“Aunt Susan,” I say quietly, “I just told you. Here is home.”
Her lips tremble into a smile. “Okay.”
Irene snorts. “Her place is too tiny to host everyone anyway, Susan. You know that.”
“Oh, stop,” Susan mutters.
“Seriously,” Irene says. “If Jade’s family wants to come here, they can. I don’t bite.”
My stomach tightens. “We couldn’t impose?—”
“Nonsense,” Irene cuts in. “It’s time your mother and Susan patched things up. Stupid falling-out they had. Over absolutely nothing.”
Susan exhales slowly. “It’s true. We had a heart-to-heart last night after you went to bed.”
My fork pauses midair. “You did?”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “You should call them, invite them up for Thanksgiving. While they can still get tickets.”
I laugh under my breath.
“They’re not flying,” I say. “They’ll drive. They can’t afford flights.”
A shadow passes over Susan’s face. Not pity—just understanding.
“Well,” she says, pouring me more orange juice, “then they should start driving early. Because I want you to have a holiday that feels like a fresh start.”
I stare at my plate.
The idea of my mom here—of all of us in this gorgeous cottage for Thanksgiving—hits something raw inside me.
Soft.
Vulnerable.
Terrifying.
But maybe… maybe good.
I take a bite of toast. Sweet. Warm. Comforting in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll call them.”
And for the first time since homecoming?—
It doesn’t feel like I’m drowning.
It feels like maybe, just maybe, I’m swimming back toward something.
After breakfast, I go back upstairs to the guest room. The faint morning sun spills across the white comforter, warming the space just enough to keep me from shivering.
Mason had popped in earlier after his jog, cheeks pink from the cold, hair wet with sweat. He handed me the Wi-Fi password written on a sticky note and grinned.
“Keep those cinnamon buns away from me,” he’d said, flexing just a little. “I worked hard for this body.”
Irene threw a dish towel at him. Susan snorted. I giggled before I could stop myself.
It felt… normal.
