At Thanksgiving, everybody came to Mom's house.

Lauren brought a store-bought pie and put it on a fancy plate so it looked homemade. Kyle and Amber brought their kids, Ethan, who was fifteen, and Lily, who was nine. They took photos for the family chat.

I'd been there since six in the morning, cooking the turkey with Mom.

At dinner, Kyle raised his glass.

“To Mom,” he said. “The heart of this family.”

Everyone clinked glasses.

Then Amber smiled at me across the table.

“Claire, how's your cute little place?” she said. “It must be so cozy.”

Lauren hid a smile behind her napkin. Kyle looked at his plate.

“It's lovely,” I said. “It smells like bread.”

“Aww,” said Amber. “That's sweet.”

Mom looked at Amber. Then at me. She didn't say anything.

But later, when everyone else was watching football, she found me alone in the kitchen, washing the turkey pan.

She picked up a dish towel and started drying.

“Claire,” she said quietly. “Is everything all right between you and your brother and sister?”

I kept my eyes on the sink.

“Everything's fine, Mom,” I said.

She dried the same plate for a very long time.

“All right, sweetheart,” she said.