Then Mom looks at me and Sam—proud, watery-eyed.
"And I'm thankful for my kids," she says, her voice softening even more. "For growing into such good, kind-hearted adults. You two fill my days with purpose... and joy. Every single one."
She lets out a small laugh, brushing her thumb under her eye. "Even when you both drive me completely crazy."
I can't help smiling, and Sam does too—except hers is small and tight, like she's trying to smileenoughwithout actually feeling it.
Sam doesn't say anything after Mom finishes.
Which is weird.
She always goes next. And she always has a whole dramatic speech prepared—half heartfelt, half roast, usually ending in her making everyone laugh.
But tonight she just stares at her plate, pushing around her mashed potatoes like she's not really hungry. She looks... off. Not sad exactly, but not her usual sunshine either. Like something's tugging at her from the inside.
A little knot forms in my stomach.
I wonder if it's Elijah again. God, she really needs to stop waiting for that prick to get his shit together and see what's right in front of him. She's only hurting herself at this point.
I need to talk to her.
Yeah. After dinner.
When it's just the two of us.
For now, I raise my own glass with everyone else, forcing a smile even though my eyes keep flicking toward Sam.
Something's not right.
But I'll get it out of her.
One way or another.
We're halfway through the turkey when Franklin suddenly clears his throat and turns his gaze to me.
"So, Zachary..."
I nearly choke on my mashed potatoes. He never calls me Zachary.
That's the name he uses when I'm either:
(A) in deep shit
or
(B) about to be audited by God Himself.
My spine snaps straight like I'm reporting for military inspection. I dab my mouth with a napkin, suddenly formal, suddenly sweating like the turkey wasn't the only thing roasted tonight.
"Sir," I manage, voice an octave lower than usual.
Caroline's dad leans back, intertwining his fingers on the table like a man about to hand out a sentence in court.
"I have to know," Franklin begins, tone grave. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"
"Dad!" Caroline groans, scandalized.
Her mom snorts into her wine. My mom is giggling behind her napkin. Sam is smiling too, but there's a faint shadow behind it.
