“I'm thankful for having both my children home,” she says, looking first at Tara, then Troy. “And for new friends at our table.” She smiles at me and Alfie. “May we always have more than enough to share.”
“Hear, hear,” Troy says, clinking his glass against mine.
Alfie raises his glass in silent agreement, his other hand naturally finding Tara's on the table.
I'm not used to this—the rituals, the togetherness, the easy affection. In my house, holidays were binary: either my mom went all out with decorations and too much food and crying during holiday movies, or I was alone with leftover takeout and whatever was on TV.
There was no in-between, no consistency. Nothing to count on.
But here... here, there are traditions. Expectations met. Promises kept.
“Delilah, Troy tells me you're quite the architect,” Claire says as she passes the mashed potatoes. “That project you guys are working on sounds great.”
I nearly drop my fork. “He told you about that?”
“Of course,” she says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. “He was going on about how innovative your approach was. Something about giving people skills they can leave with? I like it. Oh! And he mentioned you fixed the AC system at camp.” She chuckles. “I can only imagine what all the men thought of that.”
I look at Troy, who's suddenly very interested in buttering his roll.
“It wasn't that complicated,” I say, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “Just a workaround when it failed.”
“Don't be modest,” Troy says, finally looking up. “You saved the entire camp from evacuation during that heat wave. It was brilliant.”
“I heard about that,” Alfie adds, his quiet voice carrying surprising weight. “Nice job, Delilah.”
The sincerity in their voices catches me off guard. Troy's been saying things like this lately—giving credit, acknowledging my work. Each time feels like a small gift I don't know how to accept.
“Well,” Claire says warmly, “we're glad you're putting those skills to good use with this competition. It's great to be the brains of the operation.”
“That's not true,” I counter quickly. “Troy's actually got some amazing ideas about the solar integration. And the wind load calculations he came up with?—”
“Oh my god,” Tara interrupts, grinning. “You guys are perfect for each other. Both trying to give the other credit.”
I flush again, but Troy just grins, sliding his arm across the back of my chair. “What can I say? I'm rubbing off on her.”
“More like I'm teaching you manners,” I mutter.
Claire laughs, and the conversation shifts to Tara's classes, to local politics, to a funny story about Troy's high school days. I find myself laughing, asking questions, even sharing a few carefully edited stories about my own life.
Throughout dinner, I notice how Troy quietly serves his mother before himself, how he asks if she’s ok a little too often—all done so subtly that I doubt anyone else catches it. He doesn't make a show of it, doesn't draw attention. He just takes care of her, like he's been doing it forever.
And maybe he has. Maybe that's why he's so good at taking care of everyone else—it's what he knows, what he's always done. The realization makes something shift in how I see him, adding depth to the easy charm I've come to expect.
I catch him watching me watch him, and the small, private smile he offers isn't his usual cocky grin. It's something softer, more genuine. Like he's letting me see a part of him most people don't get to.
And despite myself, I smile back.
I'm relaxed. Actually relaxed.
No one asks why my family isn't celebrating together. No one pries into the gaps in my stories. I'm simply accepted, welcomed into the orbit of their warmth without question.
Tara rolls her eyes at something Claire says. “Also, Mom, can youpleaseask Dad to stop emailing me PhD program brochures? I swear he has a bot set up or something. I’m not applying. I like my plan and I’m sticking with it.”
Claire sighs but there’s fondness in it. “He just wants you to reach your potential, honey.”
“Yeah, well, Iamreaching it,” Tara mutters. “I don’t want to be in school forever. I want to do something that matters now.”
Troy goes still beside me. Not dramatically, just enough that I feel it. The shift. Like someone pressed pause on the part of him that was laughing a second ago.
