* * *
Sunday at the big house always smells the same somehow. Butter, bread, meat, something sweet cooling for later.
Addison and Wesley file in last, cheeks pink from the wind, hands intertwined, Addison smiling about who knows what. Wesley’s hat is on backwards, which is odd for Sunday dinner, but whatever.
We’re all packed around the table, elbows tucked in, chairs jammed tight, kids wedged between parents. It’s loud in that way that feels comfortable.
Dad clears his throat and lifts his hands. “Alright, let’s pray.”
Megan touches my knee under the table and smiles. I squeeze her hand once and think about how challenging this week was.
“Lord, we thank You for this food, for health, for work, for rest. Thank You for this family and for every chair filled. We ask for Your peace over our house and Your joy over our children and grandchildren. In Jesus’ name…”
A chorus ofamens rolls around the table, followed by the usual stampede of serving dishes being under attack.
Addison clears her throat once all the dishes have been passed around and everyone finally starts eating. “You guys see Wesley’s new hat?” she asks casually.
Wes reaches up and spins the brim forward, and the whole table’s attention shifts his way.
I feel a pit settle in my stomach—tight and heavy—because I know what’s coming before I even see it. And my first thought isn’t for me.
It’s for Megan.
Then I read the word stitched clean across the front.
Dad.
The pit twists.
Please, Lord, let Megan hold it together. Let her not react in a way that makes Addison feel anything less than celebrated.
There’s a single beat of silence—everyone processing—and then the room erupts.
Jesse leans back with a full-on grin. “Oh boy.”
Karissa gasps, both hands flying to her mouth. “Addie!”
Cody slaps the table like he won the lottery. “I knew it!” He points. “You weremoodythe other day.”
Ella bursts into tears instantly, like someone flipped a switch. “Oh my word!”
Mom’s hand goes straight to her chest before she’s out of her chair, pulling Addison into a hug that practically knocks them both sideways. “Oh, sweetheart,” she chokes out, voice thick with joy. “How exciting.”
Wesley half stands, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes already glossy. Cody and Jesse crowd around him with back slaps and shoulder squeezes.
Dad gets up next and hugs Addie tight. Mom’s hugging Wesley, laughing at something he whispered that none of us catch.
I stand, giving Wes a quick handshake and pat on the shoulder; he’s grinning so big it’s contagious.
But when I sit back down, the first thing I do is reach for Megan under the table.
Her face looks perfectly neutral—sweet even—but her hand tells the truth. Her fingers tremble. Her shoulders are tight. Her pulse is racing.
She’s barely holding on. And no one else would notice. But I do.
Everyone finally settles. Mom wipes her eyes with a napkin. “We’re going to need a longer table,” she sniff-laughs.
That gets a round of laughter before the interrogation begins.
