Inside the house the smell of roasted turkey, cinnamon, and my mother’s perfume filled the air. The living room already contained too many coats and too many shoes. The performance had begun before we arrived.
My mother appeared quickly wearing a deep red dress and small silver earrings. She kissed my cheek lightly while her eyes moved across my appearance in silent evaluation.
“You made it,” she said with a tone that suggested she had doubted it.
“Merry Christmas,” I replied.
Her smile warmed when she looked at Dylan. She pinched his cheek gently and said, “You wore the sweater I bought you.”
Dylan grinned proudly and said, “It is my favorite.”
We moved to the dining room where my sister Marissa sat beside my aunt Paula while my father Gregory carved turkey with calm precision at the head of the table. My father owned a construction supply company that he called the company as if it were a family member rather than a business. He talked about it constantly and used it as an explanation for nearly every absence.