We arrive Wednesday afternoon, and because Seth has to be back at school Sunday morning, we drove separately. Apparently, he's got some kind of sports meeting. I volunteered to call up his boss and demand he gets the entire Thanksgiving break off, but Seth dissuaded me. I guess one less day than everyone else wasn't that big of a deal for him. Had it been me, I'd have started a revolt.

"You ready?" I ask, a laundry basket heaped with just about every piece of clothing I own in my arms. I have to peer around the side of it to get a glimpse of Seth. He picks up his duffle bag and slings it over his head so it hangs diagonally across his torso.

"Yep."

If he's nervous about meeting my family, he doesn't show it. I feel as though he should try to prepare himself a little. My mom tends to lack the knowledge of 'personal space'. Thankfully, I've been around Seth enough to know that he's not deterred by physical touch. In fact, I think he really likes hugs. Odd, because, until I met him, I hated them.

We head up the front steps of my parent's home where Seth has to open the door. I take the lead, dropping my laundry by the door and then waving Seth inside. He sets his bag down and we head toward the music coming from the kitchen.

I'm relieved to see that my family is just as weird as I remember. My mom loves that initial 'shock factor' when she meets new people. I think it's her way of gauging who can handle her weirdness. The ones that stick around typically become lifelong friends.

I rest my shoulder against the frame of the large archway into the kitchen and silently watch the show. Seth is beside me, and from the corner of my eye, I can see that he's not even trying to hide his amusement. When I hear a quiet snort come from his direction, I laugh, elbowing him in the side.

The music is blaring loud enough that nobody has heard our approach yet. My mom's prancing around in a full-fledged Turkey costume, her massive fall-colored tail bouncing behind her. It's even got a dangly wattle that keeps slapping her in the face whenever she does a dramatic twirl. Beside her is my dad. He's also a turkey, but his is one of those massive inflatable costumes. The difference? Rather than a vibrant, happy, very alive turkey—like my mom—his has been plucked bare and has already been cooked.

"I'm ready!" I hear a voice holler from the top of the stairs.

Hope's yelling must snag my parent's attention and my mom spots us before I can even turn around.

"Mercy!" my mom screams, waddling toward me. "Hope! Mercy's here!"

"Yeah, I see that," Hope says from directly behind me.

I turn to find my sister dressed as a corncob, her face peering out of a small hole that sits amongst the yellow kernels.

I'm suddenly yanked into my mom's arms, her fluffy costume swallowing me whole. She kisses my entire face—cheeks, nose, forehead—and then grabs my shoulders to get a good look at me. Her face is serious, but I see the mischief dancing in her gray eyes.

"Is that him?" she asks, motioning her head in Seth's direction, not at all discreet.

I laugh. "Yes, this is Seth."

My mom throws her hands up to cover her mouth, fighting back a squeal. Then she reaches for Seth and tugs him into a crushing hug.

"Mom," I groan, even though I'm laughing. "Sometimes your excitement is just too big."

"Hi, sweetheart," my dad says softly, pushing my mom's tail out of the way so he can get a hug. "We missed you."

"Missed you too, dad." I snuggle into his warmth, loving his familiar scent. I've always thought he smelled safe. I wonder if there's anyone in Seth's life who smells safe to him.

I turn around, ready to wrap Hope up into a lung-collapsing hug, but she's distracted. When she feels my eyes on her, she snaps her attention toward me. Her jaw hangs open, her eyes wide as she juts her thumb in Seth's direction and fans herself.

"He's gorgeous!" she hisses, but she lacks the ability to whisper—a characteristic she inherited from my mother. Usually, I can appreciate it, but right now, I'm finding that I'm the one growing uncomfortable with the attention.

I hush her up and pull her into my arms. "Good to see you," I mumble into her costume.

"You too."

I pull away, watching as Seth shakes my dad's hand and basic questions are asked. Unfortunately, even the basic questions are not so basic when it comes to Seth.

"What do your parents do?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Do you visit family often?"

"Do they live far?"

And suddenly I'm realizing just how much I screwed up. In my attempt to keep Seth's life private, I avoided sharing any information about his childhood with my family. Now, I can see how that backfired. Just a simple warning for them not to ask about his family would have sufficed.

Seth handles their questions well. He's honest, explaining that he doesn't have much contact with family anymore, and the topic is slowly dropped. His eyes flash toward me once my mom returns to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone, but I can't read what he's thinking.

"Sorry about that," I mumble, playing with the end of my ponytail. "I wasn't sure what to tell them about you, so I kind of told them nothing."

He waves my concern away, assuring me that he's used to those types of questions and has learned how to skirt around them.

I head back outside to bring my luggage in, and when I return, Hope has sent Seth upstairs to get dressed. Apparently, my mom was gracious enough to buy outfits for everyone. She really is so thoughtful... sometimes. I'm unsure if this counts as one of those times.

When he descends the steps, he's dressed as a slice of pie. Not a hint of embarrassment can be found on his face as he smiles down at us.

"You know," he says, pausing on the landing to give us a twirl, "I think I'm gonna like this tradition."

My dad's laughter echoes out of the kitchen and I find him peering around the archway at Seth. Everyone is enjoying Seth's performance as he struts down the stairs, but I'm paralyzed in disbelief. Maybe the words just slipped out on accident. Maybe he didn't mean it like that. But it sounded to me like Seth was planning to make my home his new Thanksgiving destination... and I can't say I mind one bit.

———

The day has now arrived. Unlike most families, we try to keep our thanksgiving celebration very traditional. By that, I mean, we do it how the pilgrims did—with some necessary modifications, of course. Actually, the only thing we really do right is make sure to celebrate for an entire three days, just the way they did back in the day.

Extended family slowly begins to arrive throughout the morning—grandparents, cousins, second and third cousins, the random widower down the street, the hitch-hiker my dad befriended three years ago. I'm not even sure he actually lives around here, or if he literally hitch-hikes all the way to our house every year just to feast with us. He makes the most incredible stuffing on the planet though, so I don't complain. Honestly, I never cared about stuffing until David the Hitch Hiker introduced me to one of the flavors of heaven.

I keep trying to find Seth in the crowd, but I'm busy catching everybody up on my exciting college life and can't seem to escape. We were all up by six this morning getting side dishes prepped, but we still have a lot of work to do. Excusing myself from my very heard of hearing, aunt Beckie, I wander into the kitchen to find Seth peeling potatoes, my mom's Oktoberfest apron tied around his neck. The apron is the body of a busty German waitress and it's making it impossible not to choke on my laughter to see him working so seriously while wearing it.

"Perfect timing," my mom says, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. "Please mix these up, would ya?"

I make my way toward a steaming bowl of boiled sweet potatoes and stare down at them. A moment later, an electric mixer is shoved into my face, and I jolt backward.

"I mean, you're making good effect at blending those up with your eyes," my mom tells me, almost looking impressed, "but this will probably help. Get to work, Superman!"

"Mom," I correct. "Superman has laser vision; Matilda is the one who can move things with her—"

"Blah blah blah." She waves me off, uninterested in my need to educate her on the specifics.

I hear Seth chuckle beside me and I give him a weary look, shaking my head.

Plugging the mixer into the outlet, I switch it to high and slowly lower the whisks into the soft potatoes. Unfortunately, that was a terrible idea. The twisty wires end up spitting chunks of potato everywhere. Several globs land across my face. One in particular dangles from my eyelid, blocking part of my vision.

"Uh, Seth?" I start to say, carefully twisting my torso to face him. "Do I have anything on my face?"

His face remains serious as he bends down to inspect me more closely. His eyes travel over every detail... my hair, my nose, my chin... and then he shrugs. "Nope, not a thing." Then he returns to his task.

"Are you sure?"

He glances at me again, tilting his head as he examines me once more. "Hmm..." He lays the peeler down on the cutting board and touches one of the blobs. "Oh! What do you know! There is crap on your face." He smears the blob across my cheek. "I'm so sorry; I just assumed that was part of your face."

A laugh burst through my lips and I slap his shoulder. "You're a turd!"

He snickers, wiping his finger on his inappropriate apron and then getting to work again.

Chatter is constant as we prepare meals. On more than one occasion I hear my mom mumble, "I should have known better than to let Mercy help," as she peers over my shoulder.

"Careful, mom," I warn. "You might find a toenail in your casserole."

"I appreciate the warning, hun," my mom says, unconcerned. "At least then I'll know whose toothbrush to scrub my butt with later."

A spray of apple cider shoots across the counter as Seth bends forward, clutching his stomach as he chokes on his laughter. His reaction stuns everyone in the room for approximately half a second, and then we're all joining in. The uproar draws the attention of the uncles, who lounge in the living room smoking cigars and drinking their expensive whiskey. No one bothers to respond to their worried calls of "Everything okay in there?" They're obviously horribly concerned about us... not a single one of them gets up to see what's happening.

Dinner is finally served, and all fifty-two people that are present hurry to line up at the buffet we've set up in the kitchen. The dining table only has space for about eight people—ten if we squish two people at each end. Everyone else scatters themselves throughout the downstairs. The younger kids take the stairs, the most ancient relatives get the recliners, and as for the rest of us, we just mill around in little huddles as we chat and eat.

I watch Seth across from me as he chats with one of my older cousins. He's married with two kids but still acts like a child some days. The two of them seem to be hitting it off quite well, but I can't help but wonder just what all this is like for Seth. Has he ever experienced Thanksgiving before?

All I can imagine is him as a little boy, laying in that bathtub while a party raves below him. Was that his experience of the much-loved holiday? I almost hate to ask.

Once bellies are full and games have been played, the men are required to tidy up the kitchen. It's a rule my mom made ages ago. If the women cook, the men clean. My dad never argued. With a refill on their drinks, the men gather up dishes and head to the kitchen where they chatter while they scrub and wipe the place clean. Sometimes I wonder why they even bother since the fun is only going to start back up again in the morning. But I've learned that when a man is cleaning, you don't ask questions.

With the food put away, the younger men help the older, more crippled people up to the bedrooms. Everyone else heads out to their cars to bring in all their luggage and sleeping bags. With furniture moved to the edges of the living room, everyone lays out their sleeping bags and waits for my dad to get the projector up and running. It's pretty old and takes some time to warm up. He sets it on the dinner table and five minutes later, "A Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving" is playing on the wall in front of forty-something pairs of eager eyes.

"Your family is massive," Seth whispers, leaning toward me on a single elbow.

His legs are extended in front of him as he reclines beside me. We're laying furthest from the screen, but it's the most coveted spot when you're looking for a little privacy. I don't need my aunts and cousins gossiping about my relationship with Seth.

"Yeah," I nod, eyeing him as his attention returns to the movie. "This must be weird for you."

He glances down and to the side where I lay propped up by two pillows. "Eh." There's his signature shrug. And then, "not really. I mean, maybe a bit overwhelming... but in a good way." His eyes sweep across the room and a smile tugs his lips. "In a really good way."

Our attention returns to the screen, and every once in a while I sense my mom watching me. Seth's phone goes off and a moment later he excuses himself outside. I wonder if maybe he was feeling the prying gazes of my family too and needed a second to breathe.

Our sleeping bags are closest to the door, so when I start to hear talking through the barrier, I grow curious. Did he leave to take a phone call? I slip out from beneath my covers and creep to the door, peering through the peephole. Seth isn't pacing the walkway talking on his cellphone. Instead, I see a car idling along the curb and a woman standing beside its open door.

Normally I'd choose to stay out of it and just interrogate him later, but something about his stance has me snatching a random coat off the back of a chair and sliding it on. Stepping outside in this weather is like stepping into a magical, crisp world filled with softness and peace—but it's a creeping, mysterious kind of peace and it will slowly crawl into your skin and crystalize your bones. I shiver. There's no snow yet, but there's a heavy quiet hanging above that's threatening to crack open.

I'm hesitant in my movements as I listen to the woman's pleading, a stark contrast to Seth's indifference. Whoever she is, he clearly does not want her here. The woman notices me, her hollow eyes following my movements as a tight smile lifts her thin lips.

"Is that your girlfriend?" she asks, her words hoarse. A cloud of smoke puffs from her lips when her breath meets the evening chill.

"I can't imagine you actually care," Seth responds, crossing his arms as I come stand beside him.

"You don't need her," the woman says, and though her words are harsh, her tone is gentle. Pitiful eyes beg me to understand and then dance back toward Seth. She spreads her arms out, indicating my parents' home. "You don't need this."

Seth sighs, tension rolling from his tight shoulders. "I know exactly what it is that I don't need."

The lady finally has enough of his attitude and slams her door shut, taking several steps across the front lawn and stopping a few feet away. She looks worn, like a pair of shoes that were once cherished but have since lost their shine. There was a time when she was probably the center of attention, the life of the party. The features hidden behind the lines of age carry a hint of beauty. But, after years of wearing herself thin and beating herself up with drugs or alcohol—or whatever it is—she's lost herself.

"Can't I just stay for a little while?" she pleads with Seth, her thin fingers clasped around each other in a single fist.

"You need to leave, Sam."

The name twists my stomach, and suddenly my sorrow for the pitiful woman disappears. Shonice had muttered her name when Seth was having his panic attack. Sam has no control here is what she had said. The day beneath the willow tree, why had I not asked Seth about Sam?

A light breeze sweeps through the neighborhood, branches grinding against each other and the icy chill slicing through my oversized coat. And then I smell it... it's so familiar. It's a smell I've grown to love. A scent filled with warmth and spices—a citrusy clean smell. A scent that has now been tarnished.

"Please, Seth," she nearly cries. "Please give me another chance. I'm done screwing up. I'm done." Wiping her nose along her sleeve, she presses her palms together like she's praying. "We can be a family now. No one else will get in the way. I swear." She pushes her stringy hair from her face and takes another step toward him, her hands stroking his arms. "I'm ready now. Completely committed to making it work."

Seth is patient as she finishes her monologue. He waits for a moment, making sure she's said everything she came to say. Then he takes a step back, her arms dropping away from him, and responds with one simple word.

"No."

He doesn't move as he watches her shoulders slump, her tears streaming from a broken heart and down her cheeks. Nodding, she accepts his rejection and returns to her car. We both watch as she pulls away from the curb, her headlights disappearing down the street.

"Who was that?" I ask, needing answers to the drama I just witnessed.

"That," Seth says, eyes lingering on the end of the street before dropping to look at me, "was my mother."