Everyone laughed.
But something was different.
Nobody asked me to refill drinks.
Nobody sent me back to the kitchen to fix anything.
And for the first time I could remember, I had a proper place at the family table.
My own chair.
Between Hannah and Ruth.
After dinner, Mom brought out a
pumpkin pie.
She placed it in the center of the table and began cutting slices.
One for Dad.
One for Ruth.
One for Camille.
One for me.
Then Hannah reached toward the pie before Mom had served everyone.
She was twelve.
Excited.
Hungry for dessert.
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Exactly the way children are on Thanksgiving.
Mom immediately caught her wrist.
“Don’t be greedy, Hannah. You didn’t pay for that.”
The entire table fell silent.
Hannah froze.
Her face turned red.
She slowly pulled back her hand.
Then she lowered her eyes toward her empty plate.
And I saw myself.
