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“You may not have ordered anything, but this is for you.” He handed me the insulated bag. “Sign, please.”

“I, uh, yeah.” I juggled the bag while signing his phone screen. “Thanks. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he called over his shoulder as he dashed down the hall.

I took the bag inside, closing the door behind me.

“Who was it?” Dad asked as I entered the kitchen.

“Delivery,” I said.

“On Thanksgiving?” Mom asked, joining me in the kitchen. “What is the world coming to?”

“Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a whitewashed holiday that⁠—”

“Perpetuates colonialism and ignores the atrocities committed against Native Americans,” she finished for me in a solemn tone. “Yes, I’m well aware. But I also understand that two things can be true at once. It is a painful day, and reparations should be made. And it’s also one of the few times we can spend time together as a family.”

“I know,” I said, hugging her. For us, Thanksgiving was about coming together, a pause in an otherwise busy season.

“So what’s in the bag?” she asked.

I unzipped it and pulled out the box, blinking down at the contents.

“I haven’t had one of these in forever,” she said with something akin to awe.

“Way to show off,” I teased Levi as he came into the kitchen, assuming he’d ordered it. “But we both know I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite, and a pie isn’t going to change that.”

Levi lit up when he saw the pie from 29th Street Bakery. “Please.” He wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulder, giving her a hug. “I don’t have to bribe Mom and Dad to be the favorite. But it wasn’t me.”

“Dad?” I called. “Did you order a pie?”

“There’s pie?” he called back.

Not just any pie, my favorite pie. This pie was the pie we’d eaten every Thanksgiving growing up. I hadn’t had it in years, and now I was salivating over a warm, fresh apple pie from my favorite LA bakery that had somehow magically appeared at my apartment in Minnesota. On Thanksgiving, no less. How?

“Oh. There’s a card,” Mom said, handing it to me.

I opened it to find a note.

Hope this makes you feel like coming home. Happy Thanksgiving, KT.

I bit back a smile, completely delighted by this surprise, even as I tried to read between the lines. Did Carson mean that he wanted to remind me of home? Or was he hoping I’d come visit LA soon?

“KT?” Mom asked, and it was only then I realized she was reading over my shoulder. I closed the note and shoved it into my pocket. “Who calls you KT? And what does it stand for?”

“Oh, um, just a friend. It’s an inside joke.” It was all said in a rush.

“Mm.” She eyed me skeptically.

My brother and my mom looked at each other then back at me, both wearing matching expectant expressions. I smiled brightly then snagged the pie and carried it out to the table where Dad was still seated.

“Grab some plates and forks, will you?” I called while I snapped a quick picture of me holding the pie and posted it to my private Snap profile that only my friends could see. My friends, including Carson.

“A friend, eh?” Mom asked, grinning. “A friend who not only knew you loved their pies but sent you one? That sounds like more than a friend to me.”

“Lo, are you dating someone?” Levi asked, clearly enjoying this.

“Who, me?” I held a hand to my chest. “I thought I was, and I quote, ‘a lost cause.’”