Chapter 7 - The Empty Holiday
Thanksgiving arrived.
For the first time in thirty-seven years, I did not eat dry turkey at my parents' dining room table.
Instead, Daniel, the kids, and I hosted Mark, Anna, Owen, and Lucy. We ordered Chinese takeout. We played board games on the floor. The cousins built a massive fort out of sofa cushions and watched movies until they fell asleep in a tangled pile of blankets.
It was loud, chaotic, and perfect.
Mark sat with Daniel and me on the porch with a beer after the kids went down.
"Dad called me three times today," Mark said, staring out into the dark yard. "He said the house was too quiet."
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
May you like
"Yeah," Mark said, taking a sip. "I am. Anna and I had a long talk with Owen and Lucy. We explained that families are about how you treat people, not the name on your birth certificate. I think... I think Dad is finally realizing that the 'legacy' he wanted to build is just an empty house."
I felt a twinge of sadness for my parents, sitting alone in their pristine, quiet house. But the sadness was vastly overpowered by the peace in my own home.
