so close to hope

XVII

You're sitting next to Lily on the bus ride home from a field trip to the Museum of Natural History the first time it happens.

It's the coldest day of the year so far and you blow a hot puff of air onto the window beside you and trace a heart into the condensation. Lily's prattling on about all the games she played with her cousins at her aunt's house on Thanksgiving, and you listen happily because you love the animated way she tells stories.

"And then my cousin Cory -- he's the one with the sick baseball card collection -- finally found me hiding in the tiny space behind my uncle's tools in the garage, twisted up like a pretzel." She slaps her knee, doubling over with laughter. "Cory had to help me untangle my legs, which took forever because he was laughing so hard. Oh man, you should've seen it, Rami."

"I wish I had," you say, smiling as you imagine the scene. "Sounds like a lot of fun."

"So, what did you do on Thanksgiving?"

"We went to Claire's house," you say. "I've never been so full in my whole entire life."

You think back to the perfectly set table covered with platters heaped with turkey, stuffing, potatoes, squash, carrots, turnip, peas, and cranberry sauce. Roseanne, Lisa, and Claire, passed your plate around the table, loading it with a bit of everything before they served themselves.

Eating the food was almost as much fun as making it. At dinner, Lisa still had a smear of flour on her neck from when Roseanne kissed her while kneading crust for the apple pie, and Roseanne hummed with exaggerated pleasure every other bite she took.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Thanksgivings past. Roseanne and Claire talked about how much they loved spending the holiday with Roseanne's dad, who fancied himself a semi-professional baker and always woke Roseanne up early to help him make dessert from scratch. Then you and Lisa compared foster care Thanksgivings, from families who just heated up TV dinners to the gloopy boxed mashed potatoes they served at the group home.

All of the reminiscing should have been laced in sadness, but it didn't feel that way. Roseanne lit up when she reminisced about her dad, and you and Lisa dissolved into hysterics when you realized the "Bless us, oh Lord, and don't let me get food poisoning" foster kid prayer has been a Thanksgiving tradition for generations.

(When it came time to go around and say what everyone was thankful for, Claire said being home with her family, Roseanne and Lisa said they were thankful for you, and you said you were thankful for Waffles, because it was the closest thing to what you really meant that you could say without crying.)

"Hello, Earth to Rami," Lily says, waving her hand in front of your face.

You blink. "Sorry. What'd you say?"

"I asked if Jennie or Jisoo or any of those guys were at Claire's for Thanksgiving."

"No," you say. "Just me and my moms."

It's the coldest day of the year so far, but it suddenly feels like you're submerged in lava. You look out the window and take a deep breath to steady yourself. When you exhale a cloud of condensation forms on the window again, revealing the heart you traced earlier.

"That's cool," Lily says, like you didn't just have the most vulnerable verbal slip-up in the history of the universe. "You'll have to tell me the next time Claire comes to your house. I want to ask her all about Kenya."

You nod and turn back to the window, pretending to watch the city flying by while doing the breathing exercise Dr. Kapoor taught you -- four seconds in, hold for four, four seconds out, hold for four, repeat.

You calm down a lot sooner than you expected. Lily, who had been sitting quietly beside you, squeezes your shoulder and turns to talk to the kid across the aisle. (You add her to your running mental list of things you're thankful for.)