Page 47 of Love and Other Chances

“I have as much time as I need,” I answer. I quickly add, “I guess I don’t know how to know, you know?”

Mom nods thoughtfully and turns back to mixing up the green bean casserole. “You know I loved Brooks right up until . . .” She trails off. I never told her the precise reason that Brooks ended things. I didn’t really tell anyone.

Mom clears her throat and places a hand on mine. “But I loveyoumost. The full you. I don’t want to see the flattened photocopy versionof my daughter who roamed around here for so long after things ended with him.”

I’m stunned. “I didn’t think you . . . I thought I . . .”

She raises an eyebrow. “You thought you hid how devastated you were? You probably did fool most people, but I’m your mother, honey. I know my daughter. And that shadow wasn’t my daughter. Not for a long time.”

I’m quiet, unsure what to say.Do I come to Brooks’ defense, explain all the ways he’s different now, even though I’m scared of the exact thing that she voiced?

“I trust your judgment, sweetheart. You’re fun-loving and lighthearted at first glance, but there’s so much depth and maturity to you. I know you’ll do the right thing for your heart,” Mom says, squeezing my hand. “I’m on Team Teegan no matter what.”

I lean forward to give her a short hug, mumbling, “Thanks, Mom.” Then, I quickly change the subject to ask how Logan is doing. We continue chatting and working side by side until everything is in the oven.

A little before noon, the doorbell rings, pricking my heart. Even though it’s been years, I’ve never quite gotten used to my dad ringing the doorbell at the house he used to live in. The house that sheltered us as a family unit for most of my life.

“Hi, Dad!” I exclaim when I open the door.

“There’s my girl!” he responds, wrapping me up in a hug. His tan sweater and navy pants give him a very dignified look, especially coupled with the addition of facial hair.

“A beard, huh? That’s new!” I observe, and his hand rubs against the hair on his jaw. Nervously.

Weird.

“Yeah, trying something different,” he responds before his dark eyes crinkle at the edges. “You look beautiful today. Not surprising when you’ve looked beautiful every day of your life.”

I roll my eyes. “You have to say that—I share your genes.”

“Nah, you got your good looks from your mom,” he replies, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door. “Speaking of!” he says, looking behind me.

Mom sidles up to us at that moment. “Happy Thanksgiving! Good to see you, Morgan.”

They give each other a hug before we head back to the kitchen. I help my mom pull dishes out of the oven, whispering under my breath, “Can we not mention anything about Brooks to Dad?”

She gives me a wink and purses her lips. I have a feeling she would have mimed zipping them shut if her hands weren’t laden with hot pads and a casserole dish.

While we eat, I catch my parents up on the semester. I also share how uplifting my church small group has been (conveniently leaving out Brooks). Mom shares a story from work this week about how she solved the problem when her boss double-booked two important appointments. I smile as she shares because it’s so evident that she’s thriving in this position.

“Any more raises since September?” I ask coyly, knowing Mom will be too humble to brag about herself.

Her cheeks pinken. “Not since September. Although, my boss did say I’d be getting a significant end-of-year bonus, so we’ll see what that translates to.”

“That’s fantastic, Reagan,” my dad says after swallowing a bite of ham. “Good for you.”

Mom blushes again, and my eyes dart back and forth at the lingering look between them.

“So, Dad, we were talking about going down to the Plaza to watch the Christmas lighting tonight. Would you want to come with us?” I ask, hoping he’ll join.

“Oh, um, I don’t think I’ll be able to, Teegan. Thanks for including me though.” He coughs, then takes a sip of water.

Logan interrupts the moment by calling my mom on her Echo Show, so we virtually seat him at the table to catch up. He’s all smiles as he talks about the fish he and his buddies have been catching, and I can imagine the fish smell from here.Yuck.

The rest of the day passes by smoothly. I manage to avoid mentioning Brooks around my dad, and Mom doesn’t bring it up for discussion again. Even though she would have had the perfect opportunity in the car on the way to the Plaza, or during thelongwalk from our parkingplace to the retail buildings. We arrive with enough time to grab hot chocolate to warm our hands before joining the countdown.

“We should do this every year!” I announce on our walk back to the car. “That was magical to see the lights and be around so many happy people! Too bad Dad couldn’t have come—he would have loved it too.”

“What’s not to love?” Mom responds quietly. “Perhaps we’ve stumbled upon a new Thanksgiving Day tradition.”

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