Page 141 of Tell Me It’s Right

Autumn leaf garlands are wrapped around the porch railing, and little trios of fake orange and white pumpkins are arranged every few feet. Stained-glass turkeys hang from every single window in the house, along with white and orange twinkly lights.

I didn’t even know there were people who decorated for Thanksgiving, but if there are, I know without a shadow of a doubt it’s not my family.

I climb out of the car with my store-bought pie and tilt my head to the side, taking in the twinkling acorn-shaped lights surrounding the front door. Where does one procure acorn lights?

Judging by the number of cars in the drive, not everyone is here yet.

At least, there’s one noticeable truck missing.

Or is it? Maybe he’s not planning on coming at all.

We didn’t get into the details of what would happen today, and we haven’t exchanged a word since all those months ago. I didn’t realize how much I was counting on him being here until that sinking feeling in my stomach hits.

What if he doesn’t come?

Am I supposed to reach out?

Will he?

Snapping myself out of it, I hurry and let myself through the door.

The inside was not spared either. Every inch of space is covered in lights, turkeys, acorns, pine cones, pumpkins, and leaves. Even the entryway rug has been replaced with an orange-and-white-checkered runner.

“Mom?” I call.

“Oh, Gracie! Hi, honey! Kitchen!”

The house is about a million degrees, so I shrug off my vest and leave it on the entry bench. I hadn’t thought ahead enough for today’s outfit, so I’m wearing the same sweater, skirt, and boots combo as last year.

I grimace as I round the corner and take in the kitchen counter. Seems everyone else decided to bring a pie too.

Mom smiles with an oven mitt on each hand. “Oh, that’s perfect! We don’t have an apple one!”

The decorations continue in here. I’m afraid to look in the dining room.

I eye my mother as she pulls a casserole from the oven. Is this her doing? Some kind of eccentric midlife crisis?

“Okay, place settings are good to go! You did say nine, right?”

The clack of her high heels proceeds her entrance, but then there she is—Liam’s stepmom. In my house. On Thanksgiving. Looking like she just stepped out of a Hallmark movie in a burnt orange jumpsuit and wide-brimmed hat.

“Yes, nine!” Mom smiles as she whips off the oven mitts. “Gracie, you’ve met Christine, right?”

I force my jaw shut. “Uh, yeah.”

“I hope you don’t mind that Liam let us tag along,” says Christine.

My brain doesn’t know what word to latch on to first.

Liam.

Us.

So he is coming. I don’t know quite what to make of the nerves that buzz around in my stomach like insects at the news.

I do the mental math. Nine people? Mom, Dad, Leo, Keava, and I make five.

Her, Liam, and…

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