“I know.”

“When can I come back?”

“You want to come back?”

“You know I wanna come back. I wanna get my sister’s stuff out the way, ’cause Thanksgiving is right around the corner.”

“Then why don’t you check your schedule, and let’s try to meet a week from now, and from there we can decide how often. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good,” I say. “It sounds real good.”

When I stand up, she gives me a hug. A soft, warm hug. One like a mama or a sister would give you. One like I ain’t felt in years. I really ain’t gotta go nowhere right now, ’cause I took a sick day. But Cecily was right, she was already starting to tap into something that was making me feel ridiculous, and now I wish I’da kept my big mouth shut, ’cause I really felt like curling up in that chair with a blanket and drinking some hot tea with her and rubbing some of her oil on my wrists and behind my ears while I explained why I wasn’t speaking to my mama when she died and how bad I feel about it and why I don’t confide in my sisters no more. Because I don’t really think they like me. And it hurts. I want to tell Cecily the truth. That I miss my sisters and brother and Mama, and how tired I am of living like I’m out in the middle of nowhere and don’t nobody seem to hear me begging to be rescued.

Thanksgiving

“Daddy, I think we should go ahead and eat without them,” Paris says. “The food is getting cold.”

“I agree. She knew what time dinner was being served,” Janelle says.

“Maybe they got lost. They ain’t never drove way out here to California before.”

“She probably just wants us to wait so she can make a melodramatic entrance,” Paris say, moving Janelle’s little plastic turkeys with everybody’s name on ’em around the table so nobody a be sitting next to somebody they gave birth to, fathered, or live in the same house with. Janelle thought this would give everybody a chance to get to know each other better. Look like I’ma be sitting next to Randall, Paris’s new boyfriend, and the same one who fixed up her yard all fancy.

“Let’s all try to think positive,” Lewis say, putting ice cubes in our glasses for the second time. He look good, but it’s written all over his face that he wish it was a turkey with Jamil’s name on it. For sure, next year, he said. One good thang is he been sober for ninety days and’ll probably get his driver’s license back early next year.

“It’s not like she doesn’t have my number. She could’ve called us one way or the other.”

“Daddy, are you sure she said she was coming?” Janelle ask.

“I said I’m hoping she’ll be here. That’s all I said. Look, I’m going on out in the backyard for a few minutes. Somebody let me know if and when they get here.”