And we missed Thomas. He had to stay in Florida because of the extra holiday pay. If I could get this plan to work, maybe it would be enough to get them started so he’d never have to do something like that again. I sent him a Marco Polo of the table with all the food. When he responded he said, “Save that whole turkey leg for me, okay, Lobster?”

Sitting around the table was the first time I noticed how much Nonny’s baby bump was beginning to show. It was full-on cantaloupe size now, and bumped the table when she sat down.

“Incoming!” she said, and we laughed.

We talked about the baby a lot. I liked talking about her. But sometimes there was this thing that happened. Sometimes Nonny would get this sort of dazed smile and she would say something new her pregnant body was doing—her back was starting to ache, she was feeling too hot most of the time—and then Mom would join in and talk about when she was pregnant with Nonny or me and how she could tell differences, like how I was so much more wiggly, and Mom and Nonny would both talk and talk. Then after a moment one of them would glance over at me, and if I caught the look in time it was like they were remembering that I wouldn’t ever have kids like that, wouldn’t ever feel what they were feeling. And when they looked at me like that, I remembered, too.

Nonny also told us how Thomas was doing, how hard his job was. How he asked about their baby every day.

Dad and Thomas wouldn’t ever get pregnant, either, I thought. I mean, that wasn’t quite the same thing, but when I imagined Dad with a big, stretched belly, it made me laugh.

The dinner of yams and turkey and stuffing was delicious of course, but the real best part of my family’s Thanksgiving is the pies. I mean, that’s just how it works when your mom owns a bakery. She’s a little bit insane, and every year she makes an entire pie for each one of us. The whole house smells sugary and the kitchen counters are smooth with grease.

Here’s what she makes:

1. Pecan for Dad. Sturdy, filling, and a bit nutty.
2. Very berry for herself. Sweet, lively, and with plenty of cream on top.
3. A light, delicate, smooth, and perfect lemon meringue for Nonny.
4. All-American apple pie for Thomas. (She made it even though Thomas wasn’t there. We sent a Marco Polo of all of us taking a bite.)
5. And a time-honored, sweet-but-savory, faithful pumpkin pie for me.

Nobody ever wants to share theirs, but it’s epic how much pie we go through in one sitting.

I’d texted Talia over the break, working on our plan for the day Mr. Trent Hickman came to town. I wanted to text her and invite her over for one day during Thanksgiving break, but this voice in my head kept saying, What if she doesn’t want to come over? Then that night, while we were watching Babe and trying to digest all that pie, she texted me again: