That Thanksgiving, the whole family came to our house. Mom, Dad, Kelsey, the boys.

Dan carved the turkey. Badly. He always does.

Before we ate, Dad stood up and tapped his glass. The same way he'd tapped it to announce his “guaranteed twenty percent.”

Everyone went quiet.

“I've made a lot of speeches in my life,” said Dad. “Half-time speeches. Retirement speeches. Wedding speeches.”

He looked at Kelsey. She smiled sadly.

“This year, I nearly gave away my house to a man in a white suit, because he was loud and rich and made me feel important. And I laughed at the one man at this table who was trying to save me.”

He raised his glass to Dan.

“To Dan,” he said. “The quietest man at this table. And the only one who was paying attention.”

“To Dan,” said everyone.

Then Kelsey handed Dan a present, wrapped in gold paper.

He opened it.

It was a cardigan. Navy blue. Exactly like the other five.

Inside, she'd pinned a little handwritten note.

For Uncle Beige. The best color there is. Love, Kels.

Dan put it on right there at the table.