing before they’d even taken their coats off.
My parents walked in at 2:45.
My mom looked around the room at the people she hadn’t seen in years, at the table that was longer than anything Susette had ever set, at her grandson Caleb wearing a little clip-on tie because he wanted to look professional for dinner.
And she pressed her lips together hard.
My dad put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the table.
I placed the turkey down at exactly 3:00.
Twenty-six people.
I’d added one more setting that morning just in case.
At 3:05, my phone rang.
Garrett.
“Wes.”
“Is it too late to come?”
I looked at the empty chair, the one I’d set just in case.
“There’s a seat for you, Garrett. There’s always a seat for you.”
“Just me. Susette won’t come. She said she’s not giving you the satisfaction.”
“The seat is there if she changes her mind.”
He showed up at 3:20 with Poppy, who sprinted to Caleb and tackled him in a hug that nearly took out the dessert table.
Garrett walked in, looked around at 27 people crammed into my renovated dining room, and his eyes got red.
He sat down without a word.