“Thank you for inviting me today. I’ve never had a…Kira. Or a Francine. Or known a family like yours. It’s…these are the best mashed potatoes I’ve eaten in my life.”

No one spoke for a moment. Everyone raised their glasses. I did, too. Francine wiped her eyes with her napkin. Kira used her sleeve. Her mom straight up went to the bathroom for tissues, pulled out a bunch for herself, and handed me some, too.

“This is a depressing Thanksgiving,” Ryo snarked.

Everyone laughed, and Terry Johnson, a guest on a pillow under the table, barked for us to shut up, bothered by our loudness.

Kira’s mom stood up. “We are, as always, so very thankful for the gift of Francine and her family. And especially this year, because she has brought us Muiriel.”

What?

“We are so grateful for your friendship to Kira, because we made her leave the ocean and we moved her at a time in school when it is not easy finding new friends, especially really true friends, but it seems she has found one in you. She’s not so mad at us anymore, and for that we are beyond grateful.”

“Oh, I’m still pissed,” Kira assured them.

Kira’s dad raised his glass. Everyone did.

I smiled all the way to my toes.

Later, in my attic bed trying to find room around Terry Johnson sprawled in the middle, when Joellen called and asked, as she did every Thanksgiving, “How was it?” I tried to not let the dread of I cannot get attached to this; I have to leave it and be alone soon overtake my happiness, at least just for this one night. My throat burned and I said, “It was okay. Pretty good.”

“That all?” she asked.

“Do you know where Zola is?”

“I do.”

“Is she okay? Is she happy?”

“That’s all I can tell you.”

“Is she still home? If she is, don’t say anything.”

Silence.

“Thanks,” I said. Home for Thanksgiving—thank goodness.

“But today, you really had a good time? Francine said it was good.”

I listened to her smile through the phone.

“Well,” I said. “I helped make pies. They were excellent.”

Chapter Seventeen