“I did.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“No. Lucas.”
I crossed my arms against the cold.
“I’ve been saying something for six years.”
He looked at the yard.
“Not like today.”
“Because every other time I tried to keep it small enough that nobody would think I was creating a problem.”
He stayed quiet.
“I told you the Ryan comments bothered me.”
“I know.”
“I told you your mom’s comparisons bothered me.”
“I know.”
“And every time, the answer was some version of ‘She didn’t mean it’ or ‘That’s just how she is.’”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at me.
“Yeah.”
No explanation.
No defense.
Just yes.
That felt different.
He glanced toward the kitchen window where Poppy was sitting on Diane’s lap.
“Being here…”
“What?”
He nodded toward the house.
“It feels different.”
I looked through the window.
Aunt Deb laughing.
Wesley eating another piece of pie he did not need.
My mother putting leftovers into mismatched containers.
“This is what Thanksgiving is supposed to feel like.”
Lucas closed his eyes for a second.
“I know.”
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Uncle Rob.”
He answered.
Within seconds, his posture changed.
“What happened?”
I watched.
“Is Dad okay?”
Another pause.
“We’re coming.”
He hung up.
“My dad had a kitchen accident.”
“What kind?”
“He tried making something on the stove.”
I stared.
“Warren?”
“Apparently.”
“The man who thinks microwaving soup counts as cooking?”
Lucas almost smiled.
“Yeah.”
“He hurt his hand?”
“Minor, they said. Uncle Rob took him to urgent care. He’s home.”
I was already reaching for my keys.
“Let’s go.”
Lucas looked surprised.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“He has a discharge sheet.”
“I’m still a nurse.”
And he was still Warren.
We drove back to Westerville.
The house smelled faintly of scorched butter.
Warren sat on the couch with his hand wrapped, looking deeply embarrassed.
Cassie sat beside him.
Linda stood in the kitchen on the phone.
When Warren saw me, his entire face relaxed.
That expression almost undid me.
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You went to urgent care doing nothing?”
He sighed.
“Trying to make eggs.”
“For yourself?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“For Linda.”
I followed his eyes.
She had not eaten.
Of course.
The day had fallen apart, and nobody knew how to rebuild it.
I sat beside Warren.
Looked at the clinic instructions.
Nothing serious.
He would be uncomfortable for a few days.
“You’ll be fine.”
“That’s what they said.”
“They were right.”
“I hate when medical people agree.”
“You’ll survive.”
I stood.
“I’ll make something.”
Linda appeared.
“You don’t need to.”