She raced to the door before I could stop her, flinging it open with the enthusiasm only a child can manage. Margaret Henley stood in the doorway, arms already open, and Casey launched herself forward.
"There's my beautiful granddaughter," Margaret said, catching her easily and pressing kisses to her cheeks. "Look at you in that dress! You're gorgeous!"
"You too, Grandma!" Casey pulled back to admire Margaret's burgundy cardigan. "We're matching!"
"We are!" Margaret's laugh was warm and genuine. "Great minds think alike."
Holly appeared behind her mother, carrying what looked like three different desserts. "Someone's excited," she said, grinning at Casey. "Did you help with dinner?"
"I made the cranberry sauce all by myself!" Casey announced proudly. "Well, Dad helped a little. But mostly me!"
I moved to greet them, accepting Margaret's warm hug. "Thank you for coming."
"Are you kidding?" Margaret pulled back, her eyes bright. "First Thanksgiving with my granddaughter? I wouldn't miss this for anything."
Holly hugged me next, whispering, "You okay? You look nervous."
"Terrified," I admitted quietly.
"Don't be. Mom's been talking about this for weeks. She's thrilled." Holly squeezed my hand. "Also, whatever you're cooking smells amazing."
Easton appeared, pulling his mother into a hug. "Hey, Mom."
"There's my boy." Margaret cupped his face, studying him with a mother's knowing eyes. "You look happy."
"I am." He glanced at me, something soft in his expression. "Really happy."
The next hour passed in a blur of cooking, setting tables, and the comfortable chaos of family gathering. My mother and Margaret hit it off immediately, bonding over recipes and grandchildren. My father and Easton naturally gravitated to sports talk, though I caught Dad's eye on Easton more than once as if measuring and assessing.
When we finally sat down to eat, Casey insisted on sitting between her grandmothers, her face glowing with pride at having everyone together. Easton sat across from me, and when our eyes met, he mouthed, "You okay?"
I nodded, and I meant it. The nervousness had faded, replaced by something warmer. This was family. Messy and complicated and absolutely right.
"Before we eat," my father said, raising his glass, "I'd like to say something."
Everyone quieted, glasses raised.
"This year has been…" He paused, his eyes moving around the table. "Unexpected. But watching Casey get to know her father, watching this family come together… It's been a gift. So, here's to new beginnings. To family. And to the best Thanksgiving yet."
"To family," everyone echoed, glasses clinking.
Later, after the dishes were done and the leftover turkey was safely stored, I stood in the kitchen doorway watching Casey on the couch between my mother and Margaret, her face flushed with excitement as she showed them her school science project.
"She's really enjoying herself." My father's voice came from behind me. "Having Easton in her life has been good for her."
I turned to see Dad leaning against the counter, his expression thoughtful as he watched the scene in the living room.
"It has," I agreed, unable to deny the evidence. Casey had blossomed in the weeks since Easton became a permanent fixture in our lives, her confidence growing with each father-daughter hockey practice, each bedtime story read in his deep, patient voice.
"And for you?" Dad asked, his eyes shifting to study my face. "Has it been good for you, too?"
The question's directness caught me off guard. My father had always been more comfortable discussing hockey strategies than emotions.
"It's complicated," I said, though the words felt inadequate for what had developed between Easton and me. Living together, raising Casey, navigating our attraction and shared history while building something new was a complex dance.
Dad snorted softly. "Life usually is. But I haven't seen you this happy in years, Palisade. Maybe ever."
"Your father's right," my mother said, joining us with empty coffee cups in hand. "You've always been so independent, so determined to do everything yourself. It's nice to see you letting someone in."
