“Have you heard from Abuela? Is she going to come?”

“She’s coming. I bought her plane ticket this morning.”

Thanksgiving with Abuela. It had been too long since we’d been together. At the same time, thinking about Abuela made a knot form in my chest. Her presence at Thanksgiving meant pressure. It meant questions about why I wasn’t married and when I was going to get married and had I heard from Elder Hansen whom she’d met and given my number to? My mother had no trouble reading my prolonged silence.

“Lane. You know her concern is out of love.”

I did know. And I understood. My grandmother was one of seven daughters. All lived in her hometown of Arecibo. All had multiple children and grandchildren, and most even had great-grandchildren. But my grandmother only had Mom. And it had nearly killed her. Emergency surgery after she delivered her first and only child saved her life but ended any hope of more children. Then Mom moved far away and only had two kids, both of whom persisted into adulthood so far unmarried and without children.

“You mean her love for great-grandchildren.”

“I can’t say I blame her there. It might be nice to have a few grandbabies of my own.”

“I’ll get right on it, Mom. Should I go now? Find the first available man?”

“Don’t be smart with me. You are dating someone, aren’t you? You told me you were.”

“Yes. I’m dating someone. Haven’t quite gotten to the how-many-kids-we’ll-have conversation, but dating, yes.”

“Have you gotten to the bring-him-home-for-Thanksgiving conversation? Because bringing a boyfriend to meet your abuela . . . Oh, Lane, she would be so happy.”

Maybe. But was I ready for that? “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that. And if you talk to John before I do, will you tell him about Thanksgiving? It would be so nice to have us all together.”

“I will, Mom. Listen, I’m at work. I need to run.”

“Love you, dear. Your father says hello.”

April was already leaning into the staff fridge looking for leftovers when I finally made it to the kitchen. “What did Gaspard leave for us today?” I asked.

She pulled out a container and lifted the lid, sniffing the contents. Her eyes went wide. “It’s bisque.” She turned around, holding the container like it held liquid gold. “He actually left us some bisque.”

I was already reaching for bowls. “Is there enough for all of us?”

April glanced around. “There’s enough for two of us. Please don’t say we have to share it.”

I jerked my head toward the door. “Let’s eat in my office. You warm it up, I’ll sneak us some fresh bread, and we’ll meet there in five.”

“You’re my best food friend, Lane,” April said, her face solemn. “May the bread gods be ever in your favor.”