“It’s really good to see you again, Ethan,” I say, meeting his eyes.
He nods, serious. “It’s good to have you in our home.”
He steps aside, and Alicia reaches out next. I take her hand gently.
“It’s good to see you too, Alicia. Your mom said the salad was your responsibility tonight.”
She smiles and gives my hand a playful double shake before letting go, then turns to her mother.
“Mom knows my dressing is better than hers.”
Cecilia laughs. “A student surpassing the teacher,” she says. “That’s not bad at all.”
After that, the atmosphere changes, the tension lifting and putting everyone at ease.
I help carry the dishes to the table. Cecilia has prepared a true feast. Roast turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, corn, roasted vegetables, and warm dinner rolls.
When Ethan offers to open the first bottle of wine, I pass it to him without hesitation.
Dinner unfolds with laughter and conversations that move naturally from one topic to the next. Every so often, I let my fork rest and simply observe the three of them—the way love shows itself in every glance, smile, and word exchanged. And I know this is what I want for the rest of my life.
We’re just finishing when Cecilia speaks, glancing at me. “Alexander’s the one who made your favorite pie this time of year.”
Ethan looks at me for a moment, observant, but says nothing.
“You actually made it?” Alicia asks, studying me with open suspicion. “Or did you buy it?”
I chuckle. “I made it. My Nonna—my grandmother—always made sure everyone in the family knew at least the basics in the kitchen.”
She nods, though the doubt on her face doesn’t disappear.
I take Cecilia’s hand. “Do you mind if I go get it for us?”
“Of course not,” she says, smiling. “I can help.”
I shake my head. “How about Ethan gives me a hand instead?” I say, meeting his gaze. “Let the ladies rest while we serve it.”
“Sure,” he replies, already rising from his chair.
I start after him when I hear Alicia whisper behind us,
“Mom, did he really make it? I think I want a very small slice.”
“We can still hear you, Buttercup,” Ethan says without missing a beat.
The last thing I hear before we reach the kitchen is Alicia’s exaggerated groan of protest.
I go straight to the fridge and take the pecan pie from the shelf where I left it earlier. I’d stopped by while Ethan was out with his sister, intending only to drop it off for Cecilia. To check on her, make sure she was alright, and see if she wanted to go through with dinner.
Behind me, I hear Ethan pulling plates from the cabinet. I grab the ice cream flavors Cecilia mentioned they like to have with the pie and turn to find him setting the plates on a tray, his expression distant. Thoughtful.
After placing everything on the island, I don’t say a word.
Throughout dinner, I could tell there was something he wanted to say. Asking him to help with dessert was my attempt to give him the
space to do it.
When he finally looks at me, there’s resolve in his eyes.
