When the music's off and the room gets empty

Thanksgiving.

They asked me if I was excited for Thanksgiving.

I said yes, that I can't wait to eat.

Going around the table, saying your thanks:

Food.

Family.

Forgiveness.

Grace.

I said family—obviously.

Or rather, families.

Two houses.

Three parents.

Four children.

No marriage.

I walk into the kitchen, holding my Tupperware:

Pecan pie and angel hair pasta.

We ate over the table. My mother gets a call from my father.

"You're going to your father's house in ten minutes. Eat fast."

"But I jus—"

"Eat. Fast."

Pack your bags.

Smile pretty.

Have two Thanksgivings.

Don't say the wrong thing.

Your trauma isn't funny.

We don't acknowledge it.

Go to his house.

See your other family.

Say grace and eat.

Pack your bags.

Go home.

Be quiet. Don't let them hear you.

After all,

Their divorce wasn't your fault, so why are you crying?

You get more food, more love—cheer up.

Your father wants a connection with you.

Tomorrow, we will eat leftovers.

We will smile over memories made to cover the car rides.

You will say we are okay.

And in two days, pack your bags and visit again for the weekend.

Tis the season.

-August. xoxo